Page 45 of The Bro Pact
“Pretty cool,” Ren murmurs, ghosting his fingers along the tracks and tracing their imprint without actually touching them.
I stare at him, remembering the feel of his fingers gripping our cocks.
“Can you take a pic of me?” Ren digs out his Polaroid, handing it over and distracting me from my unending perverted thoughts.
“Sure.” I peer through the hole while he poses like a Velociraptor next to the fossilized dinosaur tracks.
I snort, snapping the picture. “You can be such a dork sometimes, and no one even knows it.” The picture prints out, and I tuck it into my back pocket to add to our collection later.
“No one but you, and yet, you still love me,” he says with a charmingly confident grin.
“Yeah. Yeah,” I brush him off with a silly smile of my own.
“The trail continues over here!” Ren hollers, and we follow an arrow down a skinny path until it widens again, revealing stunning petroglyphs and pictographs.
“Whoa,” we both say, our eyes tracing the incredible rock art and imagining the ancient stories it tells.
We stare in silence, reading the placard and paying our respects to the Archaic-era Natives who lived here some four thousand years ago.
It’s truly amazing.
We follow the petroglyph wall, and it leads us back to the parking lot.
“That was really fucking cool,” Ren says with a pleased smile on his face as we climb into the RV.
“It was,” I agree, clipping the photo of him posing as a Velociraptor onto our string lights and chuckling.
I think it adds a certain charm to the collection.
That detour was a good distraction from the frottage that just occurred, but now we’re back to the semi-awkward silence.
We buckle up and continue along the scenic bypass, stopping at a few more overlooks to admire the spectacular red rock formations.
Ren keeps one hand on the wheel and takes his hat off, dropping it into his lap. “They have campsites along the bypass. We should pick one and get the bikes out. Settle down for however many days we want.” He runs his fingers through his hair a few times, letting it flow freely.
I gaze around at the sheer beauty surrounding us, letting it distract me fromhim. The thought of camping here for a couple of days sounds amazing.
“I’m down. Your choice where.”
Warren drives a little farther before turning onto a long, dusty road.
We pull into the nicely maintained campground entrance and start to scope out the place.
The plots are a little close together, but there are connections for electricity, water, and sewer, which is great. And the viewsof the tabletop mesas around us are breathtaking. Certainly making up for the lack of privacy.
We choose a plot as far away from the half dozen other campers here, and Ren takes care of the maintenance tasks that come with running a motor home. Like hooking up to the dump station.
Gross.
I wander into the kitchen, intent on making him a snack for when he’s done. Scanning the freezer, I grab a bag of pizza rolls and preheat the oven.
They don’t take long, and by the time they’re done, so is Warren.
I set his plate on the table—twelve pizza rolls arranged in a circle with a large squirt of mayo in the center.
“Thought you might be hungry,” I offer, placing an ice-cold bottle of root beer on the table next.
“Sweet.Thanks, man. This is perfect.” Ren grabs a few paper towels and wipes his sweaty forehead, washing and drying his hands next.
