He drops my hand and folds his arms as he studies the darkening sky. “We still have a ways to go. We’ll break for lunch after the Emerald Lakes. The Blue Lake is after that. Then I’m guessing it’s another hour or so before we reach the hut. How are your legs doing?”
I plant my hands on my hips. “My legs? My legs are fine. I could run a marathon. Make that two.”
“Okay. Want to race? I’ll give you a thirty-minute head start and make sure I limp extra bad.” He wiggles his eyebrows. Frickin’ Hot Guy.
“Whatever, Sam. I’ll live. With the way that sky’s looking, we shouldn’t linger too long.” I zip my jacket higher and say a silent thank-you to Sam for making me buy long underwear. “Let me get my hat first.”
Nodding, he says, “Sounds like a plan.”
He strides toward our packs, his limp looking more pronounced. He doesn’t complain and doesn’t stop, but I’m sure his ankle hurts. If I slow down, maybe he’ll take his time instead of pushing harder.
With our knit hats on, I slather on some cherry lip balm. Sam hoists on his pack before helping me with mine. Once I have the buckles done up around my chest and hips, he lets go. A ton of bricks is probably lighter. I teeter once, twice, but don’t fall.
He moves in front of me, his brown eyes roaming my face. He tugs the front of my hat playfully. “This is a good look for you.”
I shake my head. “Good look? The hat’s about a size too big—”
“Hey,” he barks. “I thought we had a talk about the compliment thing. Let’s try that again.” He runs his finger along the edge of my wool beanie, skimming my ear in the process. My knees almost give out. “This, Nina, is a good look for you.” He pronounces each word, his voice roughening. “It gives you a hot, outdoorsy vibe.” He lets go and drags two fingers over his scarred chin, the thing he does when he wants to say something but isn’t sure he should.
My lips part as I watch the movement, knowing exactly how his arm looks underneath his jacket. The bulging of his bicep. The way his forearm flexes. I’ve gawked at his T-shirt–clad arms countless times, those tan muscles forever tattooed on my brain. Sex-goddess me takes over. In my head, Sam strips me until I’m in nothing but my hat and hiking boots, and I do the same to him. He plunges into me. Hard. Fast. Greedy. The sound of skin slapping and my cries are all that can be heard for miles.
I’m not sure when I lose my balance. It could be when I picture his thickness entering me, or the deep thrusts that follow. Either way, the weight on my shoulders wins the battle for uprightness. I fall. Undignified. Flat on my back. Thankfully, my ten-ton pack breaks the impact.
Remembering the compliment, I force a smile and say, “Thanks.”
He snorts. “My pleasure.” He leans over me. “You want to revisit that statement about the extended marathon?”
I laugh with him while I lie like a beetle flipped on its shell. I’m happy to let him think my tiredness is the reason for my fall. No matter how much time I spend with Sam, I can’t seem to shake the fantasies he inspires. Or maybe I don’t want to. With the way he flirts, he makes me think there’s something between us. But there’s this girlfriend. “Maybe my legs are a bit weak, but I can make it.” I extend a hand toward him. “Please, kind sir, could I have a lift?” I ask in my not-very-good English accent.
He winks. “As you wish, m’lady.” His accent isn’t much better.
For the second time in the past ten minutes, my hand sinks into his as he helps me up. I can’t imagine what he thinks of me, the way I can barely control my limbs around him. When I’m up, I avoid his eyes. I don’t want to see amusement in the form of mocking on his face. I could never handle that. Every other living being on the planet can point and stare and laugh in my face, but not Sam. Never Sam.
He leads the way and I follow, thick clouds gathering above us.
* * *
The rain starts after lunch. We inhale our peanut-butter-and-jam sandwiches, knowing the downpour is imminent. Even with the fog, wind, and rain, the