Taking the Heat

“Do you ski? Bike?”

She shrugged. “I ski, but it’s not really my thing. I like it once I get up on the hill and it’s so quiet. But you have to get through so many crowds and lines to get up to the quiet part. My first love is hiking. I can be alone. Clear my head. It’s peaceful.”

Gabe felt his heart thump dangerously at her words, but mostly it was the faraway expression on her face. “I know you don’t climb. Are you into camping?”

“Not really. My dad isn’t outdoorsy. I never really had anyone to go with.”

“We could go sometime.”

Her cheeks went immediately pink. Her gaze dipped to her plate. “Maybe.”

“It’s a lot like hiking, except you don’t have to go back to the real world within a couple of hours. And we’ve got so many great secluded sites close by. There’s no reason to go to a campground, unless you like a lot of neighbors with generators and RVs. The key is to ask a ranger on your way into a park. They can point you to great flat sites that are near a creek or have a view.”

“It sounds nice,” she said.

“I’ve got a ton of gear. You want to try it? Separate tents, of course.”

Her pink cheeks went red. She set down her fork. “Gabe, I meant it when I said you were sweet. You are. But you don’t have to feel sorry for me. I have great friends. I’m doing okay. You don’t need to take me in. I’ve just never had a real lover, that’s all.”

“I don’t feel sorry for you! Okay, I felt a little sorry for you today, because I knew you’d be hungover and maybe mortified—”

“Maybe,” she scoffed.

“But...can I be honest?” Her flat mouth told him what she thought of that question. “When I met you, I thought you were someone else. Some high-maintenance city girl who’d sneer at a pair of hiking boots unless they were Burberry.”

“Really?” Her eyebrows rose in pleasant surprise. “I passed as a high-maintenance Manhattan girl?”

“Yes.” He gestured toward her plate. “Until you ordered an enchilada platter bigger than mine.”

She growled, “Shut up. I needed it.”

“I know you did. I’m just saying that you’re nothing like I thought you were. You’re funny and smart and down-to-earth. And I like the way you get shy sometimes.”

“Oh.” She was blushing again.

“And you’re beautiful, of course.”

“You don’t have to say that, Gabe.”

He drew his chin in in shock. “I’m not just saying that.”

“I can pull off cute on a good day. That’s it.”

“We’ll have to agree to disagree.”

She nodded, then carefully chewed a bite of enchilada Suiza before setting her fork down again. “I’m not good at graciously accepting compliments. You can add that to your impressions of me.”

“Not like me,” Gabe said. “When you said I was gorgeous, I just accepted that you knew what you were talking about.”

“You’re never going to drop that,” she moaned.

“Never. Will you go out with me?”

She glanced around, her eyes darting from him to the table next to him and then the front door. “Go where?”

“We could go for an evening hike sometime. Or we could go to dinner.” He waited until she met his gaze again. “We could count this.”

She swept another nervous look over the room. “I don’t think we could. I’m wearing flip-flops.”

“I think that still counts. To make it official, we could go do something highbrow afterward. There’s a historical talk at the museum tonight. We might have missed it, though. Still, I bet some of the art galleries are open. We could go nod and murmur at the art.”

She watched him for a long moment, her eyes narrowed, her brow furrowed with thought. She cocked her head a little. Gabe tried to look sincere and patient, even though he felt like squirming. “Or we could get ice cream,” she finally said.

Hiking, enchiladas, ice cream. Maybe she was the perfect girl. Maybe he was in big trouble.

CHAPTER SEVEN

VERONICA WONDERED IF she could die from blushing. She hadn’t been lying when she’d called him beautiful. Or gorgeous. Or sweet. Gabe MacKenzie was a fucking dreamboat and she was on a date with him. An embarrassingly honest date.

They strolled down the boardwalk with their ice-cream cones and every time her shoulder brushed his arm, she blushed. It was dark now, at least. And probably too cold for ice cream, but she didn’t think that was why her nipples were hard.

God.

Maybe he’d been joking about the camping, but the idea intrigued her. What would that be like? To go camping with a hot guy? To be totally secluded in the pitch-black night, surrounded by wolves and bears and all sorts of terrifying things? Separate tents or not, surely she’d end up in his sleeping bag. She shivered at the idea of him touching her. She hardly knew him, but she liked the thought. It was strange, this awareness. She couldn’t remember a time she’d felt like this before.

