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“Guys stare,” I point to some asshole leaning against his car. “Like that guy right there, pretending to be on his phone while he’s leering and probably having dirty thoughts about you.” I glare at him and turn her so she’s out of his line of sight.
“I’m not responsible for someone else’s thoughts.” She’s looking at me like she thinks this is cute, and it isnotcute.
“I don’t like it.” My eyes flick to the guy by his car and back to Sasha, my voice gravelly.
She leans into me. “Let him stare and have all the dirty thoughts he wants, but just remember,” her breath tickles my ear, “you’re the one that gets to take me home andacton all of those dirty thoughts.” She places a kiss to the stubble on my jaw.
“You might have a good point,” I grumble, then I reach into the saddle bag and hold up her jacket. “It might get cold,” I cajole as I offer it to her.
“Cash.”
“Fine.” I throw it back in the saddlebag.
She places her hand on my chest with a devilish smile. “Are you ready for this, old man?” She points up the road that leads to the hike.
I cock an eyebrow at her as I push off from the bike and grab the small bag I packed from the other saddlebag.
“When I agreed to get out more, this isn’t what I envisioned,” I grumble.
“I told you, it’s an easy four mile hike roundtrip to the waterfall.”
“Easy for you or easy for me?” I ask with sarcasm, just staring at her.
“Let’s just get going.” She motion’s to start walking and I reluctantly follow her, glaring back at the young guy in the parking lot who quickly looks away.
We take a paved road that winds through some of Malibu’s most extravagant residences. The higher we go, the more beautiful the views of the ocean are. It looks more like a street leading up to someone’s house than to a waterfall.
“Are you sure this is the way?” I ask. “This does not look like a trail to a waterfall.” There’s a house on the hill that looks like a Tuscan Villa.
“Yes, I’m sure.” She shakes her head at me and then pulls her hair up in a knot, using the rubber band from around her wrist. Little pieces of hair escape and stick to the nape of her neck.
It’s mid-afternoon, and we pass people already coming back. The paved road ends at a trailhead, and we take a hard left onto a narrow dirt path that leads downhill into Escondido Canyon. The scenery is beautiful, full of trees and sloping mountains.
We walk silently, and I take everything in. I’ve never been hiking, unless you count when I was a teenager and we used to go up to Bear Canyon Lake in Payson. The difference is stark because Payson is heavily wooded, the canopy of trees blocking out a lot of the sky, and it snows in the winter. Here, it’s perpetual summer.
Sasha walks along the path as if this is a usual Sunday afternoon for her, and I’m jealous of her youth, sun-kissed skin, and eternal smile. It’s funny because I’m the older one, but she’s teaching me how to live again.
Up ahead, there’s a creek with dead branches and rocks sticking out of the water.
“There’s water.”
She looks at me incredulously. “Didn’t I mention,” she says seriously, “that we’re going to a waterfall?”
“I know that, but you didn’t say anything about crossing a river.” I look ahead to the running water.
“It’s not a river,” she says, exasperated with me.
I look down at my Converse and then back up at her. “I don’t think these are waterproof.”
She points to my shoes and looks at her own waterproof hiking boots guiltily. “Now you’re the one who needs appropriate footwear,” she laughs, and I lift the toes of my shoes off the ground.
“I guess you’re right.”
“The water isn’t usually this high in the summer.” She lifts her hand, shading her eyes from the sun.
“Great,” I huff.
She grabs my hand like I’m a little kid that needs to be walked across the street. “What you’re gonna do is step on these rocks to get across.”
