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“Yes, I’m washing.” I blush and begin to scrub.
Oh, his smug face. The professor thinks he’s such a smartass. He wants to play? Let’s play.
Once the fabric is cleansed of the mud, I purposely swim in front of Logan and exit the water directly in his line of sight, regaling him with an unobstructed view of my rear side.
Once on the shore, I peek over my shoulder and find him slightly slack-jawed.
“Hey, Doctor?” I call. “Are you washing those, or what?”
He lets out an embarrassed cough. “Yeah, sure. I’ll be out in a minute.”
I wring as much water as I can out of my pants and sprawl them to dry in the late afternoon sun, then lie on a big flat rock nearby to sunbathe myself.
Logan joins me shortly afterward. For once, I refrain from ogling his body and concentrate on his scraped kneecaps instead.
“Let me dress those,” I say, and roll to the side to retrieve the first-aid kit from my backpack.
“Nah, it’s nothing,” Logan protests.
I ignore him and get to work spraying disinfectant over his bruised skin. “Trust me, you don’t want raw skin brushing against your pants.”
I cleanse the wounds and dress them with clean gauze, saying, “There you go.”
Logan’s stare is intense as he says, “Thank you,” making me once again hyper-aware of how semi-naked we both are.
“No problem,” I say. And, to avoid having to look at him, I lie on my back and close my eyes, enjoying the warmth of the stone beneath me.
In the sweltering heat, my hair and underwear dry off quickly. I grow more comfortable by the minute, until this rock begins to feel like the coziest bed I’ve ever had. Fatigue catches up with me, and I start to doze off…
When I open my eyes again, the sun is setting and the sky is transitioning from an orange-gold to a dark purple streaked with lavender, and finally a deep violet-blue.
Logan is no longer on the rock with me. I search for him and find him on the riverbank, busy setting up a small tent for the night. A really small tent.
I quickly braid my hair, pull on my pants and the spare shirt from my backpack, collect everything else, and join him near the tent.
“That looks tiny,” I say. “Sure it’s made to house two?”
“No, it’s for one. We’ll have to squeeze a little.”
I open the flap. “A little? Sleep on top of each other, you mean!”
“Don’t be so melodramatic.”
“Couldn’t you bring a bigger tent?”
“No, sorry. This was the only one still closed, and we didn’t exactly have time to pack one of the bigger ones.”
“I’m not sleeping in there with you.”
“If you want to brave the jungle, be my guest,” he says, getting in. “But I’m not staying out here to play meal for the mosquitoes.”
As if on cue, the first mosquito bite stings my neck, quelling all my objections. I swat myself, and, with a sigh, follow Logan inside.
* * *
If we sit with our legs held close to our chests, the space is wide enough to allow us to each claim a corner of the tent and not be too much in each other’s hair. But if we were to lie down…
One problem at a time.
