Naked Love(20)

“My shoe!”

Glancing over the edge, I catch site of her sandal hooked on a broken root sticking out from the dirt.

“Get a rope before it blows off and lands in the creek.”

“What? How did this happen?”

She turns, revealing mud and grass stuck to her ass and the backsides of her legs. “I slipped and lost my shoe over the edge.”

“Tough break, Princess.” I turn back toward the tent.

“Are you getting a rope?”

I chuckle as the rain starts to let up. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m a chef and I can throw a few good punches, but a lassoing cowboy I am not.”

“But what about my shoe?”

I stop and turn. “You have two suitcases. Surely someone who owns a tiara must travel with more than one pair of shoes.”

“Did I mention they are custom made from Italian leather?” Her fight starts to dissipate into a drowned-rat defeat.

“Yes. Blessed by the Pope, Italian leather. Had you not had that poor cow killed to custom make your shoes, it could have dug its hooves into the ground to keep you from falling off the embankment.”

“Don’t be that person.”

“You mean holier-than-thou?” I wink and keep walking.

“Jake?”

“What? For fuck’s sake, woman. What do you want now?”

She lifts her shoulders. “I can’t walk with one shoe. I could step on something that could cut my foot.”

Do it for Deedy.

I smile, clenching my teeth as I stomp back up the hill.

Her nipples are happy to see me through her thin shirt and bra. She tugs the shirt away from her chest, cringing a bit.

“Chilly?” I scoop her up in my arms.

“Shut up.”

“Careful. This taxi runs on gratitude. I’d hate to drop you. Your other sandal could fall to the same fate as its buddy.”

“A gentleman would never embarrass a lady in distress.”

“I’ve heard fairy tales about these mythical creatures you refer to as gentlemen, but I’m not sure I’ve met any. Have you?”

“Yes.” She sighs, glancing away even though our faces are just inches apart.

“Wherever did you find one?”

“In … well …” Her face wrinkles as her lips twist. “They exist. It’s just all the good ones have already been taken.”

“Let me know if you spot one on our trip.” I set her on her shoed foot.

“Watch my hair.” She gathers it gently in her hand as I release her.

I duck into the tent. “Yeah, about your hair. Let me grab some apple cider vinegar to rinse your hair before you get in the tent.

“Let me in so I can get out of the rain. I don’t need a stupid vinegar rinse.” She nudges my backside as I sift through one of my bags.

“It’s barely a drizzle. Besides, we need to shed our clothes before we get everything wet.”

“I’m not shedding anything for you.”

“Then you’re not getting in my tent.” I slip back out, holding a bottle of apple cider vinegar.

“Just let me in so I can change into dry clothes, then I’ll face the corner while you do the same.”

“Sure. But not until we clean the mud and grass from your backside and rinse your hair with this.” I shake the bottle.

“Dude! What’s your deal with the apple cider vinegar? I hate the smell of it. There’s no way you’re putting that in my hair.” She crosses her arms over her chest.

Too bad. The most pleasant part of her is her perky nipples. I like to pretend they’re attached to a body that’s not so fake.

“You’ve been obsessed with your hair, checking your scalp every time there’s a mirror in front of you or with the camera to your phone. And you’ve been scratching it a lot.”

She pats a gentle hand over her hair. Brows drawn tightly, eyes averted to the ground. “So? I just need a shower with softened water and a good conditioning treatment.”

I shake my head, holding the bottle in her line of vision. “It’s going to take more than softened water and conditioner to get rid of lice.”

“Lice?” Her head snaps up.

“I don’t want them. You’ve already been in close proximity to me. I’m going to do a rinse too just to make sure I don’t get them too.”

Her jaw falls open. “I do not have lice, you presumptuous, arrogant, insensitive jerk!”

“No?” I cock my head. “Bad psoriasis?”

“No! Oh my god! Why do you hate me so much?”

I start to list the reasons but stop myself before actual words escape.

“Can you show a little compassion instead of speaking every cruel word that comes to mind? Not all truths in life need a voice.”

I frown. “I’m not trying to be mean. I’m simply trying to prevent the spread of lice.”

Her light blue eyes meet my gaze, cheeks streaked in dark eye makeup, questionably infectious hair matted to her face. “I don’t have lice. My issue isn’t contagious, and if you have a single sympathetic bone in your body, then you’ll not say anything else about my hair.”

After inspecting her as if I don’t trust her, because I don’t, I set the bottle down and pick her back up.