Page 78 of 10 Days to Ruin

“Wouldn’t be the first time a man tried.”

Something dark flits across his face. Then he moves in a blur so fast I can’t help but scream. He raises the knife high…

… and then offers it to me butt-first. “Fine. You hold it, if it makes you feel safer.”

I take it with trembling fingers. I may or may not be just a bit on edge right now.

“Th-thanks,” I stammer. “I was just a little?—”

“I’ll be back.”

“Wait! Sasha! Where are you?—”

But he disappears without an answer, melting into the woods.

While he’s gone, I try my best to recalibrate. It’s just one night in the woods; what’s the big deal? He can stay on his side of the Four Seasons Cave Resort and I’ll stay on mine. And if a few bug bites and a crick in my neck from using a rock as a pillow is all it takes to convince him I’m not worth this much hassle and buy my freedom, I’ll pay that price every single time.

Seconds become minutes, though. My anxiety starts to creep back in. When I hear a thumping noise and crackling in the underbrush, I brandish the knife, ready to use it if?—

“You should at least pretend you know which end to stick an enemy with,” drawls Sasha as he reappears. He dumps an armful of wood on the ground in front of the cave.

I scowl at him. “I’d figure it out fast enough.”

“Mm,” is all he says. He starts building a fire with practiced ease.

I swear it’s less than five minutes from the moment he starts until tiny little flames are consuming the pine straw kindling. Sasha sits back against the stone wall as the fire dances and grows.

“That was… mildly impressive,” I admit, fiddling with the knife in my lap. “Who taught you that? Smokey the Bear?”

He stares into the heart of the fire, face wreathed in shadow. “My mother,” he answers at last. “After…” His jaw clenches. “Bad nights.”

The air shifts. Shrinks. Suddenly, Sasha’s face tightens. I look over my shoulder like there might be a bear coming at us, pissed we stole his living room.

But there’s nothing. “What? What is it?”

He shrugs off his shirt, revealing a thin thermal tank top underneath that clings to every ridge of muscle. “Arms up.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re shivering.”

“Am not!”

He steps closer. The cold bites harder. “Arms. Up.”

In the end, it’s not a choice. He’s right—the sun is long gone and the air is cooling with every second that passes. My one-shoulder sports bra will not be doing much in the way of heat retention, unfortunately.

So I obey reluctantly. The henley engulfs me, smelling like cedar and recklessness. It’s still warm from his skin.

Are you crazy?! Don’t think about his skin! Don’t think about?—

“Hungry?” He pulls a protein bar from his pack.

“No.” It’s a lie, but if I let him clothe and feed me, I’m going to lose my head.

“Is it because it doesn’t have glitter in it?” He toes the snack pouch on my thigh with his boot. “Or because it isn’t bubblegum-flavored?”

I set my jaw. “Both.”

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