“Right. You prefer the easy ones who pretend to be progressive by going Dutch, and then they are all too eager to fall in line with the hotshot-groupie stereotype by the end of the night in hopes that they’ll somehow hook you with their impressive blow jobs.”
Taylor choked, stopping just short of where I sat, and he leaned his back against the bar. “You’ve got me all figured out, don’t you, Ivy League?”
“Pardon?”
“Were you a psych student? Are you trying to maybe shake me up a bit by analyzing my violent temper and then throwing in a few Freud quotes for good measure? Trying to make me feel inferior with your academic prowess? Let me guess. You went to Brown? Yale? Big fucking deal. I might not have a graduate’s degree, but I went to college. You don’t scare me.”
“Dartmouth. And community college doesn’t count.”
“I wholeheartedly disagree. I have a bachelor’s in business and a master’s in women’s studies.”
“That’s insulting. You haven’t been within a hundred yards of a women’s studies course.”
“That’s just not true.”
I blew my bangs away from my face, exasperated. “Women’s studies?”
He didn’t flinch.
“Why?” I seethed.
“Because it’s relevant.”
My lips parted, but I snapped my mouth shut again. He was serious.
“Okay, I was kidding about the master’s, but I have taken a couple of courses geared toward women’s studies. I’ve found the reading material is on the right side of history.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“I might be a civil servant type, but I’m educated. I went to Eastern State University in Illinois, and it’s a damn good school for its size.”
“Wait. Did you say Illinois?” I swallowed away the sudden tightness in my throat.
“Yes, and you’re right. I also have a doctorate in bullshit, and I saw you coming a mile away.”
“Where is Eastern State University from the town of Eakins?” I asked.
Taylor grimaced, unsure about where I was going with my line of questioning. “ESU is in Eakins. Why do you ask?”
My heart sped up, booming so hard against my chest that my head began to throb. Breathing was no longer on autopilot. I sucked in air and then blew it out, trying to remain calm. “So, do you go back there very often? Reunions maybe?”
“I’m from there, so I go back all the time. You didn’t answer my question.”
By his expression, I could tell that he knew something was up. The entire tone of our conversation—along with my attitude—had changed.
I watched him watching me. I tried to keep my face smooth and the truth from reflecting in my eyes.
All the cash in my shoebox upstairs was to pay for a plane ticket to Chicago, a rental car, and a hotel room in Eakins, Illinois. It couldn’t just be a coincidence that this guy had breezed into my café and taken an interest in me.
“Just curious.”
His shoulders relaxed, but a spark still smoldered in his eyes. “I’ll tell you all about it. Let’s go.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you tonight,” I said. “You’re trying too hard. You could be a serial killer for all I know.”
“The Forest Service doesn’t employ serial killers.”
“How do I know you really even work for them?”
Taylor sighed, reached into his back pocket, and produced his wallet. He picked out his driver’s license and Alpine Hotshot Crew ID. “Is that good enough?” he asked.
I tried not to take the cards too quickly or look too interested before glancing over his ID card and then his license. His driver’s license was Illinois issued. He really was from Eakins.
“You never changed your license over?”
“It expires next month. I’ll get a Colorado one then. My boss has been on me about it, too.”
I held my breath as I poured over his address. He was telling the truth.
“Holy shit,” I whispered.
His address was on North Birch. I held out the cards, slowly returning them.
“What?” he asked, taking them from my fingers.
“Your driver’s license picture is atrocious. You look as bad as a hatful of assholes.”
Taylor laughed. “Whatever. I’m a fucking ace.”
I clicked my tongue. “Whoever told you that needs to get out more.”
His eyebrows pulled together, and he tucked his chin. “You’re either a liar or a lesbian. Which is it?”
Taylor was my way to Eakins. Quelling the urge to scream, laugh, cry, or jump up and down felt like holding on to a wild animal covered in grease.
I cleared my throat. “I need to lock up.”
“Okay. I’ll wait for you outside.”
I had to play it just right. Taylor was only chasing me because I was running. I couldn’t appear too eager.
I sighed. “You’re not just going to go away, are you?”
One corner of his mouth curled up, a dimple sinking into his left cheek.
Taylor was unquestionably attractive. The butterflies I felt in my stomach when he looked at me were undeniable, and I wanted to hate the way I felt, even more than I wanted to hate men. His delicious full lips, a needless decoration for his already perfect features, only added to how ridiculously good-looking he was. The symmetry of his face was flawless. His chin and jaw had just the right amount of stubble—not clean-shaven and not yet the beginning of a beard. His warm chocolate eyes were intermittently hidden behind a thick line of lashes. Taylor had all the makings of an underwear model, and he knew it.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? You like watching me assess your looks to decide if I’m going to let that overshadow the fact that you’re a cunt rag.”
“I’m not that bad,” he said, trying to suppress the odd amusement the words brought him.
“What is the name of the last girl you slept with? Just the first name.”
He mulled over my question, and then his shoulders sagged. “Okay, I’m kind of a cunt rag.”
I glanced down at his arms. They were both covered in neo-traditionalist tattoos. Bright colors and thick black lines displayed an eight ball, a fanned-out hand of aces and eights, a dragon, a skull, and a woman’s name.
“I’ll go away, but I don’t want to.” He glanced up at me from under his brow, turning his charm on full throttle.