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Then I’ll never live it down.
So I just lie there in the dim light just before sunset proper, wide awake and exhausted yet fizzing with a lust so intense it vibrates with awareness.
For a second, I think about calling out, but I open my mouth and stop cold.
I can’t do it.
Not in this state.
Sighing, I wriggle out of my sleeping bag and cool off for a second in the dewy morning air.
I think Shepherd does the same, taking a moment to collect himself.
He looks so painfully handsome in that tight t-shirt clinging to him like a second skin that I don’t dare stare too long.
And it’s a one-way glance.
He doesn’t so much as look at me as he packs his stuff away.
His movements seem almost as stilted as mine, sore from yesterday’s rigors, or maybe just intent on holding himself together.
Despite everything, I feel a tiny surge of victory.
If he’s been awake all night too,good.
The prick deserves it after kissing me like Satan on a mission and then cutting me off cold turkey.
Never mind the fact that he wouldn’t utter one word about it.
Adults talk... don’t they?
When they make mistakes, they own up to them—and he clearly thinks yesterday was an epic mistake—and they also figure out a way to set things right.
But when it comes to Shepherd Foster, CEO and shameless jackass extraordinaire, communication is an afterthought.
Fine.
Whatever.
While he kicks dirt and sand into the fire pit, I sit up and pack my overnight stuff into my kayak, strapping it down firmly.
Soon, without speaking, we carry our boats down from the rocks where we secured them and get everything ready to go.
My limbs feel like they’re encased in cement when I start paddling.
Muscles I didn’t know I had scream with protest.
Luckily, a few parts of this stretch of coastline are familiar. This isn’t my first time coming to the Olympic Peninsula.
Last year, I came out here for five days sea otter hunting and came back empty-handed, not counting a few pics of cute foxes and a marmot. But I didn’t have anything to prove then like I do today, and the stakes are higher than ever.
“This is it,” Shepherd finally says about an hour later, breaking the morning quiet. “Where do you want to start?”
After some thought, I pick a small trail through the woods that curls back to another beach through some overgrowth. It’s one of those hidden gem beaches that rarely sees people, safe from the summer tourists. That factor alone might boost our chances.
We climb out and secure our kayaks against some driftwood before heading down the brush-crowded path.
“You want to tell me about these otters? I’m guessing you’ve got some expertise,” he says after a few more heavy minutes.
