I inhaled a watery breath as tears continued to spill down my cheeks. “Sometimes I don’t think I deserve you.”
“Awww, shit, Sib.” He hauled me close to him again and buried his face in my hair. “I feel that way about you. All the time.”
“I think I have low blood sugar.”
He released me just enough so he could rummage around his jacket pocket. “Here.” Aidan handed me a granola bar. “Do you need some water?”
I shook my head. “I’m good.”
“Let’s head back,” he suggested, hopping down off the rock. He helped me down as I tore into the granola bar. “We’ll make some lunch.”
“And then?”
“What do you mean, ‘and then’?” He smiled at me and reached for my hand.
I chewed and swallowed before replying. “Well, we hiked, we had the sex. What’s next after food?”
“You relax. I’ll set up a hammock.”
I shook my head. “Nope. I don’t do hammocks.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Clumsy people and hammocks do not mix.”
He grinned. “Ah, now I have it.”
“Shut up.” I playfully swatted him. My chest lightened of pressure, and suddenly the somber mood from our earlier talk seemed to drift away. I wasn’t great at living in the moment, but I desperately wanted to. It wasn’t the worst thing in the world to slow down.
We got back to camp, and I helped Aidan prep lunch. I let him do the fixing since the trailer area wasn’t big enough for two. While he made lunch, I grabbed napkins and beers. We’d eat in our camp chairs.
“It’s ready!” he called.
I got up and took a step toward the trailer back. “Ow.” I winced.
Aidan looked up from setting our sandwiches onto two paper plates. “What’s wrong?”
“I think I have blisters.”
“From your hiking boots?”
I nodded.
“Didn’t you tell me you’d worn them before?
“I have worn them before.”
“Sibby,” he said in that voice when he knew I stretched the truth.
“Uhmmm…I have worn them before.” I sighed and then admitted, “While I was watching TV.”
“So you didn’t break them in.”
“Nope.”
“And now you have blisters.”
“Yep.”
His smile was rueful. “Let’s eat and then we’ll tend to your feet.”
After we ate, Aidan heated up a bucket of warm water using the propane stove. I grimaced and gingerly removed my boots and socks.
“You have blisters everywhere!” Aidan stated in surprise.
“I think my blisters have blisters.” I winced as I dunked my feet.
“I’ve got a cure-all.”
“You’re not about to make some frat boy penis joke, are you?”
“Had to go there, huh?”
“What’s this cure-all?” I demanded.
He hopped up from his chair and went to the trailer. A moment later he was back, handing me a bottle of Jack Daniels Honey Whiskey.
“And then the kingdom rejoiced, the end.” I unscrewed the lid and took a swig. It went down smooth and warm. I had another nip.
“Easy there, champ. It’s not dark yet,” he teased.
I glanced at my phone resting on my lap. “It’s happy hour.”
“Cheers.” He clinked his beer bottle against mine before rising. “You good here for a bit?”
I nodded. “What are you doing?”
“I want to scout for some more firewood. Tonight, I’m cooking you steak over an open flame.”
“Why do you keep me around?” I wondered aloud.
“I like looking atchya.” He kissed me quickly. “I wont be far.”
“Wait! How am I supposed to entertain myself?”
He reached into the back pocket of his jeans. “Here.” Aidan tossed a book at me.
I caught it. Glancing at the title, I shook my head. “Ass.”
“Have fun!” he called and started walking away.
The jerk had given me a dog-eared copy of Walden Pond.
I stood by the tree where I’d discovered I got cell service. It was spotty, and every now and then I had to put the phone on speaker and hold it over my head just so I could have a conversation. Like now.
“This is my worst nightmare realized,” I said.
Annie laughed. “I do not envy you. Like at all.”
“Shut up,” I growled. “He took me fishing yesterday morning.”
“He didn’t.”
“Yup. We got up when it was still dark, and we walked to a lake.”
“Catch anything?”
