TAMING HOLLYWOOD'S BADDEST BO- Max Monroe Page 0,30
something extra. “No way. I’m good.”
Carefully, I turn and scale down the rocks toward the two of them on shaky arms and legs.
“You’re good?” he asks from behind me, his voice somehow mischievous. “So, you’ll be able to manage another ten miles before we call it a night?”
“What?” I ask, whipping around so hard I almost lose my footing and fall to a treacherous fate. Resecured in my position after a mighty scramble, I try to calm my voice and ask my next question without turning around. “How many more miles today?”
“Just ten.”
Just. Ten.
JUST TEN MORE MILES!
Oh, for fuck’s sake!
My heart starts to speed up, fueled by my anxiety, and then, suddenly, seems to start slowing down. And I can’t be sure, but I don’t think it’s doing it on purpose. Screw you, my heart says. I’m throwing in the towel.
And hey, I get it. It’s one thing to be a hero, but it’s another thing to let your bravado take you places you can’t possibly survive. They call it Darwinism.
“Uh…”
Other than my loud pants as I finish climbing down from the rocky mountain, silence stretches between us. It’s only when I make it to the bottom and turn around that Luca breaks it.
With laughter and leg-slapping and belly-grabbing, he gives an award-worthy performance imitating one of the fucking hyenas from The Lion King, and all I can do is stand there and watch him lose his shit while I try to catch my breath. I don’t have nearly enough energy to inflict the level of violence on him that’s playing out in my head.
“I’m just screwing with you,” he finally says through wheezing gasps when enough blood has drained from my face that half the embalmer’s work is already done. “But hell, it was worth it to see that look on your face.”
I growl.
“We’re not doing another ten miles,” he says with a cheeky grin. “This is where we’re stopping for the night.”
“Here? As in, right here?” I ask, looking around to find absolutely nothing but trees and forest.
“What did you expect? A fucking Holiday Inn?”
Expect? No. But it would have been a nice surprise.
I make a big show of rolling my eyes, skirt around him to “survey the ground,” and lie. “I just want to make sure this is the right spot for us to…uh…pitch our tents. You know. We don’t want the ground to be too soft…or too hard…that sort of thing.” I pinch some dirt between my index and middle finger. “Yeah…okay… This should be all right, I guess.”
Luca sighs and shakes his head as he shrugs off his backpack and begins to unpack his tent from the front pocket. Bailey busies himself with marking his territory, and I take the blessed opportunity to do absolutely nothing. My legs aren’t above staging a rebellion, and I’d rather not leave this earth being the first half-body coup as my legacy.
“How many miles did we walk today?” I ask as Luca works, lounging back on my pack with little to no grace. My legs are open, my belly visible from the bottom of my now gross shirt, and my undetermined use of deodorant has finally given way to a rather large amount of perspiration which forms obvious circles of discoloration around the armpits of my top. Luca glances at me over his shoulder, takes in the sexiest woman he’s ever witnessed, obviously, and smirks.
“Nine.”
Nine…teen…right?
“Did you say nineteen?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “Nine.”
Just nine.
We’ve only hiked nine fucking miles today.
Only twenty-seven to go…
Oh, hell’s bells, his broody ass better end up doing this movie, or else I might be tempted to kill him.
Of course, his stupid tent is up before I even find the strength to open my bag. It’s like he went straight from being Hollywood’s Baddest Boy to Alaska’s Number One Boy Scout Recluse without even stuttering.
I watch him discreetly as he gives Bailey some food, and I ponder how that’s possible.
After listening to his reasons last night, I understand why he had to leave LA. But being locked away from the whole world and living off the land seems a little extreme to me. Wasn’t there some other place he could go? Like, I don’t know…Duluth? I can’t imagine people would go looking for him there, but at least there’d be a diner or something.
But hey, what do I know? The loner lumberjack persona seems to suit him incredibly well.
Bailey dives into his kibble, and I turn my attention to my backpack.