The Stopover (The Miles High Club, #1)(93)

“Step back farther.”

He walks backward and trips over a rock and falls into a bush. “Ah,” he cries.

“Oh.” I burst out laughing and run to help him up.

“What kind of fucking lunatic does this for fun?” he splutters as he climbs out of the bush.

“We do.” I laugh.

“This isn’t fun, Emily,” he huffs as he brushes the dirt off him. “This is a living hell in a hydroponic mutated-bug breeding zone.” Something bites him again, and he slaps his neck. “Fuck off,” he whispers to the bug.

“For God’s sake, get the bug spray, princess. It’s in the bag of supplies in the truck.”

“We have bug spray?” He looks at me deadpan. “Now you fucking tell me, after I’ve lost four pints of blood already.”

He storms to the truck, and I hear the spray can go . . . and go . . . and go . . . and go.

“Are you saving any for me?” I call.

“This is man versus wild, and every man is for himself. Don’t you watch Survivor? I’m voting you off the island tonight,” he calls before launching into a coughing attack and waving the air in front of him. “What the hell is in this stuff, anyway?”

“Poison.” I widen my eyes. “To kill the bugs.”

He storms back over. “Hurry up with the tent,” he demands. “What’s taking so long?”

“You put it up if you’re so perfect,” I snap.

“Fine.” He snatches the directions from me and stares at them for a moment as his eyes flick to the outstretched tent. He turns the paper around and twists his head. “Well, this all makes perfect sense now.”

“It does?” I frown. “I couldn’t work it out at all.”

“This isn’t directions to put up a tent—this is a map for an escape from Alcatraz.”

I burst out laughing.

“What’s funny?” he barks. “Nothing about this situation is funny, Emily.”

He turns the page and then turns it again and then again. We both frown as we stare at it. “Okay, I see now.”

“You do?” I ask hopefully.

“No. I don’t. We find a hotel.”

“Jameson,” I plead. “I wanted to do something with you that you’ve never done with an ex-girlfriend. I just wanted us to do this first together. Will you just humor me, please?”

He exhales heavily.

I take his hands in mine. “I know this isn’t what you’re used to, but I wanted to take you out of your comfort zone. I really want to do this—it’s important to me. This is how uncomfortable I feel in your fancy apartment.”

“Not possible.” His eyes hold mine, and then he exhales in defeat. “Fine.” He begins to study the directions again; the light is fading, and he’s squinting to see.

I go to the supply box and take out the two headlights and put one on his head and then my own. I switch them on.

He looks up at me deadpan.

I put my hand over my mouth as I get the giggles, and he continues reading the directions.

“Okay, it says the poles are in a separate bag,” he says.

“Got them.”

“And we need to peg out the corners.”

“Already done it.” I rub my hand down his back and onto his behind. He swats me away.

“We need to put the poles in the end and hoist them up.”

“Okay.” I lean up to kiss him.

“Emily.” He looks at me, and the flashlight strapped to his forehead shines in my eyes. “I smell like a toxic dumping ground of bug poison, and I have never felt so unsexy in my entire life. I wouldn’t be surprised if my dick has been poisoned off like a weed.”

I burst out laughing. “You could never be unsexy to me, and your dick is more of a tree than a weed.”

He raises his eyebrow, unimpressed.

I get the uncontrollable giggles. He really does look ridiculous. I want to take a photo for Alan, but I know he would go postal. He’s teetering on the edge here.

“Okay, let’s just get in and do it, and then we can pump up the bed.” I smile.

His face falls. “We have to pump up a bed?”

“No. You have to blow it up with your mouth,” I tease.

He throws the directions in the air. “That’s it—I’m out.”

I burst out laughing. “No, you don’t. I’m only teasing. We have a pump.”

He puts his hand on his hips and stares at me for a moment.

“Jameson.” I smile softly. “This weekend is symbolic in our relationship. You’re expecting me to give up everything I know to live in a world that’s completely foreign to me.”

He stares at me.

“I’m just asking you for three days.” I bounce on the spot. “Please. Can you just do this . . . for me?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, and I know I’ve nearly got him. I lean up and kiss his big lips. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

“Fine,” he snaps as he bends and picks the directions up and begins to reread them. “Get me the longest pole.”

Two hours later, the tent is finally up. The bed is ready, and I put out two fold-up chairs. “Come sit with me.” I smile as I open a bottle of red wine.