Page 93 of Roughing It

“I’m not.”

She snort-laughs before burying her face in my side.

God, I’m so fucking gone for this woman.

DAY EIGHTEEN

Blakely’s snores fill the otherwise silent cabin. I hug her sleeping form, and she curls into my body, tucking her face against my chest without waking.

The past few days have been taxing. Between the lake incident, as Blakely refers to it, the post blowing up online, and the exertion of shooting, we’re both exhausted. We crashed right after our playtime last night, and neither of us stirred.

Every night Blakely goes without a nightmare aboutfalling into the water—she refuses to say she almost drowned, stubborn little shit—the better I feel about things. I’ve kept a close eye on her, but she’s masking a lot with the heat between us.

Fuck. I am, too.

Ever since our conversation about my family and her questions about what I thought my life would be, I’ve been wondering. Am I pushing so hard at Peak Adventures because I want it or because of expectations?

I absentmindedly curl my fingers in her hair. I appreciate her perspective, but I don’t agree with her. Dad’s methods were hard-assed, but for better or worse, they forged me into the man I am today. I wouldn’t be the guide, the brother, the man I am without my experiences.

Plus, I love my job. Parts of it, anyway. Bookkeeping and spreadsheets and all that bullshit can fuck off. But doing this, what I’ve been doing with Blakely, that part fuels me. Teaching her basics, showing her how to forage, watching her hit the target—those things give me purpose.

I can’t see doing anything else with my life, but the idea of a Blakely-shaped hole in it makes me wonder if I could be happy in a city like Austin.

My lip curls at the thought. All those people. All that noise. No peace. No stars. No thanks.

And what would I do? My skills are fucking niche. I could lead guided hunts, but it wouldn’t be the same as working at Peak Adventures with my brothers.

How long before my bitterness over being trapped in a smoggy, loud urban sprawl with a bunch of city types snips the threads Blakely and I twined together?

No, I belong in Trail Creek, and something deep inside me says Blakely does, too.

But it’s time I live beyond being my brothers’ keepers orthe steward of my parents’ business. And fuck do I wish it could start with keeping this woman here with me.

It’s later than I ever stay in bed, but I don’t wake Blakely. Instead, I focus on the steady rise and fall of her chest, the way her legs tangle with mine, how her small fists clench the sheets, the tickle of her breath against my skin. I’ve spent the last six years in an empty bed. When I date, it’s never like this. There’s no sharing a bed for more than a night. How quickly this has become my new normal.

I groan before returning my attention to her, smelling her hair and running my palm over the small of her back in tender strokes. She stirs in my arms, and my fingers travel lower, grazing against the swell of her ass, before drifting to rest on her hip. Her skin is so smooth, so touchable. I love the contrast of it to the rough calluses of my hands.

“Morning,” she yawns, stretching her limbs. I follow her movements, appreciating the arch of her spine and the sigh she makes as her muscles pull taut. She holds the stretch longer than needed, lifting her chest higher into the air and letting out a soft moan. Unable to resist the sight before me, I pounce, securing her body beneath mine.

“Mornin’.” I pepper kisses over her collarbone. “Sleep alright?”

“I did. What time is it?”

“Eight forty-five.”

“Did I ruin your plans for the day? I must’ve been sleepier than I thought,” she asks, combing her fingers through my bed head.

“Nope.”

Blakely pushes at my chest, so I roll over, giving her breathing room. But not too much. I can’t physically bear not to touch her. I casually drag one hand over her exposedstomach before settling it on her ribcage. The lazy circles I draw on her skin raise goosebumps, and she squirms closer.

“So—” There’s a halting croak in her voice as she speaks. “You said Trail Creek is small?”

“Yep.”

“Are the people nice?” she asks, nibbling her lip.

I prop myself up on an elbow, trying to puzzle out what’s going on in her head. There’s a soft blush on her cheeks and visible tension in her brow.

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