I could have stayed in Portland. But I didn’t want them to have this adventure without me.
I wasn’t ready to say good-bye to my best friends forever, and this seemed like the best—the only—way to keep us together.
Which might have worked a bit better if we’d asked Monique where exactly we’d all be living in Alaska, before we signed on the dotted line.
Turns out Alaska is freaking huge. And Everly and Amelia are really far from me.
And I’m here, starting this adventure all alone.
For the first time in my life I don’t have a boyfriend or a boy-toy or a BFF to take the edge off.
Now I’m flying solo.
And my husband-to-be is here to pick me up and take me home. I just hope, whoever this man is, that he’ll be taller than me, that he’ll have a massive cock—because yes, I like to fuck often and well—and that he likes what he sees.
The last thing I need is a man who has no physical attraction to me. Or worse, a man who isn’t ready to have fun. I may be signing up to be someone’s wife, but I sure hope that it involves sleeping together. Like, tonight. Or even this afternoon.
I’ve been in a dry spell, and am beyond ready to remedy that.
A man in camo overalls and work boots steps out of the truck.
I swallow. Oh, my God. Is this my husband?
“You’re the girl I’m looking for,” he says, taking two long strides toward me. He’s shorter than me, has a potbelly and a trucker cap. “I’m Dirk. And I’m here for you—a girl in a blue scarf, coming in on this plane.”
“Dirk?” I sputter as he sticks out his hand for me to shake. It’s clammy.
“Yes, ma’am. And I’m here to take you home.”
“Oh. Right. Um.” I blink back tears. How freaking superficial am I? A lot, apparently. Monique mentioned sexy and rugged and strong ... and this man could be my father.
Which, ew. Why am I talking about Dirk as my father when he’s meant to be my ... husband.
I can’t speak straight, or even walk straight. Maybe because I wore freaking heels to the backwoods of Alaska. Looking down at myself in my wedges, skinny jeans, and flowing lace blouse, I realize I’m more appropriately dressed for Coachella than the front seat of Dirk’s pick-up truck.
I let him guide me to the vehicle, and I get in, barely registering that he threw my luggage in the truck’s bed, until we are barreling down the freeway.
I am mostly focused on how the hell do I get out of this situation. Which might be difficult if he’s an axe murderer, considering he could kill me and literally no one would ever know.
“The flight go okay?” Dirk asks, turning on a loud, staticky radio.
“It was fine.” I roll down the window, trying to breathe. Gusts of warm mountain air spring my eyes open—even wider than they were when I first saw Dirk. I gulp the oxygen greedily, basically trying breathe. And think of anything besides the fact that my feet are crinkling against empty packages of GMO-riddled Doritos and empty cans of high fructose soda.
This cannot be my life.
What was I thinking? Some hottie mountain man was going to whisk me away in a make-believe life with a happily ever after? I don’t even want a happily ever after. I want an adventure. A story to tell.
A story I want to tell.
But this?
“Never been in the lower forty-eight myself.”
I eke out an “Oh,” but can’t manage any more. I’m not a crier ... but right now? This is too much.
I stifle a sob, before rooting in my hemp purse for a cloth napkin. I wipe my eyes, keeping my face turned toward the window, and try to compose myself.
It’s impossible.
“You okay, darling?” Dirk asks. “Don’t you fret. Everything is going to be okay. Must say, I’m a little surprised. You’re so pretty. Can’t say I was expecting you.”
I turn my head slowly, hoping against some bizarre hope that I blinked too quickly when I first saw Dirk, and that maybe ... maybe I hadn’t given him a chance.
Nope. He has a long gray hair poking out from his right nostril.
My shoulders fold inward. I’m wigging out as he drives me farther into the woods, off the main road. This is the end of my life. I am going into the deep, dark forest and never coming back out.
And no, Dirk doesn’t look like a serial killer—but he also cannot be the man I marry.
I need to get hold of Monique and get the hell out of this.
I look at my phone. No bars. No 4G. No nothing.
“Sorry, sweetie, no service here. Back at the landing strip you flew in, now, they have some service. And back in town, at the roadhouse cafe, the gas station, and the outdoor store, they have service.”
“Can we go back there?” I ask. “I need to make a call. It’s urgent.”