Page 17 of Lost in You

He’s such a man. I glare at him. “I can’t just whip it out and pee wherever. Is there a seat in the...outhouse?”

Even the word is gross. Might as well just call it a shitter.

“I don’t remember. Want to just piss your pants just in case there’s no seat?”

“I’d bet my Savings account that you’re single,” I say lightly as he helps me get into a standing position. “Your looks are canceled out by your personality.”

“So you think I’m good-looking?” His voice is loaded with arrogant satisfaction.

“That’s what you got out of that?”

“You have been giving me some thirsty looks. Bet you were secretly thrilled to see there’s just one bed in here.”

I roll my eyes. “This conversation is over.”

The cabin has a back door that opens to a wide, mostly enclosed walkway made of concrete blocks. About a foot of it is open at the top of the walls, snowflakes floating in on one side.

This cabin can’t be the only one.

“Do you think we’re on the edge of a town?” I ask hopefully.

“Hope so.”

Walking proves too painful, so I switch to hopping on my good foot. After a single hop, Lincoln sweeps me into his arms, making me gasp with surprise. I open my mouth to protest, but he cuts me off with a grin.

“I know. You’re incredibly turned on right now.”

“Fuck you. Put me down.”

His expression turns serious. “You should be resting your ankle, not walking on it. It’s easier this way.”

My ankle is in a lot of pain and I have to pee so badly that I don’t argue with him.

I’m forced to put my arm around his neck, my heart racing at the intimacy of being carried by him. I have a closeup view of the dark scruff on his face and one of my breasts rests against his chest.

When he opens the door to the outhouse, the butterflies in my stomach come to an immediate halt. The smell in here isn’t strong, but there is a stale, unmistakable outhouse odor. He sets me down.

“I’ll wait outside the door.”

I nod, silently cursing myself for jumping out of that plane. This is a vulnerable position I’m in, needing his help. If not for my injury, we could rest up and push on in search of another cabin, maybe one with other people in it who could call for help.

The deep hole in the ground with a plastic toilet seat on top is better than peeing outside. It even has toilet paper, which is thin, scratchy and, according to the unopened packages stacked by the door, biodegradable.

Lincoln picks me up again, carries me back into the cabin and sets me on the bed.

“Maybe if I take some Tylenol from the first aid kit, my ankle will be good enough to keep walking until we find another cabin.”

He scoffs and shakes his head. “Absolutely not. You’re staying right here. We were damn lucky to find this place.”

I don’t like the way he always assumes he’s in charge. I started my idea with “maybe if” and, not surprisingly, got shut down with “absolutely not.” I take a firmer approach.

“We can’t just stay here forever, Lincoln.”

His eyes widen with disbelief. “I’m not saying that, but we’d be fools to assume there’s a cabin like this just waiting for us every five miles we walk. I don’t even know how you made it here on that ankle.”

“I had no choice.” I glare at him. “And if we want to get home, I still don’t.”

“Bullshit. We’re going to stay here where we’re out of the cold. It’s fucking January in Alaska.”

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