Love Without a Compass

by Lindy Zart

  I stop and pull the map from my back pocket, pretending Ben didn’t say that. Pretending he isn’t justified in his aversion to me. One day, he’ll forgive me. I am going to make sure of that. But for now, we need to focus on what’s required of us to pass our mandatory continuing education class.

  “Let’s see what we need to do first,” I offer just to irritate Ben, and come to a stop.

  Ben turns toward me and shoves his glasses up his long nose, the ever-changing shade of his eyes striking against the backdrop of his olive skin and dark hair. I envy the golden sheen of his skin. He’s probably one of the lucky people who never burn, their skin only darkening with sun exposure.

  Fair-skinned and fair-haired, I am prone to burn instead of tan. Regrettably, I freckle too. My skin is already feeling the effects of the early morning sun.

  “I’m going to look at the map now,” I announce loudly in an attempt to get a reaction from Ben.

  There isn’t one.

  As the seconds tick by and I simply watch Ben, he gives me an exasperated look and gestures for me to continue. I lift an eyebrow, the map remaining closed.

  His teeth are bared as he says, “Will you please check the map, Avery?”

  “Yes, I will, Ben, thanks for asking,” I reply pleasantly, hiding a smile when Ben rolls his eyes.

  I unfold the map and study the colorful landscape paired with specific directives. Although I know it isn’t, the marked-off area we are to navigate seems endless. It’s pocketed with lakes, caves, trails, and other vague, ominous wildlife pictures. I chew on my lower lip, wondering about the sanity of this whole thing.

  It seems an archaic form of employee bonding to me. But then Extreme Retreat, the company Duke hired to orchestrate this obstacle course of madness, is known for their wild, sometimes dangerous, means of bringing coworkers together. No electronic devices, including cell phones, are allowed. They didn’t even let us have first-aid kits or flares. I think whoever runs the organization is partially crazy.

  Their motto is actually “There is no don’t, only do.” Being nontraditional himself, I can see why this organization appealed to Duke.

  Anne Dobson, one of our coworkers, got into a tug-of-war match with an Extreme Retreat employee when they attempted to take her cell phone from her. Besides the map I hold, all we were given is the backpack presently resting on Ben’s shoulders and were told it has everything we’re allowed to have, or will need for the day. Unless there is a room inside it with air conditioning, running water, and takeout cuisine on hand, I tend to disagree.

  I read the first objective on the list. Goal number one: Hike Crow Hill. Retrieve red flag.

  “The first checkpoint is at the end of a two-mile hike.” I look up, frowning. Working at keeping my voice unconcerned, I say, “It’s called ‘Crow Hill.’ Why do you think it’s called that?”

  Ben resumes walking, not answering.

  I lengthen my stride, catching up to him.

  He scowls and moves faster.

  I do the same, minus the scowl.

  We continue this way until we’re jogging side by side up a narrow rocky incline with towering stones surrounding us. A worn green sign, along with an arrow, announces we’re on Crow Hill. I’m not a runner and it soon shows. Panting, my legs and lungs scream at me to stop, but I don’t slow down. I’m not slowing down until Ben does. I glance at him, taking in the determined set of his face.

  I don’t think he ever plans on slowing down.

  I push myself harder when I begin to fall behind, full-on running now. Ben moves ahead of me, his legs long and leanly muscled. He doesn’t appear to be sweating, whereas I already feel the salty wetness trickling down my spine and the sides of my face. A wheezing sound has replaced my normal breathing. I tell myself to pick up the pace, but my legs don’t want to cooperate, and that is unacceptable. I force my legs to go. Anything Ben can do, I can do—sometimes, even better.

  We briefly exchange looks crackling with intensity.

  As we near the end of the trail, it takes me far too long to realize what we’re doing, and that it is exactly what put us where we are. Working against each other instead of together. There’s friendly competition and then there’s rivalry.

  Duke was right to send us here. Ben and I have competed since the day I started working for the advertising company. It’s instinctive, part of our natures. Why would I think now would be any different?

  And it needs to be.

  “We’re supposed to be a team,” I remind him around gasps of air.

  “Now you want to want to be a team?” Ben scoffs, his form and breathing steady. “Forget it.”

