On The Rocks

After he pokes around a minute, he climbs into my truck and tries to start it. I hear the faint clicking noise that I had heard before, but nothing else.

When he gets back out, he grabs my elbow and starts leading me back to his Jeep. “Your battery’s dead.”

Pulling my arm away, I stop, and he turns to look at me. “Thanks. But I’ll just call a tow truck.”

“Don’t be stupid,” he says, and grabs my elbow again, pushing me once more toward his Jeep. “I can take you to buy a battery and install it faster than you can even get a tow truck out here.”

I start to argue but the minute my mouth opens, my teeth start chattering so hard I’m afraid I might end up making an emergency visit to Dr. Kevin Zulekis to fix the cracks in my molars. I capitulate and gratefully step up into the passenger seat while he holds the door open for me.

When Hunter gets in the driver’s seat, he turns the ignition and immediately cranks up the heat. “You’re going to be lucky you don’t get pneumonia,” he admonishes.

I want to answer him with a smart-ass response, just so he knows that I’m still in uber-bitch mode, but my teeth are clacking violently and I can’t even get words out of my mouth.

Hunter pulls out onto the roadway, but it’s slow driving. He’s silent, but that’s fine by me. I lean forward and try to catch as much of the hot air that’s blowing out of his vents as possible. I figure about some time mid-summer, I’ll finally get warm again.

When Hunter turns off the main road, I glance over to ask him where he’s going. He anticipates my question though and says, “I’m taking you to my house to get you dried off. It’s closer than yours, and I don’t want you getting sick and dying on me before you finish the remodel.”

I start to argue with him but another round of shivers racks my body, and it would just take too much effort. Within minutes, we’ve arrived at his oceanfront cottage and I look up at it in surprise. It’s a classic stilt home with light gray shingles and a wraparound porch. I’m surprised because it’s actually quite small. I just assumed Hunter would buy something big and ostentatious, because I know he has money practically seeping out of his pores. Yeah, being a professional surfer might seem like a lot of fun and games, but with the hard work and dedication came big rewards. Between his professional sponsorships and prize monies of upward of four-hundred thousand per first place finish, Hunter had the cash to throw around. At least, that’s what Casey told me.

He helps me out of the Jeep and leads me in through the front door, where I bend over and kick off my muddy boots. Hunter does the same, although he does nothing more than step out of his flip-flops, and then he swings me up in his arms and carries me up a flight of stairs that are just off the foyer. I can’t even think to protest before he’s depositing me inside a bathroom and ordering me to get in the shower.

“Throw out your wet clothes, and I’ll put them in the dryer. I’ll bring you something to wear.”

Then he turns around and heads back down the stairs.

I stand there just a few seconds, debating what to do. Between the heater in the car and the dryness of his house, I’m feeling marginally better and part of me just wants to flee. But the other part… the one that still has a tiny shiver running through me every now and then, glances longingly at the shower and before you know it, I’m stripped bare and hopping under the spray.

Several minutes of hot water pours down on me before my muscles start to loosen, and my brain seems to start functioning again. I formulate my game plan, which is to get back in my clothes, be damned if they’re still wet, and hightail it out of here.

The door to the bathroom opens up, and I peek outside the shower curtain. Hunter is in the bathroom, bending over to pick up my clothes. When he stands, he sees me watching and gives me a smarmy grin. “I brought you my robe to wear until your clothes are dry. Come down when you’re done. I’m making some hot tea.”