Page 97 of The Quit List
“Let me know. Prevention is the best medicine and I’ve got the first aid kit for a reason.” He tells me as he links his fingers behind his head and lifts his arms, stretching out his shoulders.
They must be aching—his backpack weighs probably three times mine. I’m sure he’s given me all the light stuff while he carries pots, pans, tents, food, water, and goodness knows what else. And the man has barely broken a sweat.
As he lays back, turning his face towards the sun, I can’t help but notice that, from this vantage point, his bicep tattoo is on full display—a detailed, beautiful mountain-scape surrounded by pine trees stretching into an inky night sky sprinkled with stars.
The mountains are as much a part of him as he is part of them.
It’s so clear that he belongs here, and I have not a single doubt in my mind that his business will be a roaring success. He’s been nothing but patient, kind and informative about the area as we’ve hiked this morning.
Professional to the nth degree… if you don’t count all the flirty, smirky remarks about the shower incident, and his lingering eyes whenever I use the hem of my shirt to wipe my brow.
As I’m doing right now.
His silver gaze on my body makes me flush even more.
“Hot?” he asks roughly.
“Very,” I respond, then shake my head. “I can’t believe we have three more miles to cover.”
“It’ll be over before you know it.”
“Maybe leave me here to sleep on my rock,” I joke. “Come back for me in three days’ time.”
“Don’t make me carry you.” His words sound like the most delicious threat ever, and my cheeks heat at even the thought of him slinging me over his shoulder and marching off.
“I won’t,” I tell him, puffing out my chest with mock bravado. “I’ve got this. I’ll crawl there if I have to, but either way, I’m doing this.”
He leans down and tucks a stray damp, sweaty lock of hair behind my ear. “That’s my girl.”
His words are like the equivalent of shotgunning six cans of Red Bull, because if I wanted to prove that I could do this before, I certainly want to now. Anything to get him to look at me again with that smoldering gray stare and refer to me as his.
I jump to my feet and Rick prances around my ankles in circles. “Let’s get back to it.”
Jax’s lips slide into a smile. “And in case you need more motivation, I have a little surprise for you when we get to camp.”
“Ooh, what is it?”
“Wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you now, would it?”
“Spoilsport.”
“Three more miles, Hollywood.”
I’m not going to lie, with every step of those three miles, the pack on my back feels heavier and more cumbersome, the boots on my feet rub more, and my breaths become shorter and shallower. But I grit my teeth in determination and Jax gently encourages me every (literal) step of the way.
At one point, we cross a rocky section of ground with a shallow stream of water, and Jax extends his hand to me like he’s the Prince Freaking Charming of the Backcountry. I place my hand in his, trusting him completely as he guides me from rock to rock, helping me find firm footing every time I teeter.
Meanwhile, he’s like a mountain goat, easily picking out a route without so much as a wobble, his thumb tenderly brushing over the edge of my hand as we go, like he’s silently reassuring me that I’ve got this. That he’s got me.
We cover another mile or two before I begin to tire. Though it was cold last night and chilly again this morning, the blaze of the sun at full height in the sky makes for sweaty, uncomfortable hiking, especially as we’re on an exposed path without the shade of trees for relief.
One foot in front of the other… one foot in front of the other…
I’m trudging, my gaze on my throbbing feet, my concentration on the sound of the blood rushing in my ears, when Rick lets out an excited bark.
Startled, I look up, half-expecting to see a bear charging towards us. Instead, I’m greeted with the most welcome sight of all time.
What I thought was the rush of blood pounding in my head is actually rushing water. Because on our right is a gorgeous waterfall cascading down into a rock pool.