I sighed. “No. My allergies went haywire, and I started sneezing. Aidan said I scared off all the fish.”
Annie laughed again. “Where’s Aidan?”
“Collecting firewood.” There was noise in the background, voices, and the sound of silverware clinking. “Where are you? Are you at work?”
“Nope. Got the night off. I’m having dinner at the bar at TAO.”
“You’re eating Asian Fusion…without me?”
“Yes,” my best friend answered, not sounding a bit contrite.
“What are you drinking?” I demanded.
“Vodka gimlet.”
“Bitch!” I paused. “Do you think I can order Seamless up here.”
“Try it,” she suggested. “Aside from your lack of ethnic cuisine, how is it? Planning to go all Walden Pond?”
“Don’t make me Thoreau up.” I hiccoughed.
“Are you drunk?”
“Yes. I’ve put away a fifth of Tennessee honey since I got here. I’ve read Walden Pond and The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy because those were the only two books Aidan brought. I’ve taken a shower with water heated by the sun. I’m dying. My soul is dying.”
“I’d rather go to the gynecologist than go to the woods.”
“I haven’t seen another human being in days. I’m going stir crazy. I’m also secretly afraid that Aidan is going to realize I’m just a hot piece of ass with frizzy hair and a decent sense of humor and then decide to leave me for some granola-girl who loves homemade deodorant and doesn’t own a TV.”
“You’re squirrlier than normal,” Annie commented. “What’s really going on? Is this about the woods?”
“Nothing’s going on.”
“Sibby, you’re a shit liar, and I’ve known you for a decade. Tell me what’s going on.”
“He wants a baby.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Do you? Want a baby.”
I paused before answering. “I don’t know.”
She sighed. “Oy.”
“Yeah, oy,” I agreed.
“Sibby!” I heard Aidan call.
“Coming!” I yelled back. “Gotta go. Don’t tell Caleb.”
“Iron vault,” she assured me.
“Stop at one gimlet and then I might believe you.”
“I’ve already had two—hey, if you do get knocked up, who the hell am I going to drink with?”
“Sibby!” Aidan called again.
“Way to make my drama all about you,” I hissed at my best friend.
“You breeders are all the same.”
“I’m not a breeder!” I protested.
“Not yet. But your husband has dimples that charmed the pants off of you. I bet his sperm has dimples that will charm your egg into fertilization.”
“You’ve had more than two drinks,” I accused.
“Guilty!”
“I so hate you!” I hung up on her and then trekked back to camp. Aidan had lit a fire and was sticking a marshmallow onto a stick. It had become our nightly routine. It was sweet and cute, and I was sick to death of it. I wanted to take the bag of marshmallows and throw them into the fire. Instead, I forced a smile and sat down.
“How’s Annie?” Aidan asked with a wry grin.
I gaped. “How did you know?”
“Please.” He snorted. “You found a spot that has service, and you make up excuses to go over there every time you want to check social media, send a text, or call someone.”
“Are you mad?”
“Mad? No.” He peered at me. “I’m the one who brought your computer for you.”
I nodded. He was correct. He had brought my computer for me. I’d even opened it a few times and tried to write. Unfortunately, “AHHHHHHHHHHH” didn’t translate into a decent story.
I was never asking Aidan for anything ever again. Not if it meant being dragged to the middle of nowhere where I had to sit and contemplate my life choices. Okay, so I was shallow. I admitted it. I liked Internet, couches, and showers every day. I didn’t want to have to climb a ladder to get into my bed, and I liked being able to groom. I hadn’t been able to groom properly. I hadn’t looked in a mirror for a few days, but I was pretty sure I looked like the missing link.
And yet…
I felt closer to Aidan than I ever had before. It was just the two of us, no distractions, no work.
But my frustration—my inability to get everything I wanted when I wanted it—annoyed the ever-loving shit out of me. I was a creature of comfort, and this wasn’t my idea of fun.
