His eyebrows ticked up beneath his hat, and his smile didn’t waver, if anything it seemed to deepen.
“I mean it. And I’ve met a lot of very capable ones. I hope you’ve put flirting on your résumé, and if you need a reference please let me know, because as much as it’s possible to love something about a near stranger, I love this about you.”
He continued to study me for a silent moment, during which the urge to touch him intensified to something like an itch. He was so close, yet all I could think was that he wasn’t close enough. But that was probably the point.
Well played, Ranger Jethro. Well played.
And his eyes. Don’t get me started on his eyes. Just . . . don’t. I can’t even with this guy. So. Gorgeous. They held an invitation as well, a twinkly, heated, mesmerizing invitation. And I wanted to RSVP so hard.
Both breaking and heightening the wonderfully agonizing tension, Jethro finally said, “Coming from you, that is a compliment.”
His eyes swept over my face, pausing on my mouth.
Oh, sigh.
Too bad I was late for work. Also too bad I’d promised Hank I would stay away from Ranger Jethro. At the time I hadn’t thought I’d encounter him again, so my promise hadn’t felt like a sacrifice. Hank had been overreacting, succumbing to prissy hysteria. Clearly, the ranger wasn’t a delicate flower. He was self-possessed and capable.
And I was not a man-eater.
I was more of a man-sampler.
Regardless, yielding to the more responsible facets of my personality, I gathered a large inhale and glanced at my watch. Yes, I wear a watch. I hate keeping track of time on my cell phone, mostly because it distracts me. I see the texts and notifications and feel like I must respond. Whereas my watch makes no demands.
It’s like, here is the time and nothing else. That’s it. I love it. It’s great.
“I hate to press the pause button on this epic awesomeness,” I motioned with my hand to his entire person, “but would it be possible—do you have the time—to help me get unlost this morning? I was supposed to be someplace by five thirty and it’s almost seven.”
He smirked at my hand movement. Of course he did. No pretentiousness or shocked indignation from this guy, or irritation at my quick subject change. Just quiet acceptance and confidence. He was such an . . . adult.
Jethro rocked back on his heels, pulling his phone from his back pocket and tapping out a message. “Sure, no problem. I have time, just need to call my boss.”
I recalled from my gossip fest with Hank last week that Jethro’s boss was Drew, a federal game warden, engaged to Jethro’s sister, and had beaten the crap out of Jethro a few years ago.
I said nothing of my knowledge, but inspected the ranger as he made his call.
Okay fine. I stared at him.
I STARED AT RANGER JETHRO. Are you happy now?
You would stare at him, too. He had long eyelashes for a guy. And his beard was fantastic. And it framed a really nice mouth.
Plus, I felt like I knew him. Probably because Hank had given me the man’s entire life story. And yet, this guy didn’t even know my real name. This was a complete role reversal. Usually people, strangers, felt they knew me. They followed my life, had seen pictures of me from my quinceañera, and had real opinions about the dress I’d worn. Opinions they wanted to discuss, and did discuss on message boards all over the glorious Internet.
I’m serious. Check out #SiennaQuinceañera. It still trends on Twitter every once in a while. You will be horrified and amused.
But back to sexy Jethro.
Now I was the stranger.
It was nice to be the stranger.
And yet, the fact Jethro had no idea I’d been acquainted with his backstory didn’t sit well. It felt more deceptive than not sharing my real name. Knowledge of his history colored my thoughts and reactions to his behavior, and he had no idea he was being viewed through my gossipy lens.
“Drew? It’s Jet. I’ll be late. See you later,” he said then ended the call. Either he didn’t wait for a response or he was leaving a voicemail.
“Where are you headed?” he asked, not glancing up from his phone. He must’ve felt my eyes on him—because I was staring—but he didn’t seem at all fazed by it.
“Um, Cades Cove.”
His gaze shot to mine. “Cades Cove?”
“Yes. And I’m running terribly late.”
“Are you, uh,” he conducted another pass of my features, dawning realization making his eyes grow just a smidge wider, “you’re an actress.”
Aaaggrrrraaahh . . . boo.
He knew about the movie. It made sense, what with him being a wildlife ranger at the national park where we were filming. But I didn’t like the way he’d said that, like being an actress made everything I’d said or done up to this point suspect, or less sincere.