  “We’ll be in trouble if we don’t.”

  He pulls up abruptly, jerking around to face me. I skid to a stop, gravel rolling beneath my tennis shoes. I fight to breathe, partially from the run, mostly from the man before me. Ben’s eyes are alive with simmering emotion, sparking green and electrocuting with thunderous gray. His chest lifts and lowers as I watch, finally seeing a hint of exertion. Ben’s hair is damp, the ends curling around his ears.

  The air turns stifling as we stare at each other, the heat combustible. Ben looms over me, dark and furious. Desire streams through my veins, and I see it reflected in his eyes. I’ve wanted Ben since the moment I met him. I saw the same lightning bolt response in Ben. He tries to hide it beneath a shield of resentment, but sometimes, like now, it finds its way through the cracks.

  “I won’t be in trouble,” Ben says confidently. He’s probably right.

  “Do you want to take the chance?” My voice is scratchy.

  Ben studies me, his gaze dropping before slowly returning to my face. I feel that look as strongly as if he’d physically touched me. It steals my air; it turns my body to warm mush. Something unmistakable and equally unnamable glints in his eyes. “With you?”

  He’s toying with me. I know it, and I can’t seem to care. Because he’s looking at me in a way that makes me forget everything, even why I sought a job for Sanders and Sisters in the first place. Too often, Ben makes it hard to remember what I promised myself, what I vowed to my mom.

  Unconsciously, as if I can’t control myself, I step forward.

  Ben steps back.

  “Maybe,” is all I allow myself to admit.

  “You’ve never been very good at being direct, have you?”

  I watch the fire die out, feeling the loss of it as if it’s real and not only in his eyes. I bite my lower lip, not answering. If I ever decide to be brave enough, I’ll be so direct with Ben he’ll wish he could mute me like the volume on a television with a remote control. ‘If’ being the key word.

  I cross my arms and reply with a scowl, “I know how to be direct.”

  He steps closer, bringing his heat and earthy scent. Ben stares into my eyes, his face devoid of expression, and lifts a hand toward my face. “Oh, yeah? How so?”

  I hold my breath and go still, wanting to feel his fingers across my skin. I can’t remember ever wanting anything more.

  Toying with me or otherwise, I don’t want this to end.

  “Show me,” Ben encourages silkily. “Come on, be direct. Tell me what you’re really doing at Sanders and Sisters.”

  My heart lurches and I study his face. He can’t know anything. Realizing that doesn’t make me feel any relief. I open my mouth, but no sound comes forth. If we’re playing games right now, Ben’s winning.

  Ben pauses, darkness billowing around his lean frame like a shadowy cloak. “You can’t, can you?”

  “Ben, I…”

  Holding my gaze, he trails his fingers across my shoulder. I unconsciously shiver. Then he snatches his hand back, a red flag dangling from his fingers. Hardness claims Ben’s features, wiping any hint of seduction from his bearing as he growls, “Don’t forget who I am.”

  “I have no idea what you mean.”

  His eyes narrow. “I think you do.”

  I swallow hard, knowing what he’s going to say before he says it.r />
  Ben turns from me. “Remember, Avery, I know you. I know you better than anyone at Sanders and Sisters.” He looks over his shoulder with a single glance that blazes and chars. “How could I not? I’m the person you royally screwed over.”

  I blow out a noisy breath, wrinkling up my nose. Yes, he is that indeed.

  2

  BEN

  Duke Renner has never been much of a rule follower. Since he was in his mid-twenties, he’s run Sanders and Sisters, a small, but prestigious company that centers on marketing words to the right buyer. The company, run by two aging sisters and their brother, wasn’t much when Duke took it over, but he had the right amount of humor, bullheadedness, and charismatic personality to get his words noticed by the right people.

  Inspirational quotes, greeting cards, business logos, makeup, clothing, and athletic apparel slogans—Sanders and Sisters handles that and more. Words are everything. They can be the difference between crying and laughter, a smile and a frown. Hope and giving up.

