Total pages in book: 14
Estimated words: 12956 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 65(@200wpm)___ 52(@250wpm)___ 43(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 12956 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 65(@200wpm)___ 52(@250wpm)___ 43(@300wpm)
I was going to focus on my business from now on. Take this gig to the next level. Rocco had generously helped walk me through the process he’d used to grow his SocialAdrenaline content business and viewership, and one of my goals when I returned home was to dive in and get organized. If I couldn’t teach my yoga classes at the resort or film content for my subscribers, I could at least get caught up on the admin and planning stuff so I would be ready to hit the ground running when my leg healed.
When the buzz of the approaching snowmobile interrupted my train of thought, I took a few deep breaths to prepare for the pain of the coming trip down the mountain.
A big burly guy in a red ski patrol parka hustled over to assess my injury. I couldn’t see much of him since he was bundled up for the cold and had reflective-lens sunglasses on, but he was friendly and gentle. Parker seemed to know him and told me I’d be in good hands with him.
I didn’t care. For the first time all week, I didn’t feel the slightest desire to flirt. The guy could have been Gus Kenworthy’s identical twin and it wouldn’t have mattered. All I wanted was to get on with it, find out how bad the damage was, and hopefully get something for the pain that seemed to be getting worse the longer I sat there in the snow.
“My name is Dallas,” the ski patrol guy said, crouching down next to me. His voice was steady and calming, which was probably a requirement in his job. “Can you tell me what happened?”
“Stupidity,” I said, feeling the heat of embarrassment on my face and neck. “I lost control and careened into the snowbank.”
“What hurts?”
Tears leaked out of my eyes. “My knee,” I said, leaning down to gesture to it. “I don’t know if it’s a tendon or—” I stopped when my voice broke. Why was I this upset about a fucked-up knee? It was a common injury, especially on a ski slope.
“Hey, hey,” he said gently. “It’s okay. We’re going to get you taken care of. I’m an EMT. Can you rate your pain on a ten scale for me?”
Thankfully, my answer resulted in enough pain medication to make the bumpy ride behind his snowmobile nothing more than a buzzy blur.
By the time he got me down the mountain, I was feeling no pain and making vague mental notes to send this guy flowers one day.
“I’ve never been to Dallas,” I admitted as he helped transfer me to the ambulance waiting to take me to the hospital.
“Me neither,” he said with a dimpled smile. He’d taken off his sunglasses, and now I could see he had a very handsome face. Cuter than Gus Kenworthy. Maybe cuter than anyone I’d ever seen.
Too bad I’d sworn off men only hours before.
Too bad I still meant it.
“How’d you get the name, then?” I asked. In my hazy state, this information seemed important.
“My grandpa was a Cowboys fan. He died the day before I was born, so my mom named me Dallas.”
“Why not name you after your grandpa?”
He laughed, and I felt like an additional pain pill hit my bloodstream with a whoosh. “His name was Jeremiah. Who the hell names their kid Jeremiah? Dodged a bullet with that one.”
I stared at him for a beat before I realized one of the paramedics was asking me a question. “I’m sorry?” I asked.
“What’s your name, sir?”
I kept my eyes on Dallas as I answered.
“Jeremiah Tilstead.”
2
DALLAS
I didn’t know whether to laugh or start apologizing.
So I did both.
“I’m so fucking sorry,” I blurted on a huff of laughter. “Jesus, I’m so sorry.”
The cutie on the stretcher flushed pink. “Never mind. Doesn’t matter.”
I squeezed his hand. “No, it does. Jeremiah, I’m—”
“Ew!” he said. “Don’t call me that.” Then he blushed even more. “I go by BJ.”
Considering the man had cherry-red lips that I’d already fantasized about inappropriately, I could understand why he had such a nickname. Still, it was unexpected.
“My dad is Jeremiah also,” he hurried to add. “So I’m Baby Jeremiah.”
“BJ,” I said with a nod. “Got it. Is your dad here, by any chance?”
He furrowed his brow in confusion. “Uh, no? He’s back home in Louisiana, presumably. Why?”
One of the paramedics answered before I could. “You’re going to need someone with you at the hospital. At least, they’ll want someone to stay with you when you’re ready to go home.”
BJ glanced between me and the paramedic, who was busy removing his ski helmet to make him more comfortable on the stretcher.
“Boyfriend or girlfriend?” I asked, selfishly curious about whether or not he was taken.
“No. No boyfriend. But I have a friend who said he’d come get me,” he said hesitantly, looking around for the guy.