Page 24 of When Glitter Meets Gold

Jack straightens, waiting for my retort to rupture out of me. The air is taut, the storm outside a mere whisper compared to the friction that boils inside this tent.

“You…are…” I stammer, “Wrong.” It comes out limp, weak, like a slow puncture.

The tension wilts to ash.

Jack’s mouth forms a straight line. Sighing, he leans back onto a sleeping bag. He throws his sweater over his face, then tucks both hands behind his head.

I should be using the silence to claw back at my defense. However, I’m distracted by a swirling black tattoo that spans the underside of his bulging upper arms. Then my eyes flick to his wrist where I spy a gold watch that almost disappears beneath his head. I can’t quite make out the model, but it looks expensive.

Suddenly I’m less interested in rescuing my pride, andmore curious about the man I’m about to spend the night with.

“Okay fine, think what you like about me. But what about you, Jack?” I sit up with a straight spine.

“What about me? And I told you, I don’t go by that name anymore,” he mumbles from under the sweater.

“Exactly.” I throw my hands in the air. “What’s with all the suspicion? First, you asked me what I wanted from you, then you thought I was lying about who I am, like I’ve got some kind of agenda, like I planned to be out in this hell. And now you’re telling me you don’t even go by Jack anymore.”

I lean back on the scraps of material he’s given me as cushioning, then I tug a thin blanket over my body. “If anyone should be suspicious, it’s me.”

A muffled yawn comes from under his sweater. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

I toss the blanket to the side, grab my sweater, and climb to my feet, my head narrowly avoiding the low swinging lantern.

“Because my presence hereisan accident.” I take a couple of unsteady strides over the uneven floor toward the entrance. “You planned to be out here, choosing to hikeofftrail, with camping equipment that looks like it was issued by Central Intelligence, and—” I can finally see his watch clearly. Rolex,verylimited edition. No wait, custom, definitely custom. Any New York fashion brat could tell that—“that thing on your wrist looks like it cost the same as a penthouse apartment.”

He shuffles around in the sleeping bag. “So?”

The arrogance of this man, not even attempting to deny it.

“So, if you can afford such luxuries, then why couldn’tyou stretch for a radio that has built-in SOS?” I gaze at the radio that looks like it came from a nineties cereal box. The thing is a piece of junk, practically a fossil.

He’s twisting uncomfortably now the heat points his way.

I continue, “And why the name change? Are you on the run? Are you a criminal? Are you some kind of…assassin?”

He springs from his position on his back, swiping at the sweater before peeling it from his face. He pinches the bridge of his nose, a rumble vibrating deep in his chest. “I’m not a fucking assassin.”

“But you do have a knife. A big one.” I cast a glance toward his hand, still wrapped in the towel. He probably needs to change the dressing, or at least wash it out or something. I shake my head because how dare I concern myself with this man’s discomfort when I’ve been shivering in my corner for the last hour and a half. “Maybe you aren’t an assassin, maybe you’re something worse. Maybe you’re a cold-blooded killer. Am I going to die tonight?”

More rumbling.

“No. ButImight die from irritation,” he utters flatly.

I wrinkle my brows together at the unnecessary response.

“I don’t think I like your tone,” I say as I whip my head around to face the entrance before yanking on the zipper. Immediately, a gust of cold air rushes into the tent.

“What are you doing?” Now his voice sounds exactly like he might die from irritation. “You can’t go out there.”

“I have to pee.” I grabhisjacket, slinging it over my shoulders as I march into the thick of the storm.

Wind and pouring rain comes at me from every angle as I trudge ahead, scraping away clumps of hair that blow across my face and impair my vision. I lean into the howlingwind that threatens to knock me onto my ass as I search for the least life endangering spot to turn into a bathroom.

The entire experience is humiliating.

I’ve never peed outside. Ever. I don’t know how to squat and angle my body in a way that won’t degrade every inch of my being or cause me to accidentally pee on myself.

The only thing to provide a fragment of a distraction is the jacket. Specifically, the scent coming from it. A torrential downpour is soaking me to my core, yet I can’t help but inhale the leathery fragrance of whatever Jack’s scent of choice is. It’s something old and timeless, familiar even. Something from childhood perhaps.

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