“I’ve been to sleepaway camp,” she blurted out. “I don’t want you to think I don’t have any experience.”

His cone drifted slowly down from his mouth. “I see. At sex?”

“No! What? I meant camping. Experience at camping!”

“Oh. Because sleepaway camp... I thought... I don’t know.” He grimaced and shook his head.

She thought she would blush again. Or die of embarrassment. But instead she laughed. Hard. “Wow. You’re a pervert.”

“I’m not! I was just thinking of...something else. And you were thinking about camping. And I assumed we were on the same topic. That’s all.”

Did he mean he’d been thinking about having sex with her? That was only fair, really. She’d been thinking about sex with him. After last night, it was the standard she’d set. The giant flashing sign she’d put down between them.

“Fine,” she finally said. “Thinking about sex doesn’t make you a pervert, but you also ordered butter-pecan ice cream. Clearly there’s something wrong with you.”

His face relaxed into a relieved smile. “There’s nothing wrong with butter pecan. Even so, that was only the first scoop. The second is chocolate. Surely that redeems me.”

“Maybe.” She finished her ice-cream cone and crossed her arms against the chill.

“So how did you end up back in Jackson?” he asked.

Veronica thought of all the reasons she’d given other people. That New York was too expensive. That she’d been offered a great opportunity as Dear Veronica. That she’d missed her dad. She sneaked a look at Gabe. He was frowning a little, waiting for her answer. He looked...sincere. And he didn’t love the city, either.

The dark gray mass of the truth was pushing at her chest, squeezing the life out of her. It felt as though she were there again, in the city, in her tiny room in her crappy apartment in her intimidating neighborhood.

“I hated New York,” she said, and it felt good to finally say it out loud.

“Oh,” he said, the word a little dark with shock. “Really? Why? Didn’t you say you’d wanted to live there for your whole life?”

“I did, but that was the New York from movies. The New York my mom and I used to talk about visiting. It was Breakfast at Tiffany’s and You’ve Got Mail and later Sex and the City. That’s not a real place.”

“Sure it is,” he said.

“I thought you weren’t a city boy,” she said, suddenly suspicious.

“I’m not!”

“Well, maybe you don’t remember what it’s like to live there. It felt like...a battle.”

He nodded. “I know it can be a rough place.”

“It wasn’t that, exactly. I knew it would be expensive. I knew it could be dangerous. I thought I had it all planned out, though. I found roommates through an ad on Craigslist. Single women like me. I thought... I don’t know. I’d watched too many movies. I thought we’d be friends, and I’d landed this amazing internship at an iconic paper, and everything I was waiting for was right there in front of me—it was all about to happen, and then...”

She felt very alone for a moment, walking down the street with Gabe. She didn’t know how to explain it. It was as if the city had betrayed her. “My roommates weren’t friends. They kept to themselves. And the quirky neighborhood felt like a gauntlet of yelling men and piles of leaking garbage bags, and there were roaches everywhere. And at my amazing job, I was just a cog in the wheel, and even though I did well, nobody cared if I made it or got spit out. The city was nothing but noise and steam and shadow and millions and millions of strangers.”

He nodded. “I get that.”

“Do you?”

He nudged her with his shoulder. “Of course. It’s too much sometimes even for people who love it.”

He made her feel better. Of course New York wasn’t for everyone. She should have known it wouldn’t be right for her. And of course, there’d been things about it that she’d loved, but they’d been hard to think of at night in her lonely bedroom on her noisy street.

Their steps had slowed as they’d talked, but she and Gabe were still heading toward her place. This morning she’d vowed never to see him again, but now they were on some sort of date, and what did that mean? Did he think she’d invite him to her place? Did she want to?

Tension drew her shoulders tight. She didn’t know what to say. She was going to start babbling again. She could feel it. She was going to start talking about virginity and dating and then tell him he didn’t have to pretend to like her.

Maybe she’d start spouting off statistics. She’d looked them up. That was her job. Even if she felt like a freak, she wasn’t alone. About 4 percent of women were still virgins at her age.

Her lips parted. The words pushed at her throat, wanting out. The awkwardness needed to escape.

Veronica snapped her mouth shut and shoved her hands into the pockets of her hoodie. Her fingers closed around her keys just as she and Gabe turned onto the narrow walk that led to her door.

