“Well damn,” I whisper when I come across a stand of T-shirts with funny sayings. But not just funny sayings—THE perfect shirt to wear for my travel companion.

Life is short and so is your penis.

But … it’s ten dollars. Food? Or revenge?

It’s a no-brainer. I exchange my first choice of food items for five ninety-nine cent pouches of Pasta O’s with tomato sauce. The tax on the shirt leaves me with less than five dollars left to my name. I might have to pawn off something to make it back to L.A. without starving.

Maybe Swarley?

I inwardly giggle.

Jake frowns at my small bag when he loads his expensive produce onto the conveyor belt. I smile. Yeah, it’s pretty shitty food, but so worth it.

“Did you get some tea tree oil for your lice?” He stares at my hair after paying for his groceries.

“Nope.” I fish out my new shirt and hold out my bag for him to hold.

Of course he can’t just take it. He has to scowl at me like holding it is the most inconvenient thing he has ever had to do. After he takes it, I head out the door and slip on my new shirt, whipping around to face him while walking backward as he walks forward, inspecting my shirt.

After he reads it, his gaze flits to meet mine. I try to keep my smugness to a minimum like, Yeah, it’s an awesome shirt because I’m awesome like that, no big deal. Unfortunately, I suck at subtle.

Jake? He’s a master at masking his emotions—the opposite of an open book. A closed book, with no cover and no blurb.

“I noticed those shorts of yours are a bit loose around the waist.”

Taking quicker steps backward to keep him from trampling me, I glance down at my shorts. They’re a bit loose, but that’s not a surprise given my recent fasting.

“Yeah, so?” I glance up.

He pins me with a hard, expectant stare.

Shit.

“When’s the last time you mooned someone, Avery?”

“Jake.” I shake my head.

One side of his mouth curls a fraction as his pace picks up.

“No.” I hold out my finger.

“Yes.” He reaches for me.

“Jake, no!” I turn and run.

Where? Well, that’s just it. I have nowhere to go but in circles around the parking lot. But he is not pulling down my shorts in the parking lot of a grocery store.

His steps gain on me.

“Help!”

“Shh …” He laughs just behind me.

“Stop. Don’t! I’m going to fall in these heels!”

“Shh …” Jake’s hand snags the back of my shorts.

My fingers clench the waist of them as he pulls me to a stop and drags me back to the truck, wedging them up my ass in the process.

“Jake—”