Page 47 of Last Light

The following morning, the air is cooler than it’s been. Fresher somehow. Closer to what I remember from my childhood. I take deep breaths of it as we share a can of peaches. I’m humming to myself afterward as I roll up the sleeping bag.

I’m not aware of humming. I do it unconsciously.

But I realize it when I catch Travis staring at me.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothin’. Just... you’re somethin’ else.”

I’m not actually sure what he’s talking about, but I can see from his face that it’s a compliment.

I smile at him, and he almost smiles back.

The day passes in much the same way as the previous one. Slow progress. No encounters other than some harmless walking travelers.

Midafternoon, we spot a good-sized creek, and I ask if it’s all right for us to stop for a while so we can fill our water bottles and clean up.

Travis takes a while to explore the surroundings until he’s found a good, secluded spot blocked on two sides by a shelf of rocks. Then we get our empty water bottles, towels, soap, and hotel shampoos and walk to the creek bank.

We fill the water bottles first, after checking the quality of the water. (We can boil it off later to be safe.) Then I take off my overshirt, deciding to clean up in my tank and panties the way I did the other day. The water in the creek is over a foot deep. It should work fine.

When he stands over me with his shotgun resting loosely on his shoulder, I ask, “You’re washing up too, aren’t you?”

“Sure. But not at the same time. It’s real quiet here, but I’m not gonna risk it.”

I accept that without arguing and unzip my jeans. “I’m getting in all the way. I still haven’t had a chance to wash my hair, and I really want to.”

“No problem.”

He doesn’t turn his back as I strip down and wade in, but he also doesn’t stare at me. His eyes scan our surroundings, his posture tense.

I scrub down and rinse off. Then I take out my braids, submerge my whole head, and lather up. It feels so good that I moan in pleasure as I rinse out the shampoo.

Travis is watching me as I clear the water from my eyes, and I smile at him. “I never realized what an indulgence washing your hair could be.”

He just grunts.

I don’t want to test Travis’s patience by lingering too long, so I climb back onto the bank and dry off. I wrap my towel around myself, tucking it under my arm to secure it, and then I reach down for my gun.

“I need to dry off some before I put my clothes on, so why don’t you go ahead and wash up now?”

He doesn’t argue. He puts his shotgun down and makes his way to the edge of the creek. I stand guard the way he did as he shucks his clothes down to the gray boxer briefs I found for him. He scrubs and shampoos more quickly than I did. I know he doesn’t like to be vulnerable like this in the open air.

I try to keep watch and not stare at him the whole time, but it’s hard to tear my eyes away. When he gets wet, the cotton of his underwear clings. I can see every line of his body. The strong columns of his thighs. The tight curves of his ass. The firm contours of his arms and shoulders.

His body is more than attractive. It’s powerful. Alive.

Something inside me strains toward it like I strain toward water when I’m thirsty.

He’s up on the bank and drying off before I can fully process how I’m feeling.

“Do we have time for me to comb out my hair?” I ask him.

He hesitates briefly. “Sure.” He wraps his towel around his waist and picks up his gun.

I find a rock to sit on and start combing the tangles out of my wet hair. Travis waits tensely, looking incongruously sexy in just a towel and his shotgun.

I work quickly, and I’ve mostly got my hair combed out when I notice something as Travis turns. “You’re hurt!” I stand up, my towel slipping down as I move.

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