She dropped the keys immediately, then snatched them off the ground before Gabe could reach down to help.

“Sorry,” she muttered, as if she needed to be sorry for dropping her own keys on her own walkway. Sorry, I was just thinking about sex statistics. The words pushed again at the back of her teeth. Did you know that a large percentage of women don’t experience pain when they lose their virginity? And anyway, I kind of already took care of that part, so you don’t have to worry.

No. She wasn’t going to say it. She wasn’t going to respond to awkwardness by being more awkward. Not with him. Not after last night. She’d used up all her quirky points already. She had to be normal, at least for a little while. She’d try being herself again on the third date. Or the fourth. If they got to that point.

Let him see the real you. Right. Get drunk, spill your deepest secrets, then let him tuck your drunk ass into bed while you weep over his handsomeness. Solid advice.

She shoved the key into her lock and unlocked it with a loud clack.

“Thank you,” she said, turning toward him so she could say goodbye like a normal person. “I had a great time.”

“I’m not going to ask to come in, Veronica. I only tuck girls in on first dates. On second dates I have a strict no-tucking rule.”

She couldn’t help but smile. He looked so serious. “Last night wasn’t a date.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Wow, you’re right. Tonight is our first date. I hope you’re ready for the tucking of your life, then.”

She leaned against her door, her laughter helping her forget what she’d even been so tense about in the first place. “You’re awful, Gabe.”

“Thank you,” he answered. He hadn’t cracked a smile, and now his gaze fell to her lips. “You’re cute, Veronica.”

“Huh,” she breathed, caught between humor and the unbelievable thought that he was about to kiss her.

“Really cute.” He moved slowly closer. “And I like you in flip-flops. Your toes are blue.”

She laughed a little, a huff of breath, and then he kissed her. His lips touched hers for only one soft moment at first, just a careful, tentative touch. Then another kiss, warmer this time, and waiting. She sighed, tipping her face up as his fingers touched her jaw.

Her heart tripped over itself then. The kiss was a world of sensation. The brush of his beard on her chin, the smell of his skin, her pulse pounding in her ears.

He lifted his mouth and looked down at her, watching her eyes as if he was searching for an answer. But he didn’t need to search. She was already breathing too quickly, already stunned and aroused. Both of his hands framed her face this time, and when his mouth touched hers again, she opened for him.

He still tasted sweet from the chocolate, but his mouth was hot against her. So hot. She rubbed her tongue against his, wanting more of that sweet warmth.

His body shifted closer to hers. Veronica let her hands rise. She let them touch his chest. Lightly at first, but as he kissed her more deeply, she moaned against his mouth and spread her fingers over his chest.

God, his tongue was slow against hers. A slow, steady stroke that sent a wave of shivery pleasure through her body. Her nipples went tight. Her fingers pressed harder into his chest. There was barely any give to him at all. He was...hard.

She made a noise in her throat at the thought, some instinctive sound of satisfied surprise.

Gabe slowed the kiss, ended it, lifted his mouth from hers. She wanted to pull him back down. She wanted more.

His teeth flashed in a smile. “I thought it’d be good to see if we had chemistry.”

She stared at his mouth, willing it to come closer again. “And?”

“And if you’re not sure, I should check again.”

“Yes,” she breathed.

“Good idea,” he whispered just before his lips fell to hers.

Their mouths were more urgent this time. Or maybe it was only her quickening the pace, because she slid a hand into the soft waves of his hair and urged him closer.

His hands moved from her shoulders to her back, and Veronica wished he were touching bare skin. She wished he’d slip his hands beneath the hem of her shirt. She wanted to feel the edges of his rough fingers on her naked back, and she wanted—needed—him to feel her heat. God, that would be so good. She pressed even closer to him, and his fingers dug faintly into her back as if he wanted her closer, too.

Triumph fizzed into her veins when he groaned into her mouth. To make a man like this groan. To make him desperate...

But then he pulled away. “Oh,” she breathed on a sigh of disappointment.

He shook his head. “I’ve gotta go before I lose all my willpower.”

“Oh,” she repeated, slightly dazed. Willpower to resist her? “Okay. Wow. You’re way better at that than any of those New York guys.”

