Love In Alaska (The Love In 50 States Series Book 2) (2 page)

I wasn't so sure.

“I haven't even been here twelve hours,” I told her. “I didn't think I should start asking around at the airport.”

“Hmm. I've read that there are a lot of single men in Alaska,” she said. “It should be easy there.”

I shook my head, but said, “Sure.”

“Oh! Maybe you can fuck a native! What are they called? Inuits or something?”

“Paige. I'm hanging up. I'll check in with you tomorrow.”

“Wait,” she said, her tone serious. “Maybe that isn't such a good idea. The native thing. The rate of sexual assault in some of those smaller towns there is horrific. I read a piece about rape culture among some of the native tribes and couldn't believe what those women are subjected to.”

I thought back to what the guy on the plane had said. “What?” I said, my radar suddenly on high alert.

“I don't think you have anything to worry about,” she said quickly. “I mean, you're in Anchorage, not Barrow.”

“Where the hell is Barrow?”

“Look, forget I said anything,” she said. “Just trust your instincts, Jess. Find a hot, nice guy and take control. And try to do it on a bearskin rug.”

“
What
?”

“I've always wanted to have sex on a bearskin rug,” she said, sighing. “I'll bet that would feel so good on your back. Or your knees.”

“Goodbye, Paige.”

I ended the call before she could suggest anything else. Talking to her was sometimes like talking to someone with a split personality. I tossed the phone back on the nightstand and tried to put my conversation with her out of my head.

I yawned, stretched and flung my legs over the side of the bed. I stood up and made my way over to the hotel room window and squinted into the sunlight, preparing to be dazzled by the picturesque Alaskan wilderness. And I saw...buildings. Aside from the majestic, snow-capped mountains to my left, just visible beyond the buildings,  Anchorage looked like a downtown you'd see anywhere. There were no bears or moose, no acres of virgin forests, no area of pure wilderness. The guy on the plane had been right. It was just a city.

I swallowed the lump of disappointment and headed for the bathroom. I got the 2-cup coffeemaker ready and jumped in the shower, determined to rinse the accumulated filth of four different airports from my body. The coffee was done brewing by the time I got out and, after pulling on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, I filled one of the styrofoam cups and grabbed the in-room recreation guide sitting next to the television. I sipped my coffee and perused the offerings and, thirty minutes later, I'd booked myself on a half-day whale-watching charter. 

I had no idea if I'd meet any single guys on a September boat cruise in Alaska but I didn't really care. I reminded myself that I was not going to get bogged down with the whole idea of sleeping with someone. I'd gone to Alabama and worried about it the minute I'd gotten off the plane. Alaska was going to be different. I was going to make sure of it.

I pulled a hooded sweatshirt on over my T-shirt and tied on the new hiking boots I'd bought just for the trip. My sunburned nose and East Coast accent might scream tourist, but I tried to dress a little Alaskan-ish.

I stopped in at the hotel lobby and grabbed a bagel and an apple from the continental breakfast spread. The concierge, a short, dark-haired woman, gave me directions to the waterfront and said I'd be in good hands with the charter I'd selected. I thought about Adam and how he'd said he recommended restaurants and activities to tourists and I hoped she was as accurate with her recommendations as he'd appeared to be with his.

The actual dock was about an hour south in a town called Whittier, but I didn't need to drive my rental car there; the charter offered a shuttle service. I waited in the lobby, nursing another cup of coffee while I thumbed through USA Today. When I saw the shiny mini bus pull up outside, I dropped the paper to the table, pulled my backpack over my shoulder and stood. I stepped through the sliding doors that led outside and a blast of cool air greeted me. I instantly shoved my hands in my sweatshirt pocket, belatedly realizing that I probably should have dressed even warmer.

But there was no time. The shuttle driver stepped through the doors of the bus and smiled at me.

“Morning,” he said to me.

I glanced at the silver name tag affixed to his black polo shirt. George.

“Grab a seat,” he said. He looked at the clipboard in his hands and drew a line through something on the printed sheet of paper tacked to the front. “We're waiting on one more guest before we head over to the Holiday Inn.”

Eight minutes and five more passengers later, we were on our way, winding out of downtown Anchorage and onto the Seward Highway. George picked up his handset and his voice came over the loudspeaker as he informed us that we were traveling on one of North America's designated Scenic Byways. I could see why. The highway was surrounded by bodies of water and mountains, the topography changing seemingly every few minutes. The blue water sparkled beneath the morning sun and the mountain peaks were dazzlingly white. Ten minutes out of Anchorage and it was like we'd never been in a city at all, surrounded by landscape typically reserved for postcards and pictures.

Time passed quickly as I stared out the window, mesmerized by trees and water and the natural beauty that surrounded me.

We slowed as we approached Whittier and George picked up his handset again, explaining that we'd be going through one of the most unique tunnels in the world. I listened closely as he spoke. It was a one way tunnel that allowed for traffic in only one direction at certain times. It was built that way because the road was designed to accommodate both trains and cars so as to save money and make less of an impact on the land. The road itself was specially constructed so both trains and cars could travel on it. We entered through a small A-framed chalet in the side of the mountain and the daylight disappeared. It was, indeed, a one lane tunnel, lit by manmade lighting. I watched as the lights whizzed by in a blur, the walls close enough to touch if I'd opened a window and extended my hand. About six minutes later we exited the tunnel, the sun blinding. I turned back to look at the tunnel and I wondered if I would see anything cooler during my time in Alaska.

A few minutes later, George pulled up to a marina that was literally on the side of a cliff, a massive mountain on the other side of the narrow body of water. He assured us he'd be waiting for us when we returned and promised we'd have a great time.

