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I frown. “I didn’t think they were. I just wanted to let you know that if you needed to vent or even share a story, no matter how boring it is, I’ll listen, and I promise to keep it to myself.”
“That’s what my therapist is for,” he says. “You, gorgeous, are for keeping my bed warm and my heart full.”
“I can live with that,” I reply, finding my smile again.
I slide my hand down his chest and grip his morning wood, stroking it softly.
He lets out a low groan and kisses me. My legs part as he finds me wet for him, and it only takes a few minutes for both of us to get each other off with just our hands. Afterward, we laugh like a couple of kids and then shower together.
***
“Ican’t believe youdragged me on a hike,” I huff, throwing daggers with my gaze at Eric as we reach the top of the crest. My new blue Nikes are coated red with dirt, and I silently pray it will come out in the wash. With my hands on my knees, I try to regulate my breathing.
“Wimp,” he replies, setting his backpack down in front of a large rock before sitting on it. He pulls two water bottles from the side pocket and hands me one. “Hydrate, grumpy.”
I say nothing as I snatch it from him, pop the lid open, and take a swig. The cold water feels glorious as it slides down my throat.
“We only have another mile to go to get to the top. Isn’t that exciting?” he asks.
“Don’t push it,” I murmur, drinking more water. It’s so dry and warm, I feel like I’m in the desert.
“Slow down, don’t gulp too fast.”
“Fine,” I say, flipping the lid closed and handing him back the bottle to replace in the backpack he carries. Since he insisted on a hike, he can do the heavy lifting.
“Want a bar?” He tosses me a Kind bar.
“I hate nuts, but I’m so hungry I’m gonna eat it anyway.” I tear open the package and bite into the fruit, nut, and chocolate. I shouldn’t have skipped breakfast.
He chuckles in response and watches me.
I look up into the sky to see the sun is directly overhead, which means it’s about noon. Mid-April weather is hit or miss in Colorado, and it’s still chilly, but the exercise is gratefully making it feel warmer. What I’m not grateful for is how thin the air is.
“It’s hard to breathe,” I parrot my inner thoughts.
Without a word, he rummages into his pack and hands me a green can. I read the label:Portable Oxygen Cannister.
“Pull off the lid and suck,” he instructs.
I obey, and immediately feel better and less grumpy. “You thought of everything.”
“Not my first rodeo. C’mon, let’s finish this.” He indicates for me to hand him the oxygen, but I refuse.
“I’m gonna hold onto this. Unless you need it?”
He shakes his head. “No. I’m good.”
Showoff.
We continue our trek up through the red dirt path of the mountain, and I ask, “So when you say let’s finish this, you mean a rich man in a helicopter is gonna whisk down and give us a ride back down the mountain? Because it feels like once we reach the top, we’re only halfway done with the hike.”
He chuckles, and says, “No, hiking down is the easy part. It’s the uphill that’s rough.”
Narrowing my eyes at him, I say, “I don’t believe you. Don’t you have rich friends? Don’t any of them own a helicopter we could charter?”
He stops his hike and turns to me. I try not to laugh at the flaps draping down from his hat that cover his ears and neck, or the ascot-looking handkerchief thing around his neck. “You really hate this?”
Do I?
