Page 42 of My Favorite Bad Decision
We’rethe first ones in the dining tent. Miller smiles when the plate of stew is placed in front of me. “Tell me the first food you are going to eat when we get back,” he says.
I groan. “You know what I want? And it won’t make much sense given how cold it is, but I want an ice cream sundae. No, scratch that—a brownie sundae with ice cream and hot fudge and nuts and whipped cream. And a cherry. Multiple cherries.”
“You’ve come a long way from the girl who didn’t want to have any sugar in her coffee.”
“Right now, I would like to pour sugar packets in my open mouth,” I respond. “What about you?”
He closes his eyes. “A steak,” he says, running his tongue over his lower lip as if he is already tasting it. I picture that tongue in ways I should not and banish the image. “A steak, covered in melting butter, with a baked potato. No, aloadedbaked potato, dripping in cheese and bacon.”
“Okay, that sounds good. What’s after that?”
His eyes sweep over my face. “After that, I think I would want something very different.”
My breath stops right in the center of my throat. If I didn’t know better, I’d say that he was referring to sex, and if I really,reallydidn’t know better, I’d say that he was referring to sex with me.
I shouldn’t allow my head to go in that direction, but it’s been a long day, and I am excruciatingly relaxed, so I allow myself to picture it—the way he would kiss, and the way his beard would be rough against my skin. The way his hands would roam, beginning at my waist and sliding lower, tightening around my hips as he pulled me against him.
And when that happened, I would reach for his belt and then his zipper, and when his jeans fell to the floor, I’d let my palm slide against him, rock hard, eager for friction.
That’s when he would take charge, kicking off the jeans entirely and lifting me. Carrying me to the bed, landing above me, every bit as eager for what comes next as I am.
Stacy walks into the dining tent. “I don’t know what y’all were thinking about, but it sure isn’t this stew.”
My gaze meets Miller’s. His eyes are burning.
“Ice cream,” I whisper at the same moment that he says, “Steak.”
I suspect he was lying too.
* * *
We returnto our tent to pack up our bags for the second to last time. I want a bed and a closet and regular food, yes, but I’m already sad at leaving this behind.
He dumps his daypack out on his sleeping bag and so do I—we’ll need entirely different things for this warmer climb down to the final camp than we did heading to the summit. “So, are you going to call your dad tomorrow and admit you were wrong about everything?”
“Of course not,” I reply, tightly rolling up my filthy clothes and shoving them to the bottom of my bag. “He’s already way too confident about his dumb ideas. I’m not encouraging him.”
“Not all his ideas are dumb,” Miller says. “Like having you stalk me here.”
I roll my eyes. “You don’t actually believe that, right? There are eight routes and a million tour companies. He couldn’t possibly have known what route you were climbing or with whom.”
He shakes his head, pausing in his own packing to meet my gaze. “No, I don’t think he had you stalk me. I think he heard me talk about it and thought it might be just the thing to make you see the light.”
I groan, preparing to be annoyed. “And what light is that?”
“Kit, you say that your life is a Tuesday. Well, let me point out what your life consists of: first, a guy you never evenmention,and you know why? Because he doesn’t factor into anything. You don’t need him, and you might care about him, but I don’t think you love him.”
“I told you I’m just a private person.”
“Bullshit,” Miller says, throwing a candy bar from his daypack onto my sleeping bag. Even when he’s arguing with me, he’s trying to take care of me. “And you know what else? I know the guy, and he’s not good enough for you. Not even close. You deserve someone who has your back.”
“I don’tneedanyone to have my back. I’ve got my own back.”
“Yeah,” Miller says, “but you shouldn’t have to. And you belong with someone who wants to have it for you.”
I swallow hard. Miller’s had my back this week. He’s wanted to have it, too, even when he pretended he didn’t. And I loved that he was there, but if he’s going to wind up with any of the Fischer girls, it won’t be me.
“The other thing you haven’t mentioned all week is your job,” he continues, rolling up his sleeping bag.