Not. At. All.
“What are you thinking about?” Aidan asked as he ate a burnt marshmallow. He put another one on the end of the stick and then handed it to me.
“A book idea,” I lied.
“Yeah? Inspired up here?”
“Uh, yeah. Sure.”
“What’s the book about?”
A husband that drove his wife to insanity.
“Not sure yet,” I hedged. I twirled the stick, letting the marshmallow turn a golden brown.
“Sibby?”
“Hmm?”
“Can you look at me for a second?”
I was afraid if I looked at him, I’d tell him how much I hated all of this and that I wanted to go back to the city immediately. But somehow, I schooled my expression into drunken bemusement and looked at him.
“What’s wrong with your face?” he asked.
“Uhm. How am I supposed to answer that?”
He shook his head. “No, I just mean—did you walk through a bush. Did your face brush against any leaves…or white flowers?”
“I don’t remember. Why?”
“It’s—well—red.”
“I’ve been drinking,” I admitted. “A lot.”
“Yeah, it’s not drinking flushed. Come closer to the fire.” As I scooted toward him, he turned on his headlamp. I winced and closed my eyes at the brightness. “Sorry. Turn your head. No, the other way.”
“Well?” I demanded. “What is it? Why aren’t you saying anything?”
“I think you walked into something poisonous.”
“Poison Ivy? Oak? What?”
“If I had to guess, it was Cow Parsnip. And”—he sighed—“you’ve got a really bad rash.”
Chapter 6
#creatureofthenight #notavampire #quarantined
“It’s exacerbated by sunlight,” Aidan said as he pressed a cool compress to my skin. “So you have to stay out of the sun tomorrow.”
My face felt like it was on fire—it itched like hell. “You’re telling me, that on top of looking like a blistery swamp thing, I have to stay out of direct sunlight?”
“Yeah, Sibby, you have to stay out of direct sunlight—and please spare me the vampire jokes.”
“It would’ve been too easy,” I muttered.
“Lean back,” Aidan said, urging me to lie down. He was doctoring me in the tent, and due to all the booze, I was getting sleepy.
“Will this have any long-lasting effects?”
“Not if you stay out of the sun.” I felt his fingers running through my hair. “Ready to call it quits?”
“Hmmm? No, don’t stop that. Keep going.” I reached up to urge his fingers to continue their effective detangling of my hair.
“Sibby?”
“What?” I asked, drowsy and oddly content—had to have been the bourbon.
“Do you want to go home?”
“No, I don’t want to go home,” I said.
Well, that was a surprise.
“You sure?” Aidan pressed. “Because I can absolutely—”
“No, I want to stay. You’re having fun. And I’ll be okay. This isn’t serious, is it?”
“Not unless it blisters.”
“Wow, don’t become a doctor,” I quipped. “Your bedside manner sucks.”
He chuckled. “You’re sure you’re okay to stay?”
“I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” I struggled to sit up.
“What are you doing?”
“I need help de-robing. I want my pajamas, maybe a Benadryl to knock me unconscious, and to wake up to a new day tomorrow.”
“Well, I can help with the pajamas—and I packed some Benadryl, so if you give me a few minutes, I’ll find it for you.”
Aidan helped me into pajamas, all the while leaving the cold compress on my face. He tucked me into the sleeping bag and said, “I’ll be right back, okay?”
“I’ll be here,” I muttered.
I fell asleep before he made it back with the Benadryl.
“On a scale of one to ten, how bad do I look?” I asked the next morning.
“You’re beautiful,” Aidan said.
“Liar.”
He shook his head and looked away, trying to hide his grin. And failed. Failed hard. In fact, his shoulders shook and a moment later, he was bent over at the waist. When he straightened back up, he wiped the tears from his eyes.
“You done?”
“Yeah,” he choked out. “I’m done.” He looked at me and then burst into laughter again. “You look like a mummy!”
“You told me to wrap my entire face!” I shouted.
“I can’t—stop—laughing!”
“I’m gonna punch you. I’m gonna punch you so hard.”
“It would be worth it,” he wheezed. Somehow he stopped laughing and got himself under control. He scooted toward the exit of the tent, unzipping the protective screen. “I’ll make you coffee.”
“Uh huh.”
“And breakfast.”
“Great.”
“And I’ll even give you a foot rub tonight by the fire.”
“Just go.” I flung my hand in the direction of the privacy screen. “And leave me to my suffering.”
“So dramatic,” he called over his shoulder, stupidly cute dimples on display.
When he was gone, I flopped down on my back. I reached for my phone by my side. We lived in an age where everything needed to be documented for social media or it didn’t happen. And though the rational part of me was horrified that I was willing to share this moment with Instagram, another part of me said, “Screw it. Bring on the laughter” because I was desperately in need of some laughter—and I knew other people could use it to.
I never had a problem poking fun at myself. Two years ago, someone had recorded a video of me opening a bottle of champagne. The stubborn cork had refused to budge, and then suddenly it had shot off like a rocket—nailing my ex-boyfriend in the eye.
Yeah, it went viral. Thus launching my writing career before it had really begun. But that was neither here nor there. I wasn’t documenting my camping excursions because I wanted to be discovered or to perpetuate the idea that I was some great social influencer. And what the hell did that mean anyway? No, I did these videos because I knew—knew—there were women out there subjected to nature, their men’s desire to be in nature, just like I was. And they were probably suffering through it too.
At least I had a man who cared enough about me and my wishes to make me as comfortable as humanly possible.
So I pressed record and smiled for the camera.
I finished the video and got it ready to upload. Unfortunately, there was no cell service in the tent, so I’d have to wait until the cover of darkness, head to the tree where I knew I could
get a few bars, and then upload it.
Time was dragging to the point where I thought Superman was flying around the earth, turning it backwards. Aidan had brought me food and coffee, and after he cleaned up, he joined me in the tent. He tossed a deck of cards down.
“Strip poker?” I asked.
“I was thinking Go Fish.”
“Yep. I knew it.”
“Knew what?” he demanded, shrugging out of his black jacket and tossing it in the corner.
“You don’t find mummies attractive. Just don’t look at my face. Look at my body. Come on! Objectify me!”
“It’s kind of hard to objectify you when—”
“Are you going to shuffle those cards, or what?”
“Got you something,” he said with a grin. “Dig around in my jacket pocket.”
I leaned over to grab his jacket, sticking my hands in his pockets. I pulled out a packet of Peanut M&M’s. “You’ve been holding out on me.”
“Extreme measures.”
I ripped open the top of the bag and poured a few of my favorite candy into my hand. “Deal those cards, sucker. I plan to take all your fish.”
Though the side vent of the tent was open, I could only see darkness. I’d fallen asleep after our card tournament, and now it was nighttime. Aidan was somewhere out there, talking to someone. Jerk had been holding out on me. He must’ve found his own Internet hub. I thought about calling out to him, to tell him I was finally awake, when threads of his conversation hit me.
“Dude, I think she might divorce me,” I heard Aidan say.
I stilled my movements, and despite the fact that I had to pee, I didn’t dare move.
“No, I’m not being dramatic,” Aidan nearly snapped. “First, I guilt her into coming to the woods with no one but me for conversation. Second, it’s been one thing or another. She got blisters and just as she recovered, she walked into Cow Parsnip. She’s been asleep all day in the tent. Stop laughing!”
I sat up, hoping that relieved the pressure on my bladder.
“And I clobbered her and told her I wanted a kid—and now she thinks I’m baby hungry and in cahoots with her mother.”
Pause.
“I am not baby hungry. You’re missing the point. Just get up here, bring Annie.”
Tales of a Sibby Slicker (The Sibby Chronicles Book 2) Page 4
