I grunted as we hit a bump in the road. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-eight?”
Okay, so old enough to be both stupid and capable; good, good.
“Glad to see you’re so confident in your age,” I muttered with a shake of my head, gripping the door when the truck gave another lurch. “Hopefully, you’re a little more confident in the truck.”
“She’ll get us through,” he assured me, patting the dashboard with an affectionate grin. “She’s good and ready.”
What was it about my gender and affection for their vehicles? It would never make sense to me. Then again, I’d watched them do the same thing with their weapons. My mother had always insisted there was something inherently wrong with men by virtue of the ‘stunted’ y chromosome rather than the ‘complete’ x one. Attempts to point out that was not how genetics worked had landed on deaf ears, however, so I was left to wonder if it was because men were just weird.
Still, over the next twenty minutes, the truck did, in fact, get us to our destination without further issue. The weather had eased, if only slightly. The rain was still coming down in a thick sheet that made it impossible to see for more than a few yards,and the wind was still strong. At least it no longer felt like Mother Nature had taken issue with us personally, and I could grab my bags out of the back of the truck and follow the driver.
Only to be met with a door that my eager guide bumped with his shoulder and grunted; the door to not move. “Aww, I hate this door.”
“Is it locked?” I asked in confusion, because what the hell would be out here that they felt the need to lock the door? The place was in the middle of nowhere, for God’s sake, who could they possibly be trying to keep out?
“Bolted,” he grunted, giving it a harder bump, then sighed. “I keep telling them they need to replace the stupid thing, but noooo, it’s better to bolt the door so it doesn’t fly open during storms instead of getting a new one.”
“Budgeting problems?”
“That, or Xander is a penny-pinching asshole, and…uh, don’t tell him I said that.”
“Good thing I don’t even know your name,” I said, peering above the door and raising a brow. I pointed toward the window, which, absurdly, was partially open. “That’s open. Unless there’s another way in.”
“It would take us forever to get there,” he grunted, squinting and looking down at himself. “Hmm, never tried that before, but it's probably a bad idea.”
I looked him over and snorted, realizing what his problem was. “You do have linebacker shoulders.”
“You don’t, though,” he said with a grin. “No offense.”
“None taken,” I said with a sigh. It was probably a lot smarter to find another entrance, but if my escort didn’t want to go traipsing through the storm, then I probably didn’t either. “I don’t feel like hopping around, so you’ll have to boost me.”
“Sure,” he said, amused by the idea and getting into position. Only to look surprised when I positioned myself to go up. “You’re going in head first?”
“As opposed to?”
“I mean, if you go through the window like that, you’re gonna be diving toward the floor.”
“Don’t worry about me.”
“I’d say your funeral, but if our stitcher ends up getting a concussion on the first day, Xander will bust at least one of my kneecaps.”
I rolled my eyes. “Then let’s hope my concussion isn’t too bad so I still have the brain cells left to deal with your kneecap.”
“You sure know how to make someone feel confident,” he said sarcastically, but to his credit, when I stepped forward, putting my foot in his hands and lurching upward, he lifted me without hesitation.
Grabbing the top of the window, I looked down and saw it was positioned over concrete steps that led up into the building and down as well. It would hurt like hell if I screwed up and landed on my face, but I gripped the top of the frame and twisted so my back was to the window. My grip was steady and held as I pulled myself through with a grunt.
It wasn’t exactly a maneuver I was used to pulling off, but I held myself aloft as I pulled my legs through with me, my heels bumping the frame. Now I was inside, I lowered myself down and released my hold so my feet landed on a threadbare rug that looked like it had once been patterned with a vase of flowers. Snorting at the strangely homey touch, I grabbed the bar and, stepping back, opened the door.
“Jake,” he proclaimed as he grinned.
“Jake?”
“My name, you said you didn’t know my name…it’s Jake.”
“Good to meet you, Jake,” I said with a snort. “My bags?”