Page 45 of Best Part of Me

“It is pretty fucking great,” I agree, focusing back on the road, squeezing her hand tight.

“The sex isn’t bad either,” she teases.

I chuckle, shaking my head. This woman.

“Mav, you saved me.”

I turn again at her words, the meaning behind them feeling heavy.

She continues, “On the night that was supposed to be my wedding, it should’ve been awful, but you gave me hope that all wasn’t lost. And you rescued me by letting me come with you. It means I don’t have to face reality just yet. It’s giving me time that I desperately need to figure out my life.”

“You sure I’m not making your life more complicated?”

“It’s the life I’m going home to that has to be figured out. But with you, it’s easy. It’s always easy.”

She’s smiling and my heart lodges in my throat. I am falling for this girl.

“Besides, we already know what’s going to happen between us after the ten days. We’re going our seperate ways.”

“Right.” I nod and study the white lines painted on the lanes in front of the windshield, zoning out.

And try not to let her words affect me. We’re not complicated because all this is between us is sex. We’re going back home and pretending like this road trip never happened. Likewenever happened.

But that’s not possible. Our time together will haunt me for days. Months. Years maybe. Camille Martin isn’t someone you forget.

* * *

Just as I presumed,Camille falls in love with Zion immediately. With our backpacks packed, we hop on the bus that takes us to the Angel’s Landing trailhead. It’s about a four-hour hike, and we need to hurry if we want to take advantage of the remaining hours of light.

It’s a toss-up on which national park I like better, Bryce Canyon or Zion. Both have their perks. But they’re also similar in ways too. While I switch between jotting down notes in my phone and taking photos with my camera slung around my neck, Cammie takes in the view with such marvel.

It’s fascinating to watch her as she sees these sites for the first time. I’m distracted and almost forget I’m here to do a job. If I don’t get enough material, I can say good riddance to the promotion I got a few months ago as well as to trips and experiences like these in the future.

But once again, Cammie has dressed in a pair of yoga pants—this time they’re black—and they accentuate that already perfectly round ass. It looks so heavenly I could take a bite out of it. The temptation to take it in my palms and give it a good squeeze while it bounces in front of me on the trail is persistent.

Must focus.

I stop on the trail for a moment and train my camera on the rock formations to my right and then to my left. Once we reach the top, I’m hopeful the panoramic views will be priceless. So even if I come up short on my material, those shots could save my job.

Camille steps to the side of the trail and lets others pass while she takes out her water bottle from her backpack. I join her, taking a swig from my own bottle.

“How ya doing?” I ask after I swallow and swipe the back of my hand over my mouth.

“Good,” she pants, and if that doesn’t nearly undo me.

How can she possibly look hotter in this moment, a little out of breath, with a hint of sweat at the tendrils of hair at her temples? I want to shove her against these rocks and have my way with her like I’m some kind of caveman.

“What?” she asks, her gaze quizzical.

God, I am pathetic.

I am addicted.

“Nothing. I just love seeing you like this.”

She snorts. “Like what? Dirty? Sweaty?”

“Yes,” is all I say.

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