“Well, keep your sleeping bag zipped all the way up and put that wool hat on your head. Dress in everything you brought, and everything I got you, too. Then, throw the wool blanket on top. You’ll stay warm enough. Ipromise.”
The way her eyes clung to me, I got the feeling she was going to hold me to that promise.
“You won’t turn into an icicle overnight. The human spirit is tougher than you think.”
And with those words of wisdom, I took myself and my aching cock away from her tent and into mine.
That woman had me all tied up in knots.
Fuck Jameson and his no-fuck rule, anyway.
Besides, once wouldn’t be enough.
I realized with some mild shock that I wanted to be with her. Like really be with her.
Get it out of your head. She doesn’t even live around here.
My tent felt colder than usual. And lonelier as I got ready for bed.
I kept one ear open, hoping Katie might need me, but everything was quiet in her tent.
Chapter 6
Katie
“I can’t do it!” I cried.
My heart was trip-hammering in my chest, flurries of panic racing through me, setting my blood on fire.
“Youcando it. And youwill.First, you have to breathe. Start breathing again, Katie. Take nice, long, slow breaths for me,” Boone rumbled, calm and easy like we were on a Sunday stroll instead of this hell-hike.
“This is not an intermediate hike!” I sniffled out between tears.
Everyone was gathered round; half of the group was ahead of me, and half of the group was waiting behind.
Lauren, the friend I’d made last night, hollered, “You can do this, Katie!”
I was currently hugging the side of a mountain trying to hold on for dear life while a panic attack gripped me.
Boone was in front of me.
He’d already made the crossing, nimbly finding footholds as he scrambled across the rock face.
Now he’d doubled back, planting himself right next to me on the mountain, eyes meeting mine.
“Tell me where you’re from, Katie Hill with the chestnut ponytail. I dreamed about you last night. Tell me where you’re from.”
What? He dreamed about me?
His voice soothed me, and I forgot to feel fear, losing myself in his eyes.
With tiny hitching breaths, I told him, “I’m from Georgia.”
“Georgia. That sounds nice. Do they really have good peaches there?”
A small smile landed on my lips. “They’re the best. Every summer, my girlfriends and I visit a farm to pick some. It’s the highlight of my year.”
“That sounds lovely. Maybe you’ll take me to pick peaches with you next year. Would you like that, Katie Hill?”
