Flame (Fire on the Mountain #2) (29 page)

I inhale a deep breath, innately knowing I really need to pay attention to whatever he’s about to say. “Yeah?”

“Don’t overthink this.” His tone is stern, but supportive and comforting. “I know you, and I know once you come down from this initial high, you’re going to overanalyze the shit out of all of this and probably call me, freaking the fuck out. But don’t do that. Please. Don’t let your fear of losing the person you think you’re
supposed
to be keep you from discovering the person you’re
meant
to be.”

There’s a couple of seconds of silence as I let the words sink in before I respond. The guy trips me out sometimes with his life advice. He’s a lot like Grams, but with the crudeness setting turned down a few notches.

“I’ll try not to, but no promises that I won’t have a freak-the-fuck-out session or two at some point or another.”

He snickers, knowing I speak the truth. “Fair enough. Now, go eat. Send me mountain man updates so I can live vicariously through you.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you the beard is gone. I guess they had to shave it to treat the slash on his face,” I add, not ready to end the call just yet.

“That’s a damn shame,” he jokes. “I kinda wanted to see what Hipster Barbie looked like being mauled by a grizzly bear.”

I don’t even know how to comment to that. “Bye, Rors.”

“Bye, Felicia.”

And just like that, he goes from philosophical love doctor to ghetto fabulous
,
leaving me cracking up to the sound of a dial tone as I pull into the assigned covered parking spot in front of my apartment building. Everyone needs a Rory in their life, and I can’t wait for him to meet Levi. I know . . . think . . . hope . . . pray they’ll get along. I mean, they should. Right?

Grabbing my purse, phone, and keys, I hop out of the Jeep and stroll lazily up to my place, lost in thought over the Levi and Rory dynamic. I’m not sure how this sort of thing usually works when you have a good guy friend and then you suddenly have a . . . well, I’m not sure what Levi is exactly, but apparently, he’s declared I’m
his
. Whatever that entails will have to be discussed soon, but that’s a completely different set of issues.

Should I invite them both over for dinner and drinks? Or will that seem too weird? Like I’m trying to set up a threesome thing? ’Cause even though that’d be totally smokin’ hot, Levi made it crystal clear before how he felt about sharing me with someone else, which was a big fat rejection. Yeah . . .
no
, definitely shouldn’t go that route.

Maybe we can all meet out at a restaurant instead, and I can invite Nali, Hudson, and Crew, as well as Emilia and Gunner, so it’s more like a casual group thing. Not an awkward, she-knows-who-has-the-bigger-dick in this conversation or an I-know-how-your-girlfriend-likes-tongue-in-her-ass type of setting. Yes, group thing is good. The more dicks and tongues and asses, the better.

Reaching the front door, I giggle aloud at my last thought as I slide the key into the lock and push it open. Then, not paying attention to where I’m stepping, I trip over a cardboard box, catching myself with my hands just before my face got up close and personal with the brick on the side of the entry.

“What in the fu—” Right before I release a string of curse words that would make Grams proud, I see the word
Sunshine
scribbled across the top in sloppy guy handwriting and I stop. Looking all around the walkway, I search for any sight of Levi or anyone else in the near vicinity, but all I see is a lady walking her dog across the lot.

I pick up the box, which is lighter than I anticipate, and bring it inside—extremely intrigued and a bit nervous to find out what’s going on. Setting it on my small kitchen table, I cut through the tape and remove the tissue paper then dig in. The first thing I grab is a stuffed black dragon—Toothless, my favorite Night Fury—dressed in miniature motocross gear including the boots and the goggles. Butterflies flutter wildly in my stomach as I squeeze it up next to me like a little girl with a new baby doll before setting it on the chair and pulling out the other item. Holding up a bright yellow riding jersey that’s identical to the black one Levi wears, I twist it around to the back and discover the words “Levi’s Girl” scrawled over his number.

Wow. Just fucking wow.

He remembered. And not only did he remember, he got it made for me.

I’m speechless.

In a half daze, I pick the box up to set it by the trashcan, but when I do, a folded up letter at the bottom catches my eye. Eagerly snatching it up, I open it and read it through. Twice.

And let the freak-the-fuck out moments begin.

TUESDAY, OCTOBER 16

PLANNING AND PREPARING FOR A
romantic date is a lot of fucking work. No wonder I never did this shit before. Along with Gunner and Emmy Sue, I’ve been on the phone with land owners, caterers, florists, and tour bus companies since I left Dakota yesterday afternoon at the spa, trying to get everything exactly the way I want it for tonight. No less than fifty calls. All of us trying to coordinate the best first date in the history of first dates. ’Cause my girl deserves nothing but the motherfuckin’ best, even if she has been a hardheaded brat for the last few months. She needs to know what this means to me . . . what
she
means to me.

