Page 45 of Hard Rain

“We need bigger,” he grumbled, rolling to his feet. He grabbed an armload of wood and dumped it beside the fire.

More fire meant more heat.

It wasn’t complicated.

Then Whip started taking pieces back off.

“It doesn’t work that way,” Whip said.

Apparently, it was complicated.

“Do I have to burn my shirt?”

Axel glared as he settled back onto the bedroll.

Whip’s eyes cut to him, drifted down his chest, and a slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Axel went still for a second.

“Put it on the flames,” Whip suggested.

“Punk.”

A laugh slipped out before Axel could stop it.

“I’m soaked.”

His shirt still clung to his back. Every movement pulled damp fabric between his shoulder blades.

“As soon as the kindling dries, the fire will be hot enough to burn the heavier stuff.”

Whip added more of the moss and twigs he’d found in a corner of the cabin.

The kindling caught exactly the way Whip said it would.

Axel knew how to light a fire; he just didn’t have the patience for it, never had. That was all Whip. Even when they’d run around together as teenagers in the mountains of Oregon, Whip had been the survivalist. The one carrying extra water. Extra food. Extra common sense.

Most of the time, he just stole the extra snacks.

Why carry your own?

The fire snapped softly between them while rain rattled against the cabin roof.

“Remember that time we got caught on Winter Rim after dark?”

Whip snorted. “And you lost your shoe.”

“Hey, it was flooding.”

“Yeah, but you still lost your shoe. I told you to wear boots, but no…”

“The boots were torn.” Axel picked up a piece of twig and tossed it into the growing flames.

“That’s because you let Becky Taylor’s brother borrow them.”

“Did I?” He smirked, remembering very well.

“Yeah. You wanted to get into her pants.”