Page 50 of Wild About You
He practically jumps through the tent roof. “Shit, I thought you were asleep already!”
“Almost, but I felt you sneaking away and got curious. Are you freaked out by forest noises too?”
I can faintly make out the tense lines of his face as he re-situates himself in the sleeping bag. “Not really. Is that why you wanted me to sleep in the tent with you that first time?”
“Yeah,” I admit, but it doesn’t feel as scary given all the other things he knows about me already. “Wait, we’re not talking about me. What’s with the sweatshirt?”
There’s a long pause before he deflates a little, blowing a heavy breath toward the ceiling. “I don’t know how to tell you this, Natalie, but…” He stops long enough for my heart to seize with fear. “You snore. Loudly.”
Now I’m the one to flail-jump in shock. “I—you—why didn’t you tell me sooner?!”
Finn rubs a hand over his head. “I don’t know! It’s mostly fine when I cover my ears with something, and I didn’t want you to worry about it.”
“Well, a lot of good that did both of us! I’m so sorry, I didn’t know. I mean, I know I used to, but I thought it had gone away because I asked my roommate about it once and she said she never heard anything, but maybe the air quality is better at Oliver or there’s less pollen up there or something, and being back in the South for the summer, it must’ve come back. I should’ve expected as much, I guess. Or you could’ve just told me, but—”
“Nat.” He reaches over and finds my hand in our cocoon, linking our fingers together. “It’s not a big deal. Seriously. This is why I didn’t want to tell you. And anyway, I’ve gotten comfortable sleeping this way. I’ll probably start doing it when I’m back home too.”
I can hear the crooked smile in his voice and I huff out an exasperated sound in response. This just won’t do.
“Hang on,” I bark. I stomp out of the tent, ignoring his protests as I walk to my pack and dig through it for my toiletry bag. Inside, I grab a couple cotton pads. Who would’ve thought these would come in handy for so many situations out here?
“Here,” I shove them at Finn when I’m back in the tent. “Ball these up and stuff them in your ears. You can tear them in half if they’re too big. Just—quit doing the sweatshirt thing. If you’re going to suffocate yourself with your own outerwear, I don’t want it on my conscience.”
Finn tries to stifle his laughter, shaking his head in a what-am-I-gonna-do-with-you way. I’ve gotten that head shake a lot in my life, but never has it looked so very adoring. He tears one of the cotton pads in two and balls up each half before placing them in his ears, just as instructed. Mission accomplished, I lie back down.
“I’m still mad you didn’t tell me,” I grumble as I roll onto my side so my back is facing him. “This isn’t over.”
My eyelids are already heavy again when I hear Finn’s sleepy murmured response, feel his arm wrap around my middle and pull me closer as he tucks himself behind me. “Good. I hope it’s not over for a long time yet.”
Chapter Nineteen
I wake up on the wrong side of the mega sleeping bag.
Not in a literal way; Finn and I are curled so closely into one another that there are hardly even sides, just one central cuddle puddle. But emotionally? The side couldn’t be wronger. The second day of my infrequent periods is the most consistent thing about them, in that my cramps are always the worst and I am one moody bitch. It seems that’s no different out here, despite the soothing atmosphere of the great outdoors, the fact that I slept like an apparently noisy rock, and the hunk of a man snuggling me all night.
I wake up irritated at the world anyway. At the sun for shining so brightly before my eyes are ready to adjust to daylight. At the bugs and birds and other forest musicians for being so damn loud and keeping no rhythm with each other, just a cacophony of buzzes and caws and chirps and hoots. At myself for caring so much about my skin and appearance that I require a two-hundred-fifteen-step regimen every morning and a whole separate one at night. I do it anyway, of course, skipping zero steps of my slightly pared-down routine I’ve had for all of Wild Adventures so far, but I’m grumpy about it the whole time.
I can already tell it’s gonna be a long day.
“Are you giving us the maps, or what?” When I snap for the first time, it’s at Burke Forrester, of all people. He’s lollygagging something awful as he teases today’s race to the checkpoint, going on about the bridges we cross in life and how even when it feels like you’re close to the end, there are always more obstacles to tackle. I, for one, am ready to get the hell on with it. Especially since each team gets to start five minutes apart, in order of when we filled our buckets yesterday. Finn and I will be third, leaving right in the middle of the pack, and I’m not taking anything for granted.
Burke, of course, has no sense of urgency. He looks at me with offense—maybe even a little disgust at my audacity—until he covers it with his polished host mask and a false chuckle. “Somebody’s in rare form today, huh?”
Finn puts a hand on my lower back in a gesture that, if I’m giving him the benefit of the doubt, is probably meant to remind me he’s there supporting me, and we’ll make it to the checkpoint in time. But it also feels unpleasantly close to a calm-down-you-hysterical-woman warning.
Still, I bite my tongue, enduring the rest of the Burke Forrester Metaphor Hour until he finally hands over our maps and Zeke and Enemi set off for the checkpoint, starting the five-minute countdown for Meena and Cammie, ten for Finn and me. We confer over the map, deciding it looks like a pretty straight path up the AT. Finn asks how I feel physically and if I think I’m able to jog again, and I try not to take offense. I know he’s trying to be considerate of the fact that I’m on my period, and if said period wasn’t making me hate everyone and everything at the moment, I’d probably appreciate the consideration. So I don’t bite his head off, and assure him that I’m fine to jog. Whether or not I’m lying remains to be seen.
Finally, Burke gives us the whistle to start toward the checkpoint. I let Finn go in front, determined to meet whatever pace he sets.
I quickly find that to be an ambitious goal.
“Shit, fuck, damnation, sonofa—”
“Okay back there?” Finn calls over his shoulder. I thought the curses I’ve been letting out with each pounding step of my boots were too quiet for his ears. My volume meter must be out of whack along with everything else, including the knives that have started stabbing at my lower abdomen as we’ve jog-hiked.
“Peachy,” I groan back. If he’s heard the rest, I might as well give up the pretense of okay-ness.
Finn slows his pace and walks backward in front of me like a campus tour guide I kind of want to kiss, kind of want to kick in the shins. “We can slow down a little. The later-leaving teams are probably well behind us, so we have a buffer. No need to make you miserable.”