Taming Hollywood's Baddest Boy - Max Monroe Page 0,27

and nods toward Bailey, who is now lifting his leg on a nearby tree.

“You’re not serious,” I say, and his stupid smirk grows wider.

“Oh, but I am.”

I have to pee…in the damn woods?

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“You having second thoughts, princess?”

I can’t deny this whole no-bathroom thing has raised a few doubts, but he doesn’t need to know that. If I can grit my teeth every time he calls me princess, I can gird my loins to go in the damn outdoors.

“Nope,” I respond and take a page out of Bailey’s book. Toward the forest at the edge of the grassland and behind the biggest, widest tree I can find, I attempt to pee. Outside. Like a freaking dog.

Sheesh. Men have it so easy when it comes to this. They just whip out their wieners and do the damn thing.

But, women? Our parts make it far more complicated than that.

We have to pull down our pants and underwear, squat, and then, while squatting and peeing at the same time, we have to make sure the pee hits the ground instead of our clothes. And Lord knows there’s not a woman alive who has any real control over her stream. Left, right, or a hundred and eighty degrees out in left fucking field, that thing’s going places—places you don’t want it to go, specifically.

Not to mention, in cases like mine right now, when there’s no freaking toilet paper, we have to do some weird form of a squat and shimmy to assist in the drying. No shaking the joystick and tucking it back in. It is a squatting, pee-scented rain dance, and it is hell.

But I manage.

I squat like a sumo wrestler, pee like a racehorse, and my shimmy to drip-dry puts Shakira’s hips to shame.

I am an outside-peeing, nature-defiling goddess, and nothing can stop me!

When I make it back to the dock, Luca is sliding his large green backpack over his shoulders and heading for the trail. Without any time to waste, I follow his lead. I use my newfound squatting powers to get low to the dock, put one strap over my right shoulder and the other over my left, and then engage the muscles in my thighs to push to standing. I know I’m short, but I’m not lying when I say it is a long and arduous journey. I can barely breathe with the way the heavy pack is pulling at my chest.

Dear God. What did Earl put in this thing? Rocks?

I wobble a little on my feet but grip the straps and find my balance again.

Luca stares back at me from his spot at the entrance of the trail. Frankly, there’s no telling how long he’s been watching.

“What?” I ask with way more bravado than I’ve earned.

“Are you going to be able to carry that for the entire hike?”

His question is completely valid, because honestly, I don’t know if I am. But fuck if I’ll give him the satisfaction of admitting my struggles aloud.

Tough-girl act engaged, I roll my eyes. “Of course.”

He moves his gaze to my boots then, before jerking his head at my pack. “Better get your real boots out then.”

I glance down at my jean shorts and trusty UGGs and crinkle my nose up at him. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” I inquire, pointing the toe of one UGG boot toward him. “They’re UGGs. Perfect for hiking. And my favorite cowgirl boots are at the bottom of the river, so…”

“They’re crap. You’re gonna lose fucking toes.”

Pfft. “They’re made from sheep’s wool.”

“Do you see any fucking sheep around? No. Because they’d freeze too.”

“It’s seventy degrees out,” I retort. “If anything, I’m too prepared.”

“It’s not going to stay seventy degrees, princess,” he states on a sigh. “Alaskan springs aren’t like the ones in LA. The temperature will drop at night, and it’ll drop fast. Not to mention, the ground is saturated, and your fucking socks are going to be wet before we even hit the two-mile mark. I would’ve thought you’d have learned your lesson about the conditions around here last night.”

I frown at the reminder of my brush with death before throwing my hands up in the air. “I don’t have anything else!”

Luca grumbles something before shrugging his backpack off his shoulders, pacing irately back toward me, and dropping the pack unceremoniously onto the dock. Zippers slide out of the way as he shoves his hand inside and pulls something from one of the pockets, and before I know it, he’s leaning down before