“Now that is funny. You’ve never been camping?” I laugh, but I almost find her confession somewhat sad. What person has never camped out under the stars? There were times as a kid I had no choice but to sleep outside to get away from what was happening at home. The drugs, the fights, the strangers coming in and out of the house; the outdoors was the only safe haven for my siblings and me. Sometimes, getting them to our secret campsite was the only way to keep them safe.

“Spoiled rich kid, remember?” she jests as she plops down onto the seat next to the small kitchen table and uses her finger to circle her face. “Really, though, my father never had time for things like that, and my mother wouldn’t be caught dead sleeping in a tent.”

“Well then why don’t you simmer a little and take this weekend as a time to not only regroup but have a new experience?”

She takes a moment to consider my offer, and I know she’ll cave. For all of the tough attitude Jen presents to the world, I know underneath all of the gruffness, is something fragile, something soft which needs nurturing. More and more I find myself wanting to be the man who protects that glass heart of hers…the one who glues her pieces back together.

“Okay, truce,” she says, holding her hand out to me. Leaning against the counter I try to act nonchalant about the fact she is willingly staying with me and will be a good sport about all of the outdoor activities she’ll be involved in today, but really I’m shaking with excitement. I want to make today unforgettable, help to erase the events of last night. When she closes her eyes tonight, I want her to see me and only me, not that piece of shit security guard.

I push off the counter and reach for her hand to accept the armistice. When she places her hand in mine, instead of shaking it, I pull her from the chair and to my body.

“I promise we will have a good weekend together, Jen,” I say, placing my hand on her back and pulling her even closer. “I plan to erase every memory of the nightmare of last night,” I whisper in her ear. Her breathing catches