His laugh was a little strained as his hands finally slid free of her waist and he stepped back. “I’m pretty damn happy to hear that. I guess that means the chemistry is okay.”

“It’s all right, but we should probably try again soon to be sure.”

“I was thinking the same thing. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” she repeated.

“I get off work at six. Are there any trails we could hit with just an hour or two of daylight?”

“Trails?” she said, aware that her brain wasn’t quite back to working order.

“I thought we could go for a hike.”

She stared at him for a long moment before a sweet happiness filled her up inside. He didn’t want to go to an art show or an avant-garde movie or a noisy bar. He wanted to take her hiking. “That’d be great,” she said. “There’s a trail that starts a few blocks away.”

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She reached behind her and twisted the doorknob before she could say anything weird, then let her body weight swing the door in. She closed and locked it in the same slow state. Her body felt heavy. Pulled down. It made her want to kick off all her clothes and slide into bed. Was that how so many women ended up accidentally sleeping with men they hadn’t meant to? A lazy, languid slide into bed from the sheer weight of arousal?

“Wow,” she breathed. She was going to have sex. Real sex. With him.

Well, she assumed she was. She wanted to. And he seemed...favorably inclined.

Veronica stayed pressed against the door for quite a long time, imagining that mouth on hers again. And then she imagined that mouth moving lower. Down her neck, over her shoulder and then lower to her breasts. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe slowly, but the thought of that slow tongue on her nipples made her pant. And then...

And then.

She tossed her keys on the table and slipped off the flip-flops, smiling stupidly down at her blue toenails. She went to the kitchen to pour a glass of water to take to bed, but she found herself standing in front of the fridge, staring at the notes.

#1—Let people see the real you.

Maybe that had been a good idea, after all. Maybe it had been genius. After all, if you wanted someone to fuck the real you, you had to be visible. Maybe her problem for so long had been that she’d dated guys who’d never known the real her. What was it she’d thought they would like about her, anyway? The wall she’d put up? The clothing she wore like a costume? The fake confidence?

She’d been herself tonight, as much as she could manage right now, anyway, and Gabe had liked it. So maybe...

#2—Ask your friends for help.

Girls’ night was coming up. The same night as her birthday. Maybe she’d feel more mature. Maybe she’d be more experienced. She’d have Lauren and Isabelle alone and she could ask for their advice about Gabe or her dad or her job. And she had days to work up to it.

But first she had a date with Gabe.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Dear Veronica,

I’ve received an amazing job offer that would allow me to move from Wyoming to a big city on the West Coast. I’ve always wanted to live somewhere fast-paced, and even though the budget would be tight, I could swing it. But I haven’t mentioned this offer to anyone else. The problem is my fiancé. He can’t move and he would never want to live in the city. I love him with all my heart, but if I stay here and get married, I’ll never get to follow my other dreams. I’m only twenty-five. Maybe I’m not ready to live in Wyoming for the rest of my life.

—Torn

VERONICA STARED AT the screen. She’d already opened this email three times. And closed it twice.

She hadn’t received many letters this week. It was a slow time of year, but she wondered if the live Dear Veronica readings were cutting into the normal mail she received. Maybe people wanted to save up their questions for the live event. Regardless, she hadn’t yet found another letter that was compelling, sounded true and focused on a dilemma she hadn’t answered already.

But she didn’t want to answer this one.

She considered digging back through the letters she’d received months ago but felt like a worthless coward even thinking about it. This woman needed help, and she needed it quickly. So...

Veronica opened a new text window, copied the letter into it and then stopped with her hands poised over the keyboard.

Unless it was a subject she knew nothing about, she tried to go with her first instinct when answering a letter. Her gut response. Then she’d close the letter, let it sit for a few hours and go over the question and her answer more deliberately later. She’d found that the key to being a good advice writer was recognizing which of her responses were based on personal triggers and then working through it from there. You could never be completely objective or you’d lose all the style and insight people were looking for, but you couldn’t base every answer on “Here’s what I’d do.”

And that was her problem with this letter. She wanted to respond by banging out in all caps, “DON’T GIVE UP YOUR REAL LIFE FOR A FANTASY OF HAPPINESS IN THE BIG CITY, BECAUSE THE BIG CITY IS NOTHING BUT LIES AND LONELINESS.”

Yes, it was her first instinct, but it was maybe a tiny bit too subjective.

