Chapter Nineteen
Ripley
Ipush my glasses up my nose and look at the instructions in my hand and back to the tent I built. It’s… a structure. A little askew, and the top dips in the middle, which I don’t think is supposed to happen according to the picture, but it’s up.
Did I get bored in the middle and start shoving poles in the general direction of the corners? Yes.
Is it standing? Also yes.
Will it keep me warm and dry tonight? To be determined, but I’m calling this a job well done anyway and mentally pat myself on the back.
I toss the instruction pamphlet into the tent, and the whole thing sways precariously but stays up. With a proud nod, I turn around and survey how everyone else is doing.
Cary is done and already cracking open a beer. Brooks is also surprisingly done. He might be a mess, but he’s pretty damn good at building things.
He turns to me and catches my impressed look. “What? I’m good with instructions,” he says. I open my mouth, but he cuts me off, “Don’t.” The comment about where else he takes instruction dies on my tongue as I chuckle. He knows me so well.
Cary hands me a beer, and we all turn to Seth, who’s still working on his tent. He’s mumbling under his breath. The constant grumbles are interspersed with a lot of heavy sighing.
The day warmed up, and we all shed layers during the hike, so he’s standing in a tight white undershirt, which clings to… well, everything. With his back to us, I have a great view of how his shoulders stretch under the fabric, and the indent of his spine as he squats to pick up another part.
And the jeans. This man needs to live in jeans and just bend over or squat on command and at my leisure. I only got the smallest glimpse of his ass in the shower today, and it’s even better than I remember: toned, amazingly round, and still covered in the blonde hair I can’t get enough of.
My phone dings and brings me out of my runaway thoughts.
I was surprised and overjoyed to find I have service out here, so I’ve been sending pictures to Thea and Margot with updates on the trip.
Most of them have been photos of Cary and Brooks’ angry glares as I shoved my phone in their faces during our hike.
When I swipe open Thea’s message, I’m greeted by a picture of the two of them in fluffy, white robes sitting in pedicure chairs with clay masks coating their faces. My lips pull at the corners at how relaxed they look, knowing Thea needs it.
I’m not at all jealous of how pampered they look. Not. At. All.
Pocketing my phone, I walk over to grab a snack from where we piled our supplies and hear another frustrated sigh from Seth.
“Slot Pole A into… then drive the pegs into the ground at a forty-five degree angle,” he mumbles under his breath as he reads from a paper that looks like it’s been folded and unfolded a couple hundred times.
“I have no pegs. And where the fuck is the rest of Pole A?” He looks around at the tent parts he’s laid out in neat little rows.
His face is scrunched in frustration, and his hair is falling over his forehead.
I itch to swipe it off his face, like I did last night in the bar bathroom.
Fuck, now all I can think about are his blue eyes looking up at me, flooded with tears. Even from his knees, the man owns me.
I take a sip of the beer I’m still holding and clear my throat. “You good?”
“No, East. I’m not good,” he bites out, rounding on me. “I’m missing half the pieces to this fucking tent.”
Ooo, fiesty.
“You sound frustrated,” I say, unable to keep my smile from stretching across my face at his use of my nickname.
He looks up at me, and if looks could kill, I’d burst into flames on the spot. His nostrils flare, his brow is set in a hard line, and if he doesn’t relax his jaw, he’ll crack a molar. I lose the battle of tempering my amusement and chuckle at his furious face.
Do I dare?
I step closer to him, swinging my eyes toward Cary but see he’s busied himself farther in the trees, gathering wood for the fire.
My head almost rests against his temple, and my chest lightly brushes against his, goosebumps littering my skin from the contact.
Seth’s body stills. I’m not sure he’s even breathing.
“You can stay in my tent,” I say as I lower my voice. “It’s a double.” My words are breathy, and the implication behind them is clear. I lean back and watch his pupils dilate, hopefully images of last night run through his head.
Seth’s eyes shoot to Cary as he clears his throat and shifts on his feet, but it only moves him closer.
“You know what they say about rockin’ tents,” says Brooks, appearing next to us out of thin air. Seth and I jolt back from each other. Brooks cackles and saunters away.
Seth clears his throat and says, “You just want me to fix your tent.”
He’s not wrong. We look over at my sad, half-hearted attempt at pitching a tent. I feel like there’s a joke there, but I don’t search for it. Instead, I zero in on how he’s unconsciously leaning toward me again.
