Page 43 of A Thin Line Between Love and Hate

“What are you going to do? Look for rocks and make an SOS?”

Clever ass motherfucker, but this time, I find it cute. “Something like that. I have an idea. I’ll tell you when I get back.”

“How long before I come looking for you?” he asks.

“Don’t you dare put any weight on that foot, hear me?”

“I won’t sit here and wait for you to freeze to death. I don’t want you to die, Xander Lynol.”

“Ah, you like me. That’s so sweet, Farmer. Okay, if I’m not back in an hour, come look for me, but….”

“One hour, Xan, but even then, it’s too long for you to be out there in this weather.”

I lean over into his space and unexpectedly kiss his forehead. I attempt to pull away, and he holds me in place as our lips crash. I’m lost in this, whatever we are now. And I don’t want to let go of him, but I pull back anyway.

“Be careful, please?” he asks, and his words carry so much concern.

“Yeah, I will. By the way—I’d like to fuck your ass next.”

“That can be arranged, maybe, if you’re a good boy and does as he’s told.” I want to abandon my plan for the SOS because being his good boy is very sexy.

“I’ll be back.”

All for self-restraint. And hopefully, with enough restraint that I won’t instantly fuck him against the wall when I return. And the thought of him coming from my dick gives me just enough reason to hurry.

* * *

I lookthrough the entire garage, and my idea, a good one at that, won’t pan out because I can’t find reflectors, and as Clark joked, the SOS sign won’t work because all the rocks are buried. Hunters typically have bright clothes. Devin and his father always hunted. They kept disposable reflectors they stuck on their hunting gear, but the new owners must have cleared everything out. I’m looking for something, anything that can point our way because, surely the law firm has reported us missing.

Rummaging through more drawers and closets, I find a few wooden spikes and spray paint. I’m still determining how long it will hold up if it begins snowing again. I’d walk to my car to see if it’s been found. But my note is clearly on the dashboard, telling whoever finds it where we are.

I take the two long spikes and begin to adhere them together with the hammer and a nail I found. One is going to stick into the snow bank, and the other will be used to point toward the cabin. The brightest color is orange, and I paint it to attract anyone driving by.

Walking a quarter-mile trek with the makeshift sign and hammer, I’m at the side of the road in less than ten minutes, though I’ve slid down the slight incline the entire way. It would be great if a car passed by, and I wait until I can barely feel my toes. The sun will set soon, and I can’t risk coyotes or any other prey that may be looking for a meal.

It takes me longer to get up the slight incline, and in the time, I wonder if this is safe, what Clark and I are doing. What if this, our cabin rendezvous, has serious consequences, and we’re worse off than before? I realize I don’t want that.I do not want hatredfor Clark Farmer to rule my life. The last two days have been without the stress of how I will one-up Clark. I saved his life and don’t want credit for it. I just want more time with him.

It’s been right at an hour, and I’m sure Clark is gearing up to search for me, but as I open the door, I watch the up-and-down motion of his chest as he sleeps off whatever bug he’s caught. I simply watch him, and something builds in my chest. It’s regret and shame for all the shit I’ve pulled on him throughout the years. It’s also a relief that I no longer see him as my nemesis but merely as adoration for the stunning, brilliant, and funny man he is. I’d like to see more of him, in this way. In two days, I’ve gone and caught feelings for Clark Farmer, and I find I don’t regret it because I want more. I haven’t felt like this since David and I broke up. And I want so much more with my one time enemy.

19

CLARK

My eyes snap open. How long have I been asleep? The fire is still going, telling me it’s not been very long, but darkness fills the cabin sans the fireplace, and I realize it’s been a couple of hours. I shoot out of bed, the pain in my ankle radiating up my whole leg, but Xan, he’s not back.

“Whoa there, trigger. What’s the hurry?”

My heart which had been hammering slows a little, and my eyes stay fixed on Xander, propped up in front of the fire in the oversized chair.

“Glad you stuck to your guns and decided to come out and look for me if I got snatched up,” he teases.

“I really was useless. Shit. Are you okay? Did you get back within the hour? What time is it?”

“So many questions, Farmer. Let’s see.” He pauses. “I was gone for about an hour, but it took me twenty minutes to come up with a makeshift sign near the main road at the end of the drive. I waited a little bit to see if cars would come by. It was uneventful. You just looked so cute, sleeping off that little bug of yours, and I didn’t want to wake you.” I can feel my cheeks flush, and it has nothing to do with my fever or the raging fire. “Oh, and it’s six p.m.”

“You know, you may get sick, too. It’s not like we’ve been keeping our distance.”

He stays planted in the chair, and I wonder if he’ll join me under the blankets. “I think I’ll take my chances, Farmer. I sort of like kissing you. And if my bones weren’t still frigidly cold, I’d come and snuggle in next to you and show you how much I really don’t care about catching any of your germs.”

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