She ordered herself not to close the text window, then flexed her fingers and rolled her shoulders. “Okay,” she said. “Ready.” Then she dropped her hands to her lap and let her head fall back until she was staring at the ceiling.

This woman had written in because she had dreams. Veronica knew what that was like. She’d lived for nothing but dreams for so long. Dreams that she could leave this place and find love and success and a spine. She’d wanted to find herself, as if her confidence and strength had been hidden in a scavenger hunt that wound through the dirty, damp streets of Manhattan. How many miles had she walked through the skyscrapers and the parks and the subway stations, looking for things that had never existed?

She’d never been anyone. Just an amorphous, undefined child. Who the hell was she to tell this woman what to do with her life?

Veronica closed the window and dragged the email into her Unanswered Letters folder. The letter behind it was still on the screen, yet another query stained with virtual tears over a cheating spouse. She got them every week. Some from men, some from women. Some were filled with nothing more than tortured suspicions. Some writers knew all the gritty details.

Maybe she should answer this one despite that she’d published another two months before. It was clearly a common problem. Veronica told herself she should be happy she’d never had a partner, because that meant she’d never been cheated on or tormented by the fear that she would be.

But when she thought of Gabe MacKenzie, she wasn’t sure she cared what he ever did with other women, as long as he did it with her, too.

The thought of Gabe broke through her haze of self-hatred. After all, if she’d stayed in New York or even found herself a boyfriend here in Wyoming, she’d never have kissed Gabe. And kissing Gabe had been...priceless.

She smiled stupidly at her useless hands. They might not have much to type today, but they’d been smart enough to touch Gabe’s chest. To explore him a little. She turned her phone over and pulled up her text messages. His was at the top. I can’t wait, it said.

He couldn’t wait. For their second date. An evening hike tonight.

She wasn’t quite sure what to think of that, a hiking date on a Saturday night. Her first impulse had been giddy joy that he wanted to do something she actually enjoyed. But now in the light of day it didn’t seem very...sexy. And she desperately wanted to be sexy for him, but she couldn’t wear a push-up bra or high heels on a hike. Then again, he did seem to like her legs, and they’d be exposed. Who the hell was she trying to impress with her not-quite-B-cup breasts, anyway?

And whether it was sexy or not, a hiking date would be her. The real her. Not the Veronica who’d gone on dates with stockbrokers and salesmen and middle-management bankers in New York. She’d faked her way through those dates just as she’d faked her way through everything. She’d gone to the same kinds of restaurants her dad liked instead of the homey, comforting dives she really loved. She’d gone to art shows instead of Broadway musicals, because corporate ladder–climbing twentysomething men couldn’t schmooze at the theater. And she’d worn the highest heels she could stand, along with the nicest secondhand outfits she’d been able to assemble.

Looking back, she had no idea what those men were supposed to have liked about her, anyway. The layers of falseness she’d painted over her less-than-adequate self?

But with Gabe...with Gabe she’d laid it all out on their second meeting. And he was still around. And he was taking her hiking.

The thought made her smile, but the smile vanished as soon as she looked back at her computer. Hot date or not, she still had no idea what to tell Torn.

She gave up on work and shut her laptop. The stupid column wasn’t due until Monday evening, anyway. Maybe she’d have a different perspective by then. Maybe she’d be thoroughly fucked and altogether debauched and she’d tell Torn to run after her dreams as fast as she could.

Her phone buzzed and she snatched it up, pulse already speeding. But it wasn’t Gabe; it was her father. That was a real heart-rate killer.

Charity auction Monday 8:00 p.m.

Oh, Christ, not another one. Ever since she’d returned to town, her dad had treated her like an extension of the family name, requiring her to make appearances, but this was his first request since ski season had ended. She didn’t know how to say no to him. She never had.

A second text appeared with the name of the gallery.

She checked her calendar in vain. There was nothing on it. Okay, she texted back. See you then.

That was a good enough reason to start getting ready for the hike. She showered quickly, then styled her hair and put on the bare minimum of makeup. Despite Gabe’s kind words, she wasn’t going barefaced when she could wear a little mascara and lip stain. She didn’t come by makeup skills naturally, but she was no idiot. Men could claim they liked the no-makeup look, but there was natural and then there was natural.

