Page 13 of Campfires & Canines
“I live here.” His tone is so dry, the gravel in his voice scrapes against my skin. My breath hitches.
"Good thing I have you to keep me safe then." I give him a cheesy smile, hoping to break the tension.
He frowns again, the pout firmly in place.
"Well, I better get back and into some dry clothes." I gather up the hem of my shirt and wring it, watching the water drip out of my hands.
"Probably a good idea." He seems to take in my soaked clothes for the first time, his gaze lingering on my tank top for a second.
Looks like he is straight after all. I bite my cheek to suppress a satisfied smile. I'm sure I look like a drowned rat, but it's nice to be appreciated.
I sling my bag over my shoulder and grab my sweatshirt. After a few minutes of trying to ring it out, I give up. It’s useless and so heavy.
“Give it here.” Slate plucks it from my hands and tosses it over his shirt on his shoulder. Now more water drips down his chest.
“Thanks,” I say begrudgingly.
Chewing my lip, I pull on my shoes. They’re dry for now, but water from my jeans will soak my socks soon enough.
I slog up the hill. Slate follows, hovering right behind me. It's approximately fifteen seconds before I stumble and his hands are on me again.
"This isn't an easy hike." His voice is kind but I'm upset and fairly miserable at this point.
I round on him. "Look, I'm not a child. I've been hiking before. And frankly, I only fell because you startled me. So, it's kinda your fault."
“There’s a reason Heath asked you to stick close to the cabins,” he starts again.
“Bite me,” I mutter under my breath.
“There’s a huge slope through here, and with all the leaf litter, it’s pretty dangerous.”
I give him a dirty look and step over an uneven rock in the trail. My ankle wobbles and I slip, my exposed skin scraping across something sharp.
Before I can fall, he grabs my hips.
"Fucknugget," I hiss. He releases me with a look of disdain. Whatever, dude. For someone who keeps touching me, he doesn’t seem to like the contact.
I angle my calf, observing an angry cut exposed because of my rolled jeans. "You have got to be kidding me."
He presses his lips together. Judgy much?
I turn my nose up and continue. But in another five minutes, we reach the boulders I slid down on my way here. Going up looks way more difficult.
Searching for a handhold, I start to haul myself up. It doesn't help that my clothing is now triple the weight it should be. Feet scrambling, I let out a frustrated growl, not caring what he thinks at this point. I look pathetic.
He stabilizes me and then grips my hips and pushes me up. My hands reach the top ridge and I can shimmy up the rest of the way.
Slate scales it effortlessly. As we walk, the silence prickles at me. Finally, I can’t take it. “So, how long have you worked with my uncle?”
He looks around like he’s worried we’ll be seen together. “Part-time since I was a student, but I’ve had this position for a couple of years now.”
“Do you like it?”
“Yes,” he answers, “I like helping people and being outdoors all the time.”
Generic answers for the win. I’ll get something out of him. “Where did you grow up?”
“My dad worked for Heath’s dad, and then for Heath. So I grew up here,” he says stiffly.
