“There are at least four species of venomous snakes in the Ozarks. They’re most active midmorning and late afternoon. Maybe that’s when you should take your hikes while Swarley and I stay in the truck. Please leave the keys, in case you don’t make it back. Do you have family I can contact when you die?”

Jake responds with a twisted face. I return a toothy smile.

My gaze shifts to the gravel road that goes to our campsite. I inspect my nails. They are a disaster. I am a disaster. This torture needs to stop.

Jake

There are good Samaritans and there are saints.

I am a saint.

The god of patience. The greatest man who ever lived.

A couple weeks ago I would have settled for the simple hard-working, nice-guy label. A couple weeks ago Avery Montgomery, Diva Bitch, wasn’t on my radar. Hell, she wasn’t even in the same state.

“I think I’m getting jungle rot.” She slips off her Barbie shoes and rubs her toes.

“Jungle rot?” I shoot her a quick glance, getting out of the truck and taking a deep inhale of mountain air as Swarley jumps out behind me.

Diva Bitch hasn’t taken a single deep breath over the course of our journey. However, she hasn’t missed one opportunity to whine about the scuff marks on her toe-mangling shoes or the damage to her hair from the hard water at the campgrounds and the wind.

“Haven’t you watched G.I. Jane?” She frowns at my lack of engagement while opening her door.

I chuckle, fighting to keep my sense of humor. If I lose it—she’s a dead diva bitch. I’ve been out of the ring for a few years, but I’m certain I could end the misery—my misery—with one quick move.

“Jake …” She whines again. It’s too much to handle.

“It’s a fucking blister, you materialistic, chronically pessimistic, vain, grouchy, dog-hating, bit—” Okay, I may have already lost my sense of humor. My best guesstimate … it scattered in the wind a few miles back when Avery threw her tantrum over me rolling down the windows, adding even more irreparable damage to her hair.

“Bitch? Were you about to call me a bitch?”

She’s not stupid. I get it. Flaunting her looks instead of her intelligence has probably suited her needs over the years. Until now …

Her mantra of all-men-are-lying-cheating-monkey-spanking dick cheese will not win her points in the male community, even if she is a walking wet dream. I can’t even acknowledge her word choice. Dick cannot be an adjective to cheese. Nope. No fucking way.

“Bitter. I was going to say bitter woman.” Bitch. Total bitch.

“Typical. Men love to break women down, use them for dick warmers, and cry bitch when we decide to stand up for ourselves.”