The Bear’s Curvy Mate

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Sierra stared up at Joe, who had still not stopped laughing at her predicament.

“It is not that funny.” Sierra said.

“Yes it is.” he insisted.

He splashed through the puddle towards her, wearing hiking boots and blue jeans. His dark eyes were alight with mirth. He held out his hand to her. She didn’t take it.

“Will you let me help you up?”

Grudgingly, Sierra took his outstretched hand. As he tried to pull her up, her feet slipped out from under her again. She fell back in the mud, this time pulling Joe down with her. He landed with his hands down on either side of her, holding his body an inch above hers. Sierra found herself suddenly very aware of the way his t-shirt clung to every muscle on his chest, then did her very best to banish the thought. His hair brushed her face. He hovered there just a moment longer than necessary before launching himself gracefully to his feet. This time, he managed to pull her up out of the mud.

“You’re a very stubborn and persistent woman, you know that?” he asked her.

Sierra glared at him.

“Do you have a problem with persistent women?” she asked.

“No, I meant it as a compliment. I should hire you as my campaign manager.”

“I think I’ll pass, thank you.” she said coldly.

“Now why can’t you be nice to me, Sierra? I’m a nice guy.”

“I very much doubt that. How long have you known I was following you?”

“Only for the last few miles, he answered. “I can’t believe you tried to follow me in that.”

“Where were you going?”

Joe sighed. “Ever the reporter, aren’t you?”

“I prefer investigative journalist.”

“Yes. I read your last piece of hard-hitting journalism. Your review of Guardians of the Galaxy was quite moving.”

Sierra glared at him as she tossed her mud filled shoes into the car.

“At least I don’t steal from charity.”

“Is that what you think of me? You should be nicer.”

“Why?”

“Because if you are, I’ll help you get this ridiculous car unstuck.”

Sierra weighed her options. On the one hand, she didn’t want to accept his help. On the other, she wasn’t sure what she was going to do without it.

“Why are you helping me?” she asked.

He smiled.

“Maybe it’s because I like persistent women,” women.” he said with a wink.

He moved around the back of the car and braced himself to push.

“Climb in and give it some gas.”

Sierra sat down in the driver’s seat. She could see him reflected in the mirror, leaning against the car. He was infuriatingly gorgeous, even covered in mud. He might even have been especially gorgeous covered in mud. She cranked the engine on and gave it a little gas. She watched him continue to push on the car without result. Then, as she gave it a little more gas, he moved his arms down and-

He lifted the car.

No, that was crazy. But the car lurched forward and the back wheels slammed back into the ground as it pulled free of the bog. She turned the car around and steered around the puddle, having already convinced herself that the feeling of being lifted up was just the wheels pulling out of the mud. She must have been startled by the movement and thought… never mind. It was crazy.

She stopped the car next to him and rolled down the window.

“Thank you.” she said.

He pretended to tip his imaginary hat to her, dripping with charm.

“Always happy to help a damsel in distress. Even reporters.”

Sierra met his eyes determinedly.

“This damsel is still going to nail you for whatever you’re up to out here.”

“I have an alternative suggestion,” he countered. “Why don’t you let me take you to dinner and I’ll tell you all about it? Some time when we’re not covered in mud.”

Dinner? Was she being asked out by the Governor? Or was this just a ploy to distract her from the real issue? Her hormones, conjuring images of his eyes by candle light over hors d’oeuvres and white table cloths betrayed her better judgment and she found herself telling him yes before she knew what she was doing.

“Great.” he said. “How’s Friday? I’ll pick you up at seven.”

The next thing she knew, she was headed back down the dirt road towards home, Joe’s Range Rover following closely behind to make sure she didn’t get stuck again. She was trying to convince her brain that her decision to go on a date with the Governor had been a purely analytical business decision. When they got back to the paved road, Joe waved to her out his window as he headed back to wherever he was going. She fought the impulse to turn around and try to follow him again, not being convinced in the least that he had any intention of telling her what he was really doing.

Sierra headed down the road, looking for Molly. It was only then that she realized something and let out an audible groan.

Molly was going to be completely insufferable about this.

It was a very, very long car ride home with Molly.

“It’s a date!”

“It is not a date! He thinks it’s a date. I’m just trying to get information. It’s a calculated business decision!”

“Oh, you are so full of s**t! Is that what you’ll call it when you sleep with him? ‘A calculated business decision’?”

“We’re having dinner! I’m hardly sleeping with him.”

“You’re not sleeping with him, yet.”

This went on the entire drive home, during which Sierra was forced to recount everything that had happened in the woods several times over in increasing amounts of detail. It was only when they got home she was able to escape into the merciful quiet of the bathroom.

