Page 94 of The Quit List
When I wake up the next morning, the first thing I notice is the stunning dawn light pouring through the windows of the cabin’s bunkroom. Shortly thereafter, I notice the heavy weight on my chest…
Rick the dog has apparently deemed my breasts the perfect pillow on which to sleep.
“Morning, Ricky,” I murmur as I rub behind his ears. He makes a contented noise and snuggles closer to me. I cuddle him for a few minutes before gently placing him on the ground next to my sleeping bag. “Come on, boy, time to get up. I’m sure your dad is already out and about doing foresty things without us.”
Your dad.
AKA The Mountain Man Dog Daddy of all Mountain Man Dog Daddies.
And, also AKA, the world’s best kisser.
My experience may be limited, but there is absolutely no way any other man on Earth can kiss better than Jax kissed me last night. I don’t think it’s even scientifically possible.
My whole body feels alive at even a flickering thought of that kiss. And to be honest, while a part of me thought (hoped) that kissing Jax would rid me of my ever-growing attraction for him, I was sorely mistaken. I don’t even know how I’m going to survive the next few days alone with him without doing it again.
Thinking about how Jax’s eyes blazed, how his rough hands felt against my skin, how my name sounded on his lips as he kissed me is, well… not conducive to quelling those feelings.
More like pouring gasoline on them, really.
But what if now, in the light of day, Jax thinks he made a mistake honoring my request? What if things are different between us, or worse, what if he pretends it never happened? Pretends that we didn’t share that insane, head-spinning, thrill-inducing kiss…
I roll about in my tumble of sleeping bag and sit up with a sigh. Dwelling on these what-ifs—and on sexy thoughts about Jax and his extremely sexy mouth—is not going to help me. I need to focus on the day ahead. And there are a couple of time-sensitive issues I have to deal with.
First, today we start our backpacking trip, and I have to admit, I’m nervous. A multi-night hike sounds quite daunting now that it’s upon me. I have a feeling that Mindy was right when she said this wouldn’t be like walking the Mall of Georgia for exercise.
And then secondly…
I have to pee. Badly.
I held out on using the outhouse last night before bed, which was a mistake because I woke up twice in the night bursting to pee, but couldn’t fathom the thought of creeping outside alone in the dark to relieve myself. So I kept holding it. And I’m kind of regretting that decision.
I shuffle out of my sleeping bag and shove my feet into my flip-flops before throwing on Jax’s flannel over my pajamas—which consist of a white tank top and pink short-shorts with hearts printed all over the butt.
No time to worry about getting dressed, or even tending to my bedhead. Nature calls.
Outside, there’s no immediate sign of Jax, but the fire is going again and there’s a tin kettle sitting on a grate above it, so he must be around here somewhere. It’s a crisp but pretty morning, the weak early morning sun doing little to fend off the chill of the mountain air. What strikes me, though, is how still everything feels. Peaceful.
Well, as peaceful as one can feel when their bladder is this full.
I trudge towards the outhouse, the morning dew on the grass dampening my bare legs.
When I arrive at my destination, I rap on the wooden door with my knuckles. “Jax?” I call cautiously.
There’s no answer, and so I duck inside. I’ve been cautioned that, when we go on the big hike later, the woods will be my bathroom and this outhouse will apparently feel like luxury in comparison.
Lovely.
A couple of breath-holding moments later, I’m running out of the outhouse, feeling weirdly accomplished. Now that was definitely out of my comfort zone, but I’m glad to have made it through my first pee in the wilderness. It honestly wasn’t as bad as I expected.
As I stroll back to the cabin, it occurs to me that I should probably shower. Especially if we won’t be anywhere near bathing facilities for at least the next three days.
Would the solar-heated shower bags even be warm at this time of the morning? I should probably check before grabbing my little portable shower caddie.
I turn the corner towards the back of the cabin…
And am greeted by the sight of Jax’s butt.
Literally.