CHAPTER 8
Riggs
Clearly, something is wrong, but I’m clueless as to what it could be. Should I say something?
After a moment she turns to me with tense shoulders and snaps, “I had to take care of something.”
Wow, that was defensive. But why? I wasn’t accusing her of anything.
A little confused, I brush it off and act like nothing happened and hold up my bandaged hand with, “You did a nice job, better than my brother would have.” I offer a friendly smile, if for no other reason than she seems like she needs it.
“Ash is good at a lot of things, but first-aid isn’t one of them.
I was lucky you came back.” I leave out the inconvenient part where she’s the reason I cut myself in the first place.
It appears I said something right because the tension in the air evaporates and her shoulders relax.
“How long have you guys been out here?” she asks as she comes back to stand next to the log she had been sitting on.
I toss two more logs onto the fire. “This was a short trip, only seven days.”
She turns and bends over to put the first-aid kit back in my pack. “That’s a short trip? What’s a normal trip for you guys?”
I curse whoever invented yoga pants, especially the kind that ride up a girl’s ass like that. Dead kittens, dead kittens, dead kittens.
It takes serious effort to look away, but I have to. “Usually three months, sometimes a bit longer, but never less than that.”
“Three months!” She zips up my pack and sits on the log while pulling a strand of hair from her face and tucking it behind her ear. “What exactly do you do for a living?”
I like that she doesn’t know. To her, I’m just another guy, as opposed to a rich, internet-famous single guy who could be her sugar daddy, which is how Ash and I appear to most women.
Because I never get asked this question, I don’t have a prepared answer.
“Where to start?” I scratch the back of my neck trying to think of an easy way to describe what we do.
“My brother and I do outdoor adventures. It’s for our sister’s YouTube channel, well, technically it’s our channel, but it’s really Elsie’s channel.
Anyway, she was the one on the phone earlier. ”
Blondie gives me a raised brow. “I heard.”
I can imagine how that conversation must have sounded.
“Yeah, I should have known better than to put it on speaker. I knew she’d be upset, but I didn’t expect her to be that upset.
” It’s a lie. That’s exactly what I was expecting.
I was just so tired and hungry I wasn’t thinking when I put the phone on speaker in front of total strangers.
And speaking of being tired and hungry, I need to get the chairs made so I can get out of here.
I wonder if that lodge has an all-you-can-eat buffet.
In the meantime, I should probably defend my sister.
“Anyway, when we haven’t pissed her off, she’s actually nice. You’d like her. Women generally do.”
“In a way, I can see that. I like how she’s not afraid to speak her mind.
” Blondie uncrosses her legs and swivels on her log to face the fire.
Sticks left over from making the shelter are scattered at our feet.
She leans down to pick one up and holds the end in the flames. “What did you do that made her so mad?”
Fair question. I’d be curious too if our roles were reversed. “We were supposed to meet with some pretty important people at Big Bear Lake yesterday. Obviously, we didn’t make it.”
While she plays in the fire with her stick, I gather up the remaining sticks left over from making the shelter and start on the first chair.
Blondie watches intently, asking smart questions along the way like she’s truly interested in learning how it’s done.
That doesn’t happen very often. Usually, people are only interested in our personal lives and couldn’t care less about our outdoor skills.
They want to know every intimate detail about us, even private ones that they have no business asking about.
Ash and I get it, but that doesn’t mean we have to like it, which we don’t.
And to make it worse, when they’re asking us questions, they record everything with their phones and one misstep ends up going viral.
It’s happened to us a few times, so we’ve learned that no matter how fucked up someone’s question is, like asking about what size condoms we use, we have to politely deflect without seeming like total assholes.
That’s not always easy, especially for me.
I finish the frame then retrieve a net from my pack. Ash and I make all our own nets, and this one has been with me for years, so it’s stretched in all the right places. As expected, it slips over the frame like a glove.
“Wow!” Blondie hops on it and leans back. “It reclines? That’s incredible, and it’s so comfortable.”
I’ve made a million chairs, and I don’t think I’ve ever been this proud of one. I love that she loves it. “Glad you like it. I have one more to make then we’ll be done here.”