Solid gray tee, my favorite button fly’s, Red Wing boots, and a rubber band to hold back my rebellious, chin-length hair, I double-check my reflection in the bathroom mirror of Gunner and Emmy Sue’s guest suite. I’m satisfied with my appearance, despite all the encumbering medical garb and the fact I really wish I could be doing this with a functioning right arm and hand. Oh well. I can wish in one hand and shit in the other, and we all know which one’s gonna fill up first.

“Levi, the rig’s loaded up and ready to go! Gunner’s waiting for you in the truck!” Emmy shouts at me from downstairs, barely able to contain the excitement in her voice. “Hurry up! You better not be late!”

Stepping out of my temporary bedroom, I grin down at her from the banister before bounding down the stairs. “Geez, woman! I’m ready already. Calm down before you start making
me
nervous.”

She greets me at the bottom landing with a wide, toothy smile and a cautious hug to my left side. “I’m not nervous, silly. Yesterday was the hard part, and she welcomed you with open arms and an open . . .” She smirks mischievously. “Well, anyway, yesterday I was a tiny bit worried that she’d put up a bit of a fight, but today, I’m just eager for you to go and woo her and make her yours forever so we can all be happy couple best friends again.”

“
Woo
her?” I snicker with a sharp shake of my head. “You’re the only person I know that says shit like that, Em.”

“Call it whatever you want—pursue, convince, seduce, fuck into submission—I don’t care,” she puts on her best serious face, “just go take care of business. I don’t plan on putting this much effort into another date of yours until you’re making the big one-knee drop, so make it the best it can possibly fucking be. You both deserve to be happy, and I knew back when we were on the bus that y’all found that in each other. Now, it’s all about not fucking it up.”

Spinning around on her heel, she marches toward the front entrance, stopping right before her hand hits the knob. “Oh, and I expect pictures from at least one of you,” she adds with a sly glance over her shoulder. “And non-X-rated ones preferably.”

I chuckle as she barrels through the doorway, taunting after her, “Hey, I’m not the one who likes to make sex tapes!”

Not surprisingly, she doesn’t react, pretending she didn’t hear me as she goes to kiss Gunner goodbye. I shove my wallet and phone in my back pockets, though I shouldn’t need either of them tonight, and stride out to the dark blue Yukon, climbing into the passenger seat. Emmy Sue stands on the front porch, smiling and waving as we back out of the drive, probably waiting until we’re out of sight to text Dakota that we’re on our way.

Let the fun begin.

I’ve been dying to see her all day. Trying to imagine exactly how perfect her perky tits and narrow waist will look in the yellow riding jersey I had made for her. Wondering if her long blonde hair will hang in loose waves down her back or be pinned up in one of those messy buns, since I warned her we’d be getting dirty. Curious if she’ll be wearing tight-fitting jeans or the ones that rest low on her hip that provide a sneak peek of the top of her thong every time she squats down or bends over. Or better yet, maybe she’ll have on a skirt for easy access.

Fuck.
The image of her bent over in front of me flashes in my head and my dick stirs to life, triggering a quick crotch adjustment as I step up on her welcome mat.
Come on, Levi. You got this shit.
Lifting my fist to the door, I knock twice and wait, anticipation jetting like a thrill ride through me.

The sound of a deadbolt twisting to unlock starts the three-second countdown. One . . . the silver knob turns. Two . . . the door breaks free from the jamb, swinging open almost a full ninety degrees. Three . . . the sight of Dakota standing directly in front of me knocks the breath straight from my lungs and renders me speechless for a couple moments.

The jersey fits her seamlessly, accentuating her ample curves and her tanned arms just like I’d hoped. Knowing the back of it publicly claims she’s mine makes me want to puff my chest out and strut around like the cocky caveman only she can bring out in me. Her hair’s neither up nor down, but instead, it’s secured in pigtails, framing both sides of her beautiful face. My only thought is handlebars, and I’m itching to take a nice, long ride right about now. I was wrong on the jeans assumption too—she’s wearing neither of the styles I’d visualized—but the nothing that she is wearing is oh, so much better.

No jeans. No skirt. Not even any fucking panties. Nothing but her smooth, pink lips barely sticking out from under the yellow hem that’s resting loosely across her hips. Never before have I seen a more magnificent sight than this girl right now. And if she asked me to stay in her apartment with her all night, alternating between rough fuckings and sweet lovings, I’d abandon all the plans I’d made, regardless of the time spent making them. I’m afraid I just discovered my kryptonite.