She grinned as she chose a pair of exercise shorts that covered only the top two inches of her thighs. If he liked her legs, he’d get her legs.

She didn’t need sunscreen, as they’d catch only the last ninety minutes of light, but that meant she couldn’t pick a cute tank top, either. She settled on a long-sleeved shirt that at least fit tightly across the chest. After packing a water bottle, a flashlight and a hoodie into a light backpack, she was ready.

He knocked precisely at six-thirty, which was a nice surprise. She hadn’t expected punctuality from a guy who was so laid-back. Cerebral thoughts about how considerate he was fled when she opened the door. He was wearing cargo shorts and a faded purple T-shirt and lots of lean muscle. Lots of it.

“Hi,” she said to his biceps. She looked up just in time to see his gaze sweep down her body, too.

“Ready?” he asked, eyebrow raised in a way that made his smile look wicked. He’d noticed her legs.

Yeah, she was so ready.

She locked up and led him down the street toward the hills. “Are you sure you’ve never hiked this? It’s pretty basic and crazy busy in the summer, but the views are great.”

“Never. When I’ve been in town before, all my hiking was heading in and out of climbing areas. I’m happy you know a trail we can hit with such a short amount of time. If we had to drive to a trailhead, the sun would be setting before we could start.”

“Or we could’ve just hiked over to the brewery,” she suggested.

“We can work our way around later.”

She felt him watching her and glanced over. “What?”

“You look pretty today, Dear Veronica.”

She didn’t even try to fight the blushing anymore. She was just so aware of him. And she was crushing on him so damn hard. “You look nice, too. In fact, no one should look that good in a T-shirt. It’s distracting.”

He brushed a hand over his chest as if unsure how to respond. The hair on his forearm glinted in the sunlight. She wanted to pet it. She managed not to say that out loud, but she thought it really, really hard.

They turned left onto a street that ended at the base of the foothills. They were on the trail and gaining elevation ten minutes after leaving her place.

“Since I’m a librarian,” he said from behind her, “you have to tell me your favorite books. It’s required. And if you don’t read, you’d better lie about it.”

“I read,” she said, noticing that he wasn’t even breathing hard. She kept her breath as even as she could. “A lot of nonfiction, actually. But my bachelor’s degree is in English. Maybe I’ve read more books than you have.”

He chuckled. “Your favorites?”

“I hate this question. How am I supposed to choose? To Kill a Mockingbird, obviously—everyone loves that. Anything by Margaret Atwood. I adore narrative nonfiction like In the Heart of the Sea. I deal with a lot of relationship issues in my work, so I love romance. I hope you’re not a book snob.”

“No way. I’ve read romance.”

She turned to shoot him a doubtful look. “Really?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s exactly my cup of tea, but I love some of the sci-fi romance. I mean, it’s sci-fi with good sex. What’s not to love?”

“Excellent point.” She started up the trail again. “What else do you read?”

“Everything. Horror, thrillers, science fiction, a little fantasy. I read the big award winners every year, of course. That’s part of the job.”

“And your favorites?” She heard him stop and turned around to see why.

He was standing with his hands on his hips, looking back the way they’d come. “Dune. The Sheltering Sky. 1984. And Gone with the Wind.”

“Gone with the Wind?”

He turned to her with a smile that was only slightly chagrined. “It was the first really big book I read. I got it from the library when I was thirteen and had to renew it three times to finish it. I loved it like crazy. I haven’t reread it, though. I’m pretty sure it won’t live up to my memory. I’ve learned a lot since then about writing and storytelling, not to mention the brutality of actual history.”

“I know what you mean. I feel that way about Pride and Prejudice. I loved it so much the first time—I don’t want to change anything about the experience. What if it’s not as good?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding, “that’s exactly it. But you’re probably safe with Pride and Prejudice.”

Conscious of the fact that she was just standing there, smiling at him, Veronica let her gaze drift to the view he’d been admiring a moment before. Jackson was already a couple hundred feet below them, spreading out toward the open space of the Elk Refuge beyond. The Tetons loomed above everything in the distance.

“Come on,” she said. “The view’s a lot better farther up.”

“It’s pretty nice from here.”

“Are you talking about my ass?” she teased, then realized immediately that she’d relaxed and said something weird. She barely knew this guy and now they had her ass hanging between them for the rest of the hike, both literally and figuratively.