“No!” she protests, sitting up straight. “I came to help, remember? I get to make the next one.”
I stare at her for a moment trying to decide if I want to tell her to leave because that’s the only way I can keep from falling for her, or, if I want to drop to one knee and beg her to marry me.
It’s a tough decision.
On one hand, she’s a lot of temptation, too much, way too much, so making up some excuse, even a lame one for why I need to finish this on my own is probably the smart choice.
On the other hand, every part of me wants to get to know her better.
The girls I’ve dated would never get their hands dirty.
I always wanted to go camping, even glamping with them, but I have yet to date a girl who would even consider spending a single night in a tent.
I have a feeling Blondie would love camping.
I wasn’t going to, but I decide to make a simple rack for holding our packs and other gear.
Ash and I don’t need it for this camp, but it’s a way to keep my hands busy while she attempts to duplicate my chair.
As I assemble the rack, I can’t help admiring how well she’s doing with the frame.
I help a little by showing her some shortcuts, but she’s able to do everything on her own for the most part.
It’s nothing short of impressive, and the best part is, she seems to be really enjoying it.
When she finishes stretching the net over her frame, she stands with her hands on her hips examining her craftsmanship. I know that look. She couldn’t be more proud, and a curve pulls at the corner of my lip. Good for her.
Satisfied, she plops down and leans back with a pleased “oooh” like it’s the most comfortable chair she’s ever sat on. And it just might be. Ash and I have been perfecting the design for years.
“This is so awesome!” she exclaims. The twinkle in her eyes warms my chest.
I set the coffee table in front of the fire then realize, to my delight, and dismay, that the chairs are sitting side by side. Everything about this situation is… dangerous.
The sun is approaching the tree-lined mountain range while an amber glow emanating from the flames in the dimming light creates an intimate vibe. If I wanted to create the perfect romantic evening, this would be it. Fuck me.
“You did a good job,” I offer as I plant my ass in my chair. I’m going to take a moment to enjoy this before we go to the lodge.
Leaning back with my hands clasped behind my head, I kick my boots up on the table. As heat from the fire warms my feet, I close my eyes and draw in the crisp air through my nose. It’s perfect and every muscle in my body begins to relax. “This is what it’s all about,” I groan.
“Yeah,” Blondie mutters with her furry boots on the table next to mine. “I could stay out here all night.”
All night? Great, now it’s all I can think about, the two of us alone out here until sunrise. It just keeps getting worse.
A few minutes of comfortable silence pass before she turns her head my way. “I can’t believe you get paid to do this. Must be nice.”
A few stars appear in the twilight. It’ll be dark soon. “It’s not a bad life for the most part.”
“For the most part? What’s the downside?”
Okay, she’s quick and doesn’t miss a thing.
I like that. It’s so much better than when they think acting dumb and ditsy is sexy.
Maybe it is for an insecure guy, but I’ve never been accused of being insecure.
“I’d say the biggest downside is being recognized all the time, like with those boys earlier. I’ve never liked the attention.”
“How famous are you? Those boys are friends of mine. I couldn’t believe they knew who you were and I’ve never heard of you.” She turns to face the evening sky as she pulls out her phone. “What’s your last name?”
“That’s a bad idea.” I hate it when people look me up, especially women.
Then again, men can be just as bad. They either treat me like a celebrity, or they react with some sort of dick-measuring contest, like three weeks ago when Elsie brought in a guy to install some new sound equipment in her editing studio.
Someone must have said something because I’d known the guy for less than ten minutes when he decided to look me up.
A minute later he felt the need to tell me he was a defensive end on his state-champion high-school football team back in 2012, and he even felt the need to inform me that he could bench 250 pounds.
Somewhere on Elsie’s company website there’s a photo of me benching 425.
It was a charity event for a children’s hospital where patrons pledged ten dollars for every pound Ash and I could bench and squat.
I didn’t tell the guy about the photo. That would have been a dick move.
Instead, I did what I always do in those situations.
Out of politeness I acted like I was impressed. Whatever.
But women are worse. As soon as they see what’s been reported about me, suddenly they see a solid-gold sugar-daddy halo hovering over my head.