He watched her shimmy as she made her way under the little collection of twigs she deemed shelter, and suddenly he knew he was a damn glutton for punishment. Sure, he wasn’t poor white trash anymore. He was a successful guy that handled himself. But that didn’t change what he was deep down–blue collar at best. And the town knew it, just like he did. Not that he had a problem with that. It was when the women wanted a ride on the wild side from the guy on the wrong side that it got old.
He was the tempting edge of dangerous that women wanted to use to shock their mamas.
And Dex played his part well. Too well. To the point that he’d gotten caught up once and actually thought a woman wanted more of him. But he’d quickly found out the score. She was better than him, and she had no problem pointing that out to anyone at any time. But he’d loved her anyway. Stupidly. Because she’d ripped his heart out and stomped on it with those expensive stilettos she always wore.
That was how he’d chosen his life as it was now. He performed boot camps for the wealthy and performed in bed for the rich women. He provided a service, they took said service, then said good-bye with no strings attached. He’d never fit in to that kind of world anyway. The kind of world Michelle was clearly from. And that was fine with him. He’d learned his lesson the hard way. Getting mixed up with someone too rich for your blood only left you emotionally bankrupt.
“I thought you said you brought all your survival necessities in that purse of yours?” he asked when Michelle huffed again, trying to reinforce her structure.
Did she…did she just take gum out of her mouth and stick it on the branch?
Yep, she had.
“I have everything I need right here,” she replied and did a quick inventory of her bag. She was mumbling, but Dex was pretty sure he heard the words “moisturizer” and “vitamins.”
“Do you have water?” he asked.
“No,” she said softly.
“Food?”
“I have a gluten-free granola bar.”
Oh boy.
“And your shelter is…”
“Sorry, I don’t carry around a tarp on my person like you do,” she snapped.
He almost laughed. Even if she wasn’t clearly out of her element, of course, she wasn’t as prepared as a pro like himself. He was the best because he’d been trained by the best. He always had the essentials in his pack. Food, water, shelter. He could make fire on his own, but matches helped—why make things harder?—so he had those, too.
Just then, Michelle’s “shelter” caught a small gust of wind and toppled into a pile of sticks to the ground.
She stood and looked down at what had taken her an hour to build. It didn’t take a pro to see it would never work as a shelter. Not in a million years.
Dex hustled up to her side. Shit, she was going to cry. He could see the water start to line those pretty blue eyes.
“I can’t do it,” she said softly. “I tried. Thought I could and…”
“You can,” he said and placed his hand on her shoulder. “You’ve done a great job.”
She scoffed and looked up at him beneath thick lashes. “Yeah, right.”
She glanced at his shelter over his shoulder and shook her head.
“I’m failing,” she said so softly that Dex almost missed it. “Looks like I’m not very adventurous. What else is new?”
His heart sank.
The deflated tone in her voice and the defeat in her eyes tugged on Dex’s chest. He’d frequently had to step in to keep some rich girl from starving or freezing to death, but this was the first one who’d shown him an emotional vulnerability. He almost didn’t know what to do, but he’d be damned if he let her wither from crumbling self-esteem. Not on his watch.
“Why don’t you come over to my place?” he asked. “Sit by the fire and have a drink.”
&
nbsp; She eyed him suspiciously, but when another gust of wind came and her teeth chattered, he didn’t wait for her answer, just grabbed her hand and tugged her into his makeshift tent.
He sat her close by the fire, then got out his flask of rum and handed it to her.