Chapter 23

Easton takes the expired can of bear spray and enters the trees to search for wood. I suck in a breath, wishing my body would acclimate to the altitude quicker, looking around at my surroundings.

It’s a beautiful place, and I’m glad we’re camping. As I walk around, I find a fire ring with some old coals and know where those who stay here usually camp.

When I dump the tent out of its bag, all I can do is laugh. I laugh so hard that a few tears stream down my cheeks because it’s a one-person backpacking tent. It takes me less than ten minutes to set it up. I stand with my hands on my hips, trying to figure out how this will work.

Easton walks up behind me with an armful of wood. He sets it next to the fire ring, and his face contorts when he notices our shelter for the night.

“No, this is the fucking joke.” He points at it.

“Does that look miniature to you?” I ask, covering my smile with my hand and laughing. “I don’t have any words for this.”

“Will we even fit?”

I shrug. “I guess we’ll find out later.”

He doesn’t look convinced or amused as I pull the mattress pad and sleeping bag from the back seat.

I position them inside the tent and take a step back. It is what it is, and we’ll make it work.

Easton makes several trips as I gather loose leaves and smaller sticks for kindling. I grab the fire starter and let out a sigh of relief when I see the striker still attached. Otherwise, this entire setup would have been useless. To be honest, that would’ve been the icing on the cake.

I shave off magnesium onto the kindling pile. After I flip it around onto the ferro rod side, I strike against it, and sparks fly. The magnesium instantly catches on fire and I add other smaller sticks, blowing on it to keep the flame hot.

Eventually, it catches, and I stand up, adding thicker sticks until I have a roaring fire. When it pops and cracks, I smile, proud of myself. It’s been years since I started a fire using one of those, but I still have it.

Sometimes, it pays to grow up in the middle of nowhere. Situations like this aren’t frightening.

Easton returns, drops the rest of what he gathered on the vast pile, then steps back. The fire crackles and he tilts his head, impressed.

I nod as he gives me a high five.

“Mmhmm.” I brush off my shoulder.

“Southern girls.” He proudly folds his arms across his broad chest. “You’re made different.”

“A good kind of different?”

“Very good.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment,” I say.

“You should.”

Easton returns with the camping chair and the bottle of Fireball.

I look down at it in his hand. “That a good idea?”

“Are you scared?” He chuckles, removing the lid.

“No, but you should be. At some point when I drink, my filter disappears.”

“Wait.” He tilts his head. “You have a filter?”

I narrow my eyes. “I’m glad you can dish and take it.”

“I love to reciprocate,” he says, moving the chair close to the fire.

Easton sits and pats his lap. I take his offer, and he wraps his arm around my waist, hooking his finger into the front belt loop of my jeans.

He brings the bottle to his lips before handing it to me. “Eww, that tastes like shit.”

As I take a long pull, he watches me with a brow lifted, a small smile permanently planted.

“It reminds me of bad decisions,” I say.

“Like what?”

“Oh, there are way too many to even name. I went to a few cast parties and kissed people I probably shouldn’t have. It’s why I never kissed any of the guys I went on dates with when I moved back. For some reason, when I do, guys get weirdly obsessed.”

“Really? Maybe that’s the problem. You cursed me when you stuck your tongue down my throat in front of the paps,” he says.

I turn around and smack him. “Please. I cursed you when I stole your watch.”

A howl of laughter releases from him, and it echoes through the trees. “So fucking true.”

“Speaking of, what time is it?”

He checks his watch—the watch that started it all. “Almost seven thirty. An hour and a half until sunset.”

“And what day are we on?” I ask, curious.

“Eleven.”

I can smell the cinnamon on his breath. I lean against him, with his arm lazily wrapped around me, and glance at the low-hanging sun. Eventually, it will fall behind the mountains, and temperatures will drop. We have enough wood to last all night. The booze, as shitty as it is, will make this easier.

I try to hold back a smile and focus on the blazing fire. Some of the wood must’ve been wet because it pops and wheezes.

“What if this is a mistake?” I whisper, wishing I could predict the future.

“And what if it’s not?”

“I guess it’s the flip of a coin,” I say.

“Yep.”

If ever I needed a crystal ball, it’s now.

I’m too lost in my thoughts, trying to predict our outcome.

Marriage for three hundred sixty-five days, divorce, and a payment.

But what if, in the end, it’s not what I want?

My biggest fear is growing attached to this man, but I can’t deny how he makes me feel when we’re alone. This is the version of him I can see myself falling for. And right now, as he holds me, nothing else in the world matters but us, this moment, and this wild adventure we’re on together.

We drink like we’re running from our bubbling feelings, the ones we vehemently deny.

It’s not worth discussing until day fifteen—or at least, that’s what I tell myself.

Until then, we can continue our spiral down this path of denial, paved with silent conversations and stolen glances.

The flames have us transfixed, and we fall into silence, watching it, sipping the Fireball. At some point, it no longer has a taste, and that’s when I know I’m on the road to Truthville. After an hour, my stomach growls so loud that Easton hears it.

“Let me grab those sandwiches,” he says, patting me.

I stand, and the world shifts.

“Shit,” I say, not realizing how much I had to drink until now.

His hands are on me, gently positioning me in the chair.

I reach up and run my fingers through his hair and smile. “I’ve been wanting to do that,” I admit.

“I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere,” he says, giving me a boyish grin.

The sun is setting, quickly dipping below the mountain as the sky slowly fades into night. It’s gorgeous here, and the picture is perfectly shaded with bursts of color.