“I bet you could have it done so quickly,” I say, and I’m not ashamed to say I might bat my eyelashes a bit. Seth is a problem solver, and I can act like a damsel in distress if it gets him into my sleeping bag tonight. “Please?” I suck the side of my bottom lip into my mouth.
Okay, the lip biting might be a bit much, but the begging works. His eyes track the movement, and then he’s on the other side of the campsite wrestling my monstrosity to the ground to start over.
“Dude,” says Brooks while shaking his head, but he reaches out to clink his can to mine, clearly having witnessed the exchange.
“I know,” I say and chuckle as butterflies take flight in my stomach at what tonight has in store.
By the time the fire’s roaring and the hotdogs are roasting, my tent is up and no longer leaning.
After trying to help, which resulted in Seth physically shoving me away when I tangled up the tent ropes by accident, I decided to cook us dinner instead.
My skin still tingles from where he gripped my shoulders to turn me around and push me away.
The woods are loud in the twilight, all the nighttime bugs singing their song, joining in the chorus of the crickets that have kept us company all day.
The fire crackles in sync with the rest of the sounds of nature, and I must say it’s almost nice.
As nice as being in the woods with three other men who also don’t want to be there can be.
The flames are keeping me toasty, and the smoke keeps the mosquitos away. With the light only extending to our tents, it’s easy to forget we’re in the middle of nowhere.
Cary and Brooks settle on a log placed next to the firepit, and Seth and I drop into the tiny camping chairs we lugged up here.
Mine is uncomfortable as hell and has no back to lounge on.
Seth isn’t fairing any better, squirming in the seat, trying to find a position that doesn’t feel like it’s bruising his tailbone.
We pass around the fixings for the hotdogs and chew in silence. Overall the whole day has been quiet with the four of us nursing our hangovers in the worst way possible. I’m still not sure what Thea was thinking scheduling this for the day after the stag party.
I will say, the physical activity and fresh air definitely helped clear the leftover alcohol from my system much quicker than my usual method of cocooning in bed for three days and trying not to cry into my pillow.
“So, I think I speak for everyone here when I say we need to discuss the elephant in the room,” I announce and swing my eyes around the perimeter of the campsite. “The woods. The elephant in the woods.”
“You don’t speak for me,” grumbles Brooks before taking a bite, but I can tell I have his attention anyway.
Ignoring him, I continue, “I need to know more about this Bigfoot situation.” Seth rolls his eyes, clearly not ready to be mocked again, but come on, there’s no way I can let this go.
“Okay, so Sasquatch is real,” I say contemplatively.
“And what about dragons? Are they real too? Do they live in caves protecting their trea—”
“I didn’t share that so you could make fun of me.” Seth’s face flushes; even in the dim light of the fire, it’s easy to see the color rise to his cheeks. He won’t meet my eyes.
Oh—oh, no. I’ve actually embarrassed him. This is a new look for him, and I think I just fell a little bit more in love with this fucking weirdo.
“I’m not making fun,” I say. “Okay, I was a little, but I’m not anymore. Is there something we should be doing to keep him from coming? Like making noises?”
“You’re an idiot,” he says, but his minuscule smirk gives him away.
But I’m your idiot, I want to say but hold the words back.
“On that note, I nominate Ripley to go string up the bear bag,” says Cary.
“I’m sorry, what?” I ask.
“The bear bag. Go tie it up in a tree.” I stare at him and blink a few times. Am I supposed to know what any of that means?
“You’re saying words. And I understand them separately, just not in that order,” I say, my tone dry.
Seth chuckles next to me. “It’s fine. I’ll go with him. It’ll be faster.”
“Oh, isn’t it past your bedtime?” I tease.
“Do you want my help or not?” he asks, but he’s already grabbing the bag with all of our food and a coil of nylon rope, then he’s taking off into the forest.
“But what if we want a snack later?” I ask as I hurry after him.
He ignores me with a shake of his head. We walk in silence for a while, but the dark woods start freaking me out when we can no longer see the glow of the campsite behind us, so I speed up and match my stride to Seth’s.
I’m about to grab ahold of his hand, but he stops and drops the bag next to a fallen tree. He places the lantern down by our feet.
“Point the flashlight up there,” he says, motioning toward a branch about twenty feet up with his head as he uncoils the rope. He then grabs a small fallen branch near our path and ties it to one end of the rope.
“Do you know what you’re doing?” I ask.