She recoiled from her mud-encrusted reflection in the mirror and found herself wondering what on earth Joe had seen in her. Her hair was sticking up in all directions, the mud acting as a kind of plaster. There was more mud smeared on her face, but it was nothing compared to the amount on her clothes. Her skirt was completely crusted in grime, and her blouse was simply never going to be white ever again. She should probably also abandon all hope of her shoes making a full recovery.

She peeled her clothes off and stepped into the beckoning hot shower. The dirt ran off of her in streams. She stayed in there until the hot water turned her skin pink.

By the time she got out, Molly was mercifully snoozing on the couch. She’d passed out there, curled up under a blanket with an empty wine glass next to her on the coffee table. She’d been sketching before she went to sleep. On her sketch pad was a drawing of Sierra and Joe, making out and covered in mud. Sierra rolled her eyes and tucked the blanket around Molly before heading to bed herself.

In her dream, she was back in the woods with Joe, trying to get her car unstuck. She was in the driver’s seat, watching him in the mirror.

“Give it some gas!” he called out.

She eased on the gas, but he didn’t push on the car like she expected him to. Instead, he reached down to the bumper and picked up the back end of the car. She felt the rear of the car lift, pushing her body forward towards the steering wheel just a bit. The back wheels spun in the air for just a moment before the front ones pulled the car forward and out of Joe’s grasp. No, that wasn’t right. The bumper wasn’t pulled from his hands. He let it go and then the car pulled forward because he wasn’t holding on to it anymore.

In slow motion she saw him stand up again. He’d had to crouch down to lift the bumper. He smiled at her in the mirror. He hadn’t even strained himself.

Sierra woke with a start. She lay there a long time, trying to decide how much of that detail was memory and how much was invented. After laying there for an hour, unable to get back to sleep, she found herself standing barefoot in the parking garage staring at her mud splattered Prius.

The car weighed 3,042 pounds. She had Googled it. The hybrid battery alone was 150 pounds. Even if he had world-record-level strength it would still take three of him to lift that much. She thought about those stories you always hear where little old ladies lift school buses off of their grandchildren. This hadn’t exactly been a life or death situation. And he had made it look so easy.

She bent down and grasped the bumper, trying with all her might to lift the car. She succeeded only in breaking a nail as her hands slipped and she was falling on her ass for the third time today. This time it was onto the unforgiving concrete which bruised her tailbone.

She struggled to her feet and headed back into the building, hoping no one had seen her. This, she decided, was completely crazy.

So why was she so sure he had done it?

Friday night arrived before she knew it.

Joe had called earlier in the week to tell her they’d be going to La Petite Mansion, which Google had confirmed was the most expensive restaurant in Olympia. Sierra couldn’t decide if he was actively trying to impress her or just had more money than he knew what to do with.

She had tried on everything in her closet while Molly offered her opinion on each outfit. She finally settled on a classic little black dress with purple suede high heels dotted with metal studs and grandmother’s pearls. The shoes were Molly’s idea, who had insisted on a splash of color, and far be it from her to question an artist on color. Of course, Molly’s most recent painting was of a blue tree.

Sierra tucked a pen and a small notebook into the matching purple clutch, still trying her best to pretend this was an interview not a date. She told herself that the black lace panties she had on were in no way purposefully selected.

,

Joe arrived at their door right at seven as promised. He looked stunning in a tailored suit that no doubt cost more than her whole wardrobe. He smiled as he looked her up and down.

“Better than what I looked like last time we saw each other?” she asked.

“I don’t know.” Joe replied, studying her. “I think I might like you covered in mud.”

He stepped into the apartment, uninvited, and began looking around. Sierra followed him nervously, grateful that she had pushed the white board into her bedroom.

“You paint?” he asked.

“I paint,” Molly said as she walked out of her room. “She writes. And we both drink too much and obsess over our work. Though this is probably the first time she’s tried to date her work.”

She shook his hand.

“I’m Molly.”

“Joe.”

“You know she’s trying to destroy you, right, Joe?”

“With those legs I just might let her.”

Sierra found herself blushing like a schoolgirl and desperately hoping he hadn’t noticed. Joe produced a business card from his wallet and held it out it to Molly.

“Give my secretary a call on Monday. I’d like to buy one of your paintings.”

Molly snatched up the business card.

“I think I like him.” she said to Sierra.

“It’s good that you approve.” Sierra replied. “Shall we be going?” she asked Joe.

“Of course,” Joe said. “You can give me the grand tour later.”

