“Okay,” is all I say.
“The girl asked me if I wanted a vanilla matcha latte, so I had to say yes,” she huffs as she pulls her large backpack over her shoulders. “And that’s why I’m here. My friends asked me if I needed time away. I said yes. One thing led to another,” she huffs again as if I’m the biggest irritant in her life, “and so I’m here. Get it?”
“Ya, Booksy. I get it.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Whatever. Let’s go.”
We’re a couple of kilometers up the path as I let my mind drift and focus on the sounds around me. It’s so peaceful up here. Velvet Peak is one of my favorite mountains that Lit Creek has to offer. I could spend all my time here. I’ve slowed my pace so Emmerson can keep up, but otherwise this is how I love to be.
“What was that?” Emmerson is the first to break the silence.
“What was what?” I keep plodding forward. If we want to make it to our destination before nightfall and set up each of our tents with any amount of light, we need to continue moving.
“That.” Her voice takes on a slightly more frightened tone.
I stop and look back. Her bag is on the ground and she’s taking a gulp from her water bottle. She’s a little sweaty and some water dribbles down her chin. But she’s too on edge to care. As she swipes it away with the back of her hand, her eyes are scanning the trees.
I walk back a few paces to stand next to her thinking now is as good a time as any for a drink. I take my bag off and rest it beside hers because I can see she wants a short break.
“Oh my God, Jack. What is that?”
“Emmerson, it’s nothing. Just relax. We’re in the mountains. There are animals, you know?”
“That sounds like a big one.” She’s inching closer to me. I need to reassure her, but before I can do that she drops her bottle.
A twig snaps and I can’t explain to you what happened next. All I know is that Emmerson climbed me like I’m a fucking tree, and now her legs are wrapped around my waist and she’s trembling. Her arms are looped around my neck and her face is pressed into my chest.
I can’t say I haven’t imagined this position with her, oh several dozen—ahem, hundred—times. But we’ve always been friends. She friendzoned me so fast that I didn’t have time to blink. And her BFF, my sister Georgie, confirmed it. Not just once. Over the years I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard, “Em just thinks of you as a friend.” It’s a bit of a sore spot.
But at the moment, I’ve got a bit of a different sore spot happening. My dick is starting to throb, it’s so close to her core.
“Booksy, you have to get down.”
“I can’t.” Her voice is muffled in my shirt.
But I’ve got to get her off of me before I do something really stupid, like roll her over the hardness starting to strain against my jeans.
“Emmerson, it’s alright. It was just a squirrel. Besides, I’ve got bear spray. We’re fine.” I squeeze my hands gently around her waist and pry her off of me. Can’t say that was an easy thing to do. She’s still shaking.
I pick up my bag and grab hers next, carrying it on my front.
“Just a squirrel. Right.” She forces a laugh. “You’re not going to nominate me for the Johnny Board are you?”
“Nope.” No way I’m telling anyone about this torture, never mind the whole town. They celebrate embarrassing moments on the Johnny Board. It’s a whole thing with a fake million dollar bill and everything.
“Oh, I’ll carry my bag,” she protests out of what I can only label as etiquette.
“I’ve got it, Em. Just walk.”
“You’re going to carry both bags. That’s a bit of a load.”
“I’m used to carrying heavy loads.” In so many ways. Just another reason I don’t argue or fight with anyone.
“But—”
“Just think of it this way, Booksy. If the bear spray doesn’t work, and talking the bear down doesn’t work, at least this way you can run.”