  The Avery Scottam that Sanders and Sisters is familiar with doesn’t complain. She doesn’t have to, because everything is easy for her. Everyone wants to help her; I’ve even seen Duke fetch her tea as if it was his idea when she was the one who mentioned it. She writes some average saying a duck could think up, and her words are instantly sold. I wish Duke could see this Avery, and finally realize what I’ve known all along.

  I tried to tell Duke, but he just thought I wanted to get her in bed and my sexual frustration was making me cantankerous. That was his word. Cantankerous. That wasn’t it at all. Avery says I’m not her type, but she’s not mine either. She is relentless in her pursuit of any and every client in sight. She outshines me, again and again. It isn’t coincidental. It’s personal, and I don’t know why.

  My stomach growls, or maybe that’s just me. It does it again, confirming that it’s my stomach and it wants food.

  The last time I ate was at six this morning, and it’s now early afternoon. Too long ago. Except for some sips of water and a piece of jerky each, Avery and I haven’t had any real sustenance. We were told to ration what we were given, and I guess they thought bribing us with a gourmet meal tonight at the lodge would make it okay. I guess they were right, because here we are. This survivalist bullshit is a joke, and we’re the ones being laughed at.

  I glance over my shoulder to Avery. She’s unusually quiet—not that I’m not enjoying it. I’m generally a nice guy, but once someone deceives me, I’m done with them. Avery is the queen of deception. Sweat glistens on her sun-pink skin and a layer of grime covers the outfit I’m sure she bought specifically for today. She lifts an eyebrow when I don’t immediately look away and shifts her eyes forward. I turn my head back around and focus on the path.

  I’ve known Duke Renner for years. I consider him a mentor. Duke’s always been eccentric, but have I ever considered his choices to be dangerous or illogical? Not until now. I told him this was a bad idea, and not only because I knew he’d pair me with Avery, but because none of us city folk have any right trekking through a mountainous countryside. He laughed and told me to grow a pair. Nice guy, that Duke Renner.

  “Where are you going?” Avery demands when I veer off the path toward a tree.

  “I’m taking a piss. That okay?”

  “Yes, actually, it is, and by the way, I hope you piss all over yourself,” is called from behind.

  Half of my mouth lifts in a fleeting smile. Plain and simple, no matter that I can’t stand her, Avery routinely amuses me.

  I unzip my shorts and relieve myself, hearing what sounds like a squeaking sound as I finish up. Sure it’s a rodent scurrying about, I’m not overly concerned until I turn around and find the area Avery-less. Which would be good under regular circumstances, but out here in the wild? Not so much.

  “Avery?”

  When there continues to be no response, I ask, “Did you find a mirror and get lost in your reflection?”

  Silence greets me.

  I turn, annoyance flaring through my veins that she’s reciprocating my bad behavior toward her. Only one of us is allowed to be immature, and right now, I own that right. I take in my surroundings, looking for an inimitable shade of golden hair with matching eyes I’ve only seen on one particular woman.

  Nothing but nature faces me.

  A wisp of alarm threads itself around my chest, tightening enough to let me know something isn’t right.

  I turn in a slow circle, pausing to glance over the cliff’s edge. I quickly step back. My stomach dips at the thought of how far up we are, and how far someone would fall if they went over the edge. I swallow. “We’re a bit old to play hide and seek, don’t you think?”

  Not able to let fear become even a thought, anger takes over.

  I storm back in the direction from which we came, eerie quiet my only companion. Even the birds and bugs are silent. It makes my skin crawl. With her white shorts and pink shirt and shoes, Avery should stick out like a peppy cheerleader-type target among the neutral-toned land. I spent the hour-long drive to our drop-off point wondering who in their right mind would wear white shorts to hike through a mountainside. Now, all I want is to catch a glimpse of her white shorts—and not only because they’re microscopic.

  “Avery.”

  Why is she not answering me? I run a hand through my hair, jaw jutted forward as I make my way around a rock ledge that partly covers the trail. I look for clues on the ground, but I’m not a detective of any sort, or all that good of a tracker. I see nothing in the dirt to let me know where my coworker went.

  “Avery? Can you hear me?”

  Another sound, much closer and definitely human, catches my attention. I turn to the left, looking at a small valley where trees reside, and come up short. I stare for a minute, trying not to smile as I meander toward one particular tree. My heartbeats slow with the knowledge that Avery’s safe.

