Page 43 of My Fearless Fake Fling

Twelve:

It had been an amazing night. Just Len and I. The weather, perfect. Warm with a slight breeze. While I fixed dinner, he gathered more branches that were close by. Then after dinner, we went on a broader search together.

Once it started to get dark, he broke out the marshmallows, chocolate squares, and graham crackers for s’mores. I hadn’t eaten s’mores in years. And there was just something about eating sweets under the stars. In our little clearing, the canopy of trees opened up enough for us to see thousands of them. A star-studded extravaganza.

When we decided to retire to the tent, Len took our separate sleeping bags and zipped them together into one big sleeping bag.

I undressed down to my skivvies. As did Len. It wasn’t guaranteed, but I figured some sexy times might take place. We managed some canoodling—touching, kissing, and whatnots—but it appeared we’d both been too worn out from all the hiking and firewood scavenging to do much more. We actually passed out in each other’s arms pretty quickly.

The next morning, we dressed. “We’re going hiking,” he said.

Len got the coffee going, along with the eggs and bacon he’d so smartly packed in the—I kidnot—generator operated cooler before we left home, while I prettied myself up. Yes, we were out in the middle of nowhere, but I still had a gorgeous fake boyfriend to try and keep for as long as I could keep him. And wrinkles waited for no woman. Even we young ones could expect them to creep over our faces if we didn’t take precautions. Thus, I slathered cream over my skin.

The beautiful man known as Len handed me off a cup of coffee when I screwed the last cap back on the last of my bottles. We sipped from our mugs and then when they were finished cooking, we sipped from our mugs and ate.

We made sure the fire was completely out before we set off. I used a tub to wash the dishes, then dumped the water onto the embers.

Thick brush turned thicker the farther up the mountain we hiked. It wasn’t like we hiked the Sierra Madres or Rockies, but for a girl who never hiked up anything until recently, I began wheezing when the incline took a steep turn.

Being the perfect gentleman guide, he stopped for me every time (and there were a lot of times) I needed to stop. He paid enough attention that I didn’t even have to say anything. Though I supposed breathing so heavy it sounded like a chainsaw buzzing while leaning against a tree for support might have been a good indicator. Full disclosure: I didn’t sound like a chainsaw buzzing. That was an exaggeration. I did, however, stop on several occasions to rest.

Several hours later—yes, my frequent breaks added a whole lot of time to our trek—with sweat-glistened skin, we reached the summit. Breathtaking. Of course, it would be even more beautiful out west, but we weren’t out west, and I couldn’t think of a more beautiful sight in the whole of Michigan.

We turned around to take a selfie with the vista behind us. Len and I at the top of our world. Nottheworld, as there were summits far greater. Baby steps. I’d takeour worldfor now. Happy with the pictures, we turned back to take in the view once again. I felt small and insignificant staring out at the wide, wide wilderness. As it was cooler from the altitude, the sweat on my skin didn’t just cool, but chilled me.

Still, I couldn’t get myself to leave.

The loose rock underfoot held different ideas. One tiny pivot to take another gander at the gorgeous man standing next to me and his reaction to the beauty set before us. That was all it took. My foot slipped and I flailed my arms in an attempt to catch my balance. It didn’t work. My other foot slipped right out from underneath me, sending me sliding down over the side of the rocky surface.

Scratches scraped across my skin, gashes opening up. Those stung, but if I kept sliding, stinging wouldn’t matter. Not on this stretch of mountain. This rock laid flat enough to let me slide right off the side.

My life—well, not really my whole life—but my regrets passed in front of my eyes. That night I’d made a pass at Harrison. The catalyst for every bad thing to follow occupied most of my thoughts in those few seconds before I plunged over the side to certain death.

I think I might have heard Len screaming. But with a head filled with regrets, including not getting the chance to see how long I could stretch this thing with Len, it was hard to focus on anything else.

Dirt and rocks caked under my fingernails as I tried futilely to slow the short descent. My hips slid over the side when a hand gripped my upper arm. My body wanted to keep falling and it felt like my shoulder popped out of joint.

That didn’t matter either. Len had lunged for me, landing on his belly. The top-half of his torso bent over the ledge. One strong hand separated me from death. I didn’t want to die. The strain on his face said everything. He might have had me now—and I wasn’t going to be confused with a beached whale anytime soon—but with my weight and the slope of the rock, his hand started slipping.

His toes hooked under a thin rim of rock, the only thing keeping us alive, or at least me alive. The muscles of his calves contracted to the point they vibrated. His whole body went taut under the strain. And then we locked eyes.

“I got you, baby. I’m not letting go,” he said. I think he tried to convince himself, more than for my benefit.

I couldn’t speak. Tears choked off any words.

He started to pull. As my legs dangled, I had nothing to help push. The strain and fatigue on his face was evident. But he kept pulling in a solitary effort until my thighs cleared the rock and I could bend my knees. Then I was able to gain enough traction to push. Len wiggled his body to move backward. Slowly, together, we moved me back up the rock until I hit safety.

Len saved my life.

Hesavedmy life.

I burst out in a fit of wails and tears. Clutching Len’s T-shirt, I buried my face against his chest. His arms wrapped tightly around me.

“Sh—hiccup—shh…” He hiccupped.

My gaze found his. Red-rimmed, tear-filled eyes. That made me cry even harder. Something about seeing a guy cry got me in the feels.

Once we were both together enough to stand, he helped me up. My arm hurt like a son of a gun. I just knew my shoulder was dislocated now. And as for those big gashes, which still bled quasi-profusely, well, with my nerves continuing to heighten from my near death, the stinging became profound.

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