I’m about ten steps from my truck when I hear a car door shut—then I see her. I almost stop walking towards my truck and debate turning towards her car. It’s been a minute since I had a woman in my bed and she looks damn good. This woman has to be early to mid-20s and is leaning against her car, bending one leg up onto the bumper, laughing into her phone and thanking someone on the other end.

Her jean shorts hug every curve of her thighs. Her too tight white t-shirt is complementing the darkness of her jean shorts and is hugging her in all the right places. She has her hair twisted up but it’s falling loose as she throws her head back laughing. She’s too damn bright and chipper for this sweltering midday heat.

My footsteps halt and my reaction is immediate. Sharp. Unwanted. She’s hot. But I don’t do distractions. My priority is the team and right now, my field.

I look away, shoving the thought down. She’s probably just some tourist who will inevitably have a heatstroke on a trail or something stupid. She is not worth my time and frankly, she probably is too young and naive for me to be entertaining.

I am grumbling to myself as I climb in my truck. I slam the door shut with a loud thud that catches the woman's attention. I turn it on, the engine roaring, and hit play on the screen. I tear out of the parking lot with my arm hanging out of the window, feeling extra frustrated as the chorus to What Was I Thinkin’ by Dierks Bentley blares through the speakers.