Joe swept her out the door of the apartment and down to the parking garage to his waiting Range Rover.

“So,” he asked as he pulled out of the garage, “are you really planning to destroy me?”

Feeling less sure of herself by the minute, Sierra paused before answering, “I haven’t decided yet.”

He smiled at her.

“Good.”

La Petite Maison was located in a charming little white house. The maître‘d greeted them enthusiastically and didn’t seem in the least perturbed that the Governor had not bothered to make a reservation. They were led up to their table on the balcony outside. overlooking the cobblestone courtyard below. The menu was almost entirely in French, the wine was fantastic, and the service was excellent.

Sierra waited until the bread course to ask, “So what were you doing out there in the woods?”

“Is this an interview or a date?” he asked.

“You tell me.”

He chose another brioche a tete before answering. “I would like to think you’re here because you’re beginning to enjoy my company, but I can’t flatter myself that much. Still, I suspect I am growing on you.”

“Are you trying to say that you’re here for a date and I’m here for an interview?”

“I am most definitely here for a date. And you’re still here for an interview, but I think maybe I can turn that around.”

“Does that mean you’ll answer my question?”

Their first course arrived; a perfectly seared sea scallop on top of a dollop of wild mushroom risotto.

“The truth is, I feel a lot more comfortable in the woods then I do at political functions or French restaurants with ridiculously small portions.”

“That’s it?” Sierra said, disbelieving. “You drove for two hours in the middle of the week to go on a nature walk?”

“I also fish.”

“Do you honestly expect me to believe that?”

He smiled at her mischievously. “What else could I have been doing?”

He was taunting her. He’d brought her to a $100 a plate restaurant just to taunt her.

“Ok.” she said. “It’s a date.”

“It is?”

“If this were an interview, you’d actually answer my questions.”

“Really? Have you interviewed many politicians?”

Sierra stood up to go.

“Wait!” He grabbed her hand. “Don’t go. I hear the chocolate soufflé is excellent, though also tiny. And if you stay, I’ll tell you where the money went.”

Cautiously, Sierra sat back down.

“It was a payroll advance for a camp employee. Her daughter’s sick and she really needed the money. It wasn’t a strictly above-board, but I wanted to help her out. That’s an honest answer.”

“That was one hell of an advance, Joe.”

“Like I said, sick daughter. The cost of health care is deplorable. Can we talk about something else now? You did say this was a date.”

“What should we talk about?”

“How about how you look in that dress? Or how I’d like to take you to the woods sometime to look at the stars at night, only this time you should wear better shoes, unless you’d like to roll around in the mud with me again, because that’s really been the highlight of my week. Or how very tiny this food is and we’re going out for steak and baked potatoes after this? I know a good place.”

Sierra wasn’t sure what to say. He was lying to her. She knew it. He was hiding things that went far beyond the standard skeletons politicians kept in their closets. And yet, all she could think about was how she’d really like to drive two hours into the woods with him just to look at the stars.

“The food is tiny,” she agreed.

“They’re practically child sized portions. I think the chef is actually trying to starve us.” Sierra laughed. Joe reached across the table and held her hand.

Suddenly there was a commotion from downstairs. Loud, but still indistinct voices shouted at each other. After a moment Sierra recognized one of the voices as the maître‘d.

“-can’t go up there!”

“You intend to stop me, son?”

There was more shouting, loud footsteps on the stairs, and then the doors burst open. The man that pushed through them had shoulder length grey hair. He wore jeans and a sleeveless t-shirt that left his muscular, tattooed arms exposed. He had no shoes.

“Joe!” he shouted, “Are you ever going to get a damn cell phone?”

“This isn’t a good time, Eric.”

“You know him?” Sierra asked, bewildered.

“Yes.” Joe replied. “Eric is in…public relations. Eric, this is Sierra. She’s a reporter.” he said pointedly.

“A reporter. Are you shitting me with this?” Eric replied. “We have a problem with Brenda.”

“What kind of a problem?” Joe asked.

“The big hairy kind. The kind where you need to come with me right now.”

“Alright.” Joe said. He turned to Sierra.

“I’m so sorry. Can we try this again another time?”

“Will you tell me what this was about?” she asked.

“Probably not.” Joe said.

Then, without warning, he leaned down and kissed her. The kiss was long, and hungry, and lit her body up like a shot of adrenaline. He pulled away and planted another small kiss on her forehead.

“Enjoy the soufflé.” he told her.

And then he was gone. Sierra sat back down in her chair, stunned. Their waiter reappeared and set something smelling of chocolate down in front of her.

“Soufflé, mademoiselle.”