Moments later, Easton returns with bottles of water and food. He adds more wood to the fire, then I stand, allowing him to sit, and he pulls me down with him.

“You’re like my throne. All rigid,” I say, wiggling my ass against him as he hands me a sandwich.

“I like the thought of that.”

I unzip the plastic baggie and bite the soft white bread and turkey with cheese and mayo. “This is so good. We’ll have to thank your friend.”

“After I kick his ass.” Easton checks his watch. “Darkness will fall soon.”

“Nighttime is my favorite. I can’t wait to see the stars here. It’s one thing I hate about the city. It’s like the outside world doesn’t exist.”

“It doesn’t,” he says. “When you’re in New York, you’re in it.”

“And when you leave, it’s in you,” I add. “When I moved back to Texas, I always felt like I was playing a part.”

An admission that nearly takes my breath away.

“Like this?” he asks.

“No. When I’m with you like this, it’s real. I was too busy trying to make everyone else happy instead of focusing on myself.”

He nods. “I understand that more than you know.”

We finish our sandwiches and Easton rests his chin on my shoulder while we enjoy the fire.

My eyes grow heavy, making me realize how tired I am. “Can we go to bed?”

“Yes,” he says, grabbing our trash and picking up everything to move it away from our tent.

He locks it in the cooler on the back of the Jeep, meeting me as I stare at the comically small tent.

“Go ahead. You first,” I say as he unzips the entrance.

Easton climbs inside and sits on the mattress pad, hunched over, and removes his shoes. He props himself up on one elbow, glancing at the little space left for me.

The flame lights his face perfectly, and I realize I’m staring.

“Your turn,” he says, patting the pad and scooting over, giving me more room.

“Fuck it,” I say, taking off my shoes, stumbling back into the tent. I fall against him, laughing.

My ass presses against his cock, and his hot breath is on my neck. He lifts the sleeping bag, covering us the best he can.

He wraps his tattooed arm around me, pulling me closer against his muscular body. “Are you comfortable?”

“Actually, yes.” I tilt my head toward him, and his mouth is so damn close. That perfect smile that’s just for me is so damn intoxicating. “You think this will work out?”

“It’s one night. We’ll survive,” he admits.

“You know that’s not what I’m asking, Easton.” My breathing grows more ragged as his thumb brushes against my cheek.

“The only thing I’m certain of is you being the end of me,” he whispers.

Temptation swirls in the air.

“Okay, trade me,” I say, reaching into my pocket and struggling to find the wadded paper. “I’m ready.”

“Oh, this is the moment?” he says, slightly repositioning himself to grab his.

My nerves get the best of me, but I can’t wait any longer. I have to know what number rating this man gave me. I have to know if I have a chance in Hell.

“What if this doesn’t have the answer you want?” I search his face.

“I’ll accept it,” he says. “No questions asked. And you?”

“Same.” I suck in a deep breath, open it, and see a ONE. My heart drops, and then I see the ZERO next to it. “Asshole.”

He opens mine and sees the same. A ten. “You are too.”

I roll over onto my side so I’m facing him. His strong arm wraps around me, and we lie there as he holds me against his chest. The scents of cinnamon on our breath and campfire on our skin fill the tent.

“What does this mean for us?” I ask.

“It means we’re rule breakers. But most importantly, we’re fucked.”

I close my eyes, unable to look at him, feeling my temperature rise as the electricity pulls us together.

“Easton,” I whisper.

“Lexi,” he says, moving closer—honestly, I didn’t know it was possible.

His lips are mere inches from mine, and I want to feel his mouth again. I hang by a thread, waiting, wanting, wishing, and needing to know if anything has changed between us from the first night until now.

He feels it too. I know he does.

“Once lines are crossed …” he whispers. “We can’t undo it.”

“I know,” I barely say, swallowing hard.

His nose brushes against mine, and butterflies flutter.

Is the risk worth the reward?

I inch forward, making the first move. Not giving a fuck anymore.

His soft lips and tongue capture mine as he runs his fingers through my hair, tugging. The kiss deepens, and I’m desperate for more of him. I know this man will be the one to burn me to the ground.

He growls against me, and his other hand rests on the small of my back, pushing me against him as I run my fingers through his messy hair.

“Fuck,” he hisses, tugging my bottom lip into his mouth, shaking his head.

I’m lost in his need for more, feeling how hard he is against me.

Whatever is going on between us is mutual. Right now, we’re damned if we do and damned if we don’t.

“Mmm,” I whimper, knowing I’m losing control, but it’s all happening too fast.

My eyes flutter open, and so do his.

“We shouldn’t,” he mutters, his lips brushing across mine like butterfly wings. Fierce desperation is written on his face, the same expression I’m wearing.

“I know,” I say.

“Are you sure you’re anti-love?”

I search his eyes, falling deep into his blues. “I’ll give you my official answer on day fifteen.”

He smirks. “I’ll be waiting. I’m sorry. This should be done with a clear conscience, so there are no regrets,” he says.

He softly kisses me, and I breathe out, knowing he’s right as he stole my breath away.

“I hate it when you’re right,” I say, his nose rubbing against mine.

He chuckles. “Good night, my little heartbreaker.”

“Good night,” I whisper, rolling the other way so I don’t do something I’ll regret.

His cock is hard against my back, and knowing I’ve caused that gives me too much satisfaction.

Easton holds me tight against him like our bodies were made to be together, like if he lets go, I’ll disappear. And I don’t want him to let go, in case I do.

I melt into him, realizing how right he is.

I am fucked. But so is he.

Tonight has proven that to me.