When we get to the base of the hike up to Old Man of Storr, there are grey clouds rolling in that bring a gloom to the otherwise perfect day—just like our conversation did earlier.
The large spire-like rock juts up in the distance and I love watching Avi take it in for the first time. “Ready?” I ask.
“Yeah. Let’s do it.” She’s excited, and that gets me excited. This may be our only chance to enjoy this sight together and I don’t want to miss out on it—or another minute of being together—because we’re worried about what comes next. I just want to be here, with her, in this moment.
I jog around to her side of the van to open her door, and her cheeks flush scarlet when she slips her hand into mine so I can help her hop down. Not that she needs help with her long legs—on display for me in a pair of tight bike shorts that hit mid-thigh.
Avi saunters toward the trail and I try with everything in me to keep my eyes off her ass, but it’s hard when it’s right there. She looks back and catches me staring. With a smirk and a wink, she ties her rain jacket around her waist… like that will keep me from looking.
The rest of the hike passes in much the same way. She walks ahead of me and instead of taking in the view, I can’t look away from Avi. Her hair in a long ponytail blowing in the wind. Her toned calves.
When we reach Photographer’s Knoll, a hill that overlooks the whole area, the tension that’s been building between us finally snaps.
“Avi…” I start, wanting to say something, but I don’t know what… and instead of my sentence going anywhere, she closes the distance between us and kisses me.
Her arms go around my neck, our bodies melding together in a way I’ve only ever experienced with her. They fit. It’s magic. Her tongue tastes my bottom lip and I groan knowing we aren’t the only ones on this hill and that I can’t lie down with her in the grass and kiss her the way we were kissing in the barn the other day.
This kiss is different though, almost desperate. I don’t know if it’s because of earlier or because I’m leaving in two days or because every kiss over the last six weeks has gotten hungrier, more needy…
“Avi,” I say again, but this time it’s a prayer on my lips. I pull her closer, not caring about the other hikers—not right now. I cup her face with both hands and her arms slide down to band around my waist. Tilting her head back, she parts her lips further and I take advantage by sweeping my tongue in to dance along with hers.
I’m lost in her, like the only air I could possibly breathe in this scenic spot is the same air she’s breathing. I want to share air withher, I want to share everything with her when we’re together like this. There’s nothing that could break me out of the trance I’m in, enveloped in this cocoon with Avi.
Nothing.
At least until thunder rends the air, loud and menacing, charging the space around us with a new kind of energy. Avi and I break apart—my lips feeling slightly swollen and bruised, warm and wet—and I lean my forehead against hers.
Our breathing eases just as the first droplets of rain begin to hit around us. The wind while we’ve been hiking brought in what looks to be quite a storm. Moving quickly, we pull our jackets on in an attempt to stay somewhat dry, considering we still have a forty-five-minute hike downhill to the van. I reach for Avi’s hand and pull her along in my wake down the single-track trail, trying to ensure neither of us ends up in the dirt or sliding down the mountainside.
The rain is falling in earnest by the time the van comes into view. The dirt parking lot resembles a mud pit and most of the cars have already cleared out. The back door creaks when I pull it open and we both jump in, boots and all, to shelter from the deluge. We’re drenched and laughing and it reminds me of the day on the ferry. Today though, we don’t have a warm house or warm showers to escape into. We only have this van, and there’s no one to scold us for staying out too late. We still have hours before we’re due back home.
We’re bent double at the back of the van, attempting to strip off our dripping jackets and discard our boots without getting the bed and everything else wet. Our shirts are damp from our distracted kissand from sweat—it was no casual stroll to the top and it was more of a chaotic slog to get down.
“I’ll turn the heat on.” I climb over the bed to shove the keys into the ignition from behind the captain’s chairs and crank the heat as high as it will go. “There. It shouldn’t take long to warm up in here.”
I look over my shoulder and watch a shiver overtake Avi as she scooches forward on the mattress toward where I’m kneeling.
The only dry clothing in the van is my Empyreal sweatshirt… The one Avi kept two summers ago that she wears more often than not. I’ve wondered more than I should if she wears it at home in Glasgow too, or if she only does it for me. It would keep her warm, but not over her wet clothes.
I grab it off her seat and toss it to her. “You should put that on.”
“It’ll just get wet too,” she says through chattering teeth, “so what good will that do me?”
“Take the wet stuff off for now. I can put it over the heater vent to help it dry.”
She blushes, cheeks turning the perfect shade of pink to match her kissable lips.
“I won’t look,” I say. “I promise.”
We’ve made out on the shore of the loch in only our bathing suits, so I’ve seen most of her body—I know how her skin feels against mine—but this is different, and I don’t want her to be uncomfortable around me. Ever.
“O-okay.” She stammers over the word due to the continued chattering of her teeth.
I turn back toward the front to mess with the vents, hoping to trigger more airflow. There’s not much to be done for my clothes.My shorts are made of a quick dry fabric but they’re pretty wet and my shirt is damp and cold against my skin.
“I can get the picnic basket out and we can have lunch back there—” I say, keeping my eyes firmly focused out the windshield, but a hand on my calf cuts off both my sentence and my reach for the basket.
When I turn around, I’m rendered completely speechless. Avi sits with her legs bent under her, the bottom of the sweatshirt skimming her thighs. Her hair is pulled up into a knot on top of her head, and despite the cold, she looks even more flushed than she did a minute ago. A small pile of her wet clothes sits beside her—shorts, T-shirt, sports bra… panties. My mouth goes dry and my body stirs to life, no longer affected by the cold or the wet. It’s instantly attuned to her being this close.
