Page 59 of Stuck on the Slopes

“Hm, not quite yet. We’re getting somewhere, though.”

She giggled at my joke as she kissed me again, harder and deeper and hot and open-mouthed. Our tongues reunited as I clung to her, basking in that scent of raspberry and vanilla and the way it blended with the crisp snow and pine trees, like a hint of summer in the dead of winter. My senses heightened when she reached through my hair, lightly dragging her nails along my scalp.

It felt good to be kissing her again. It felt right. She was easy for me to get lost in, to the point where every time I was around her, my anxieties all but melted away. My desire to be with her, to embrace her and never let go, always triumphed.

It was dangerous. There was also a primal urge to protect her, to shield her from the bullshit that came with being with me, but I sensed she could defend herself. As our kiss deepened, I considered pulling away, but Sasquatch nudged the back of my right leg, even though my pain levels were manageable right now. When his snout pushed against my thigh, I stumbled closer to Rachel, bringing our bodies closer. I felt her smile against my lips as she draped her arms around my shoulders, keeping our chests pressed to one another as she rose to her toes.

“If it were up to me,” I said when we parted for a breath, “I’d stay here kissing you all day.”

“You wouldn’t have to twist my arm.”

I chuckled as I kissed her again and tightened my grip around her waist. Behind me, Sasquatch nudged me again and then barked, loud and deep.

Sasquatchneverbarked.

We pulled away, not fully untangling our bodies as we scanned our perimeter. Over Rachel’s shoulder, a herd of mule deer stared right at us. Snow dusted the brown fur on their backs, and some bore larger antlers than the others, each with muscular legs and proud stares.

“Rachel,” I said, voice low and in a whisper. “Move very, very slowly, okay? Follow me.”

“What’s going on?”

“It’s mating season,” I said as I slowly dropped my hands, “and there’s a huge herd of mule deer right behind you. They’re looking right at us, and the last thing I want is for any of us to get hurt.”

“Wait, I thought we were out of mating season?”

“For elk. Mule deer’s is later.”

“Oh. Great.” Rachel glanced over her shoulder as she moved her arms back to her sides, then laced our fingers together as she looked back at me. “Beautiful, but yeah, we should go.”

“Come on, Squatch.” We took slow, soft steps, gentle enough the snow hardly crunched beneath us. “Slowly, slowly. That’s good, bud.”

My mind raced as fast as my heart was beating. Worst-case scenario: we’d be running for our lives as some temperamental, territorial, and horny mule deer charged at us. The likelihood of them killing us? Low, but still a miserable experience. I tried not to envision that but kept my eyes on them as we crept forward back down the trail. Their eyes never left me, either, watching the three of us as closely as I watched them.

Rachel squeezed my hand. “It’s okay,” she said. “We’ll be okay. Besides, you’ve got your sticks.”

“Poles.”

“So you can fight them off with your poles.”

I rolled my eyes. “They don’t work like that.”

“You know, I’ve survived worse wildlife encounters.”

“Such as?”

“Florida’s like the Wild West. When you’re not dodging the people, you’re dodging gators, bears, snakes, sharks, you name it.”

“So, the stories are true?”

“And they don’t exaggerate, either.”

“Well, I’m glad one of us is prepared to throw hands with a buck.”

“You know,” she said, as deadpan as I was on any given day, “gator wrestling is a required course in elementary school.”

I knew she was fucking with me, likely hoping it would distract me from the mule deer having a staring contest with me as we walked down the path, but I entertained it since it was partially working. “No shit?”

“Yeah, we’re all pros by the time we’re seven. So, if I can handle that, then some mule deer are nothing.”

---