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The sound of someone coming through the brush alerted Corbin that he was no longer alone. He knew it was Jackson before he turned around, and he wasn’t disappointed. Before Jackson came too close, Corbin held up his hand and shook his head.
"No."
"Cor..."
"No. I do not want to be a part of whatever fucking game you’re playing.”
Without another word, Corbin pushed past Jackson had headed for his tent. At this rate, he was going to need a vacation from his vacation.
The next morning, Corbin saw Jackson heading for the lead raft. Ordinarily, he liked the challenge of being the first through a stretch of rapids with no one in front to help chart the best way through, but this next stretch of river was pretty tame, so it wasn’t a big deal to him to change his plans and climb into the third raft. He’d get more of a chance to relax and enjoy the scenery. At least that was his assumption up until the moment Jackson climbed in and sat across from him with a smug look.
“Are you going to tell me to move?” Jackson asked before any of the other guests joined them.
Corbin opted for ignoring him. Maybe if he pretended Jackson was simply a product of his imagination, the result of too much jerking off while fantasizing about the man over the past two years, Corbin could relax. Unfortunately, his morning was an endless display of Jackson’s toned arms and legs as he wielded his paddle with both skill and grace, his muscles flexing, sunlight flashing off his curls. It distracted Corbin. So much so that he missed a snag of branches and lost hold of his own paddle.
“Man down!” the guide on their raft called out, which made everyone laugh while Corbin’s face flamed red.
Jackson handed Corbin his paddle, then nodded at the guide, and swung his legs over the side of the raft. It wasn’t unheard of to jump in the river when it was calm, in fact, that was standard procedure if someone needed to piss and couldn’t wait until they stopped for lunch or dinner. But Jackson was swimming, heading for the second raft where someone had retrieved Corbin’s paddle as it flashed by. It was hardly necessary to retrieve it since each raft had a couple of extra paddles stowed on board, but still, Corbin admired the way Jackson’s arms arced over his head in a graceful sweep with each stroke.
It was only after Jackson got his hands on the paddle, that he seemed to realize his mistake. Swimming upriver while holding onto the paddle was going to be more challenging. He could have simply climbed aboard the other raft or treaded water until Corbin’s came even with him, but instead, Jackson held the paddle in both hands and kicked his way against the current. When they finally helped him aboard, Jackson was breathing pretty heavily, but Corbin could tell he was elated by the big smile on his face.
“Idiot,” Corbin said as he took the paddle Jackson held out to him, but there wasn’t a lot of heat in his voice. Nor was he unappreciative that Jackson’s now wet clothing clung to his body. Corbin spent the rest of the morning’s run watching Jackson out of the corner of his eye, and mourned as his shirt dried out, hiding some of those muscles from view in the loose fabric.
They stopped for lunch on a small sandbar that had barely enough space to tether the rafts and let everyone get out to stretch their legs. When they got back on the river, Corbin opted to take one of the ducks out. It was a single person inflatable kayak, so Jackson couldn’t follow him. Surprisingly, Jackson seemed to have decided to give Corbin his space because he climbed above the oar boat instead of taking his place in the third raft again. Corbin shrugged and then put thoughts of Jackson out of his mind. There were rapids coming up and he needed his entire focus to be on the river instead of the sexy guy stretched out on the seat of the flotilla’s final raft.
The rapids proved to be a bit more challenging than Corbin remembered from the last time he’d done the Rogue, but that was how it went. Sometimes more water in the river meant tamer rapids and sometimes it meant a wilder ride. This was one of the latter. The increased water level meant more water trying to get through a narrow cataract and threatening to toss the kayak against the boulders that lined the way.
Several times, Corbin thought he was going to get thrown out and have to body surf his way to the calmer water, but he managed to flip himself out of the danger zone and back into the main channel each time. When they put out for the evening, Corbin was exhausted and looking forward to having dinner then crawling into his tent. He was going to sleep well that night, that was for sure.
“Fuck!”
Corbin and the rest of the rafters turned toward the oar boat where Jackson stood holding a dripping dry bag. Jackson had been helping Louise unload the tents and supplies. He held up the bag with a grimace and called out, “Sorry!”
With a groan, Corbin recognized the bag as his. Of course, it was. As he’d been getting ready for the trip, he’d noticed the rubberized coating had cracked in a couple of places, which meant the bag was not going to be waterproof. Since he’d never had a problem with his bag getting wet, Corbin had opted not to replace it before the trip.
He stalked towards Jackson and grabbed the bag from the man’s hands with a growl. Because of the packing and unpacking and the way everything was compressed to take up as little space as possible, the cracks had multiplied and grown. The bag was soaked, and, likely, everything inside it as well.
“Fuck,” Corbin said as he unrolled the top and reached inside. Yup. His clothes, his sleeping bag, and, shit! his tent were all wet or damp.
“I’m really sorry, Cor,” Jackson said. “You can sleep in my tent if you like. I’ve got room.”
“Yeah, you’ve got room. Because you’re sleeping outside.”
“I didn’t do it on purpose.”
“Like hell.”
“He slipped,” Louise interjected, then backed off when Corbin threw her a look.
“I don’t even know why you’re on this trip,” Corbin continued. “I mean, what the fuck are you doing here? Are you stalking me?”
Jackson flushed a deep red. He looked at the ground and bit his lower lip. If Corbin had been in a more forgiving mood, he’d have recognized how upset Jackson looked, but he was tired, he was hungry, and he was fucking pissed off. Without another word, he took his bag and stomped off.
No one approached him as he sorted through his belongings, laying out the things that needed to dry and refolding what had stayed dry. As he finished up, a duffle bag landed near his feet.
“Louise said it’s not exactly waterproof, but it will help keep things drier if this happens again.”
“Thanks,” Corbin said without looking up, suddenly aware that the butt plug he’d packed on a whim was on top of his pile of dry clothes. His dilemma was now to ignore it and hope Jackson didn’t see it or cover it and possibly draw his attention to it.