I checked in inside the marina and a friendly young girl pointed me to the boarding area for the boat. It was a two-story enclosed catamaran painted red and white and blue. It had a massive deck at the front and the whole boat looked like it had just been scrubbed clean. I lined up with the other passengers and crossed the small bridge from the marina to the boat. There were mostly older couples, retirees taking advantage of the early fall season, and I felt a little out of place.

Another girl was waiting at the end of the bridge, smiling at each of us as we stepped on to the boat.  “There's lots of seating inside,” she said. Her braces glinted in the sunlight. “And both outdoor decks are open today.”

The interior cabin was lined with comfy booths, each one next to a large window that allowed for unfettered views of the outside. I wandered through the back and then climbed the narrow set of stairs to the upper deck. I found a chair near a railing and sat down, settling my backpack next to my feet. I slipped my sunglasses back over my eyes and took a deep breath, the crisp, cool air filling my lungs.

I didn't know what to expect from the cruise or for the remainder of my week in Alaska. I didn't know how much I should worry about what the guy on the plane had said or Paige's own voiced warnings.

But I knew one thing.

I was in Alaska.

I was going to
experience
it.

THREE

The guy with the beard wouldn't stop looking at me.

We'd been out on the water for almost an hour and the views were astounding. The water of Prince William Sound was like glass, the mountains mirrored in the sound. Sea otters dipped and dived playfully as we cruised past and seals slipped beneath the water, not as friendly or inquisitive as their furry compatriots. We spied whales, too, some of them breaching in the distance, and the captain was headed toward them.

But I was having a hard time focusing on the wildlife or the glaciers that surrounded the bay. Because this guy kept looking at me.

I was deleting a blurry picture of an otter when I first noticed him. He was nice enough looking, with wavy brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He wore mirrored aviator glasses, a navy blue long sleeve T-shirt and cargo pants. Weathered hiking boots and a windbreaker tied around his waist indicated he was probably more local than me.

I would have let my gaze linger a little longer if I hadn't noticed the striking woman standing next to him. Her eyes were ice blue, her blond hair pulled back into a perfect French braid. She wore yoga pants and a fitted pullover and, based on her figure, I was pretty sure she spent most of her waking hours in the gym. She was watching the water and the man turned to me, giving me a half-smile.

I didn't return it.

What kind of creep smiled at me when he was with another woman?

One I didn't want to even acknowledge.

I'd eventually moved down to one of the lower decks to get a better view of the otters and they had, too. They were talking and laughing and at one point, she gave him a small hip check and waved her finger at him. He laughed again, then glanced my way, not in any way intending to hide that he was looking at me.

I stared back this time from behind my own sunglasses and frowned at him.

He gave me a half-wave.

I shook my head and went back to the upper deck.

I sat for awhile, watching the whales pop to the surface every so often and marveling at the size of the massive glaciers. It was like National Geographic come to life. I couldn't believe I'd waited so long to see these things, settling for magazine pictures and Internet images. Nearly every other passenger onboard had come equipped with a heavy-duty camera strapped around their neck, but I'd decided not to lug one around the country with me so I was stuck firing away with my phone. I hoped I had enough memory available to capture and record all the things I never wanted to forget. I asked an older couple to take my picture with one of the glaciers behind me and looking at the photo was like an out of body experience.

We'd hit the halfway point and were headed back to Whittier when my stomach growled. I'd eaten the lunch provided—beer-battered cod and homemade cole slaw—but needed a little something to tide me over on the way back. I passed the saloon, where couples were sipping Alaskan brews and plastic wineglasses filled with merlot, and headed to the snack bar. Two elderly women ahead of me were trying to figure out which candy bars they wanted.

“Lunch didn't fill me up, either,” a voice said behind me.

I turned and Bearded Guy was smiling at me, his sunglasses pushed on top of his head, revealing very similar eyes to those of his girlfriend.

“Yeah,” I said unenthusiastically. I turned back around.

The ladies bought their candy – a Baby Ruth and a Butterfinger – and took their time stowing their change back in their coin purses. They finally stepped away from the counter and I ordered a Diet Coke and a bag of trail mix.

“I can't stand raisins,” the guy behind me said. “They should offer a raisin-free trail mix.”

I didn't say anything, just paid the guy behind the bar and took my soda and food to an empty booth at the back of the cabin. I slid into the vinyl seat, set my bag and sunglasses down and popped the top on the soda.

“You mind if I sit with you?” the same voice said again from behind me.

I glared up at him. “Actually, I would. So, no thanks.”

“I don't bite.”

His smile was disarming but I tried not to notice. “Good for you.”

He sat down across from me and set his two sodas down on the table, his smile widening. There was a tiny jagged scar beneath his left eye. “I can only stay a minute.”

“I didn't ask you to stay,” I said, completely annoyed. “And I'm sure your girlfriend is waiting for her soda.”

He chuckled. “My
sister
is impatient and, yes, most likely, waiting for her soda.”

My expression must have registered my shock because his chuckle turned to a laugh. Blood rushed to my face and I cast my eyes downward. I should have known. He might not have been blond like his sister but they had the same stunning blue eyes, the same fit physique.

“And she absolutely does bite,” he said. His laugh subsided but the smile remained on his face. “Definitely need to stay away from her.”

It was my turn to chuckle. “Thanks for the warning.”

He nodded. “She'll be gone tomorrow, though, so maybe just avoid her this afternoon and you'll be good.”

I smiled. “Duly noted.”

He held his hand out across the table. “I'm Evan.”

I took it in mine. His palm was rough and callused, like he climbed trees for a living or something. “Jess.”