  “How’s it hanging?” I greet.

  Avery smiles thinly, not replying.

  “Let me guess—you’re imitating a tree, right?” I tilt my head sideways to better meet her eyes. I probably shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as I am, but it’s Avery.

  She stands at an odd angle, her hair held hostage by a tree limb. Her arms are crossed as she stares death at me. “I just thought I’d like to see the world from a different perspective.”

  I rub my jaw. “I see. How’s that going for you?”

  Avery’s expression turns lethal.

  I pat her shoulder, feel the muscles spasm beneath my touch, and turn. “Well, have fun with that.”

  “If you leave me like this, you’re fired.”

  A patch of green-and-yellow shrubbery holds my interest as I weigh her quiet words. She’s right, but I’m still considering it. I face Avery, watching her skin turn pinker the longer I gaze at her. Shifting my jaw back and forth, I remove a switchblade from my pocket, flick it open, and advance.

  “What are you doing?”

  I grin evilly.

  “You’re cutting the branch, not my hair, right?” Her eyes dart from the gleaming silver blade to me.

  “Yes.”

  “Yes? Yes, what?”

  Glancing down, I hide a smile before moving behind her. I allow myself one second to study the elegant slope of her neck before taking the limb in hand to saw it in two. It frays, then snaps, and Avery screams like I slit her throat instead of the tree branch holding her hair hostage. She hops around as she disentangles the limb from her hair and manages to trip over the same branch as it hits the ground. She falls, landing on her back in the dirt. A grunt leaves her upon impact.

  I watch the rise and fall of her chest as she pants, her gaze deadly and aimed straight at me.

  Her creamy skin is pocked with dirt and her shoulder-length hair is a golden poof around her head with twigs and leaves caught in it. The rubber band she used to pull back her hair is now but a memory. Avery’s shorts and T-shirt are brownish gray with debris, and her grapefruit scent has all bu
t dissolved. This is sweet justice, it really is.

  Avery’s eyebrows slant down, and she scowls up at me. “Why are you smiling? You’re stuck with me for the next four days.”

  The smile drops from my face. I close the knife and shove it back in my pocket before I decide to use it on her. “You’re welcome.”

  Avery huffs behind me, but luckily for me, she remains quiet.

  I make my way down the rocky incline at a brisk pace, thinking the faster we find our flags and checkpoints, the faster we’ll get out of this hellish place. I misstep on a pile of rocks and roll forward on my boots until I gain control of myself. A branch scrapes my cheek as I pass by a tree too closely. I breathe in the scent of crisp leaves and fresh air. If not for Avery, this might not be all that bad. I’m not much of a nature guy, but this feels peaceful.

  “Ben! Wait up!”

  I wince. And there goes the peacefulness.

  The sun peeks through endless branches, heating my already hot skin. I almost cheer when I hear the sound of moving water. I slow my pace to allow Avery to catch up.

  The end of earth comes upon me quickly, and for a moment, I feel weightless. I jerk back from the edge of a rocky cliff. Where the hell did that come from? Without warning, the world ended. My heartbeat takes a drastic leap directly into calamity, and I carefully step away from a ride I’d rather not take, putting a couple feet between me and the drop-off. I set a hand to the rough bark of a tree and look down hundreds of feet to the rushing water below. It looks unapologetically wicked.

  “What is it? Why are you stopping?” she asks.

  There is one instant—one immoral, spiteful second—where I consider letting her find out on her own. Chances are, Avery would stop walking before she fell to her death. Probably.

  I partially turn and look over my shoulder. “Don’t come any closer. It’s a drop-off.”

  Avery skids to a stop, her eyes wide in her dirt-smudged face. A chunk of golden hair falls forward to obliterate one eye, giving her appeal she doesn’t need, and that is wasted on me. Pretty face twisting, she throws her hands up. “What is the point of this? We’re just supposed to wander around in the wild for days? This is asinine! There’s no reason we couldn’t learn how to work together as a team at a nice resort, not out in the wilderness. I don’t understand why Duke would do this to us. It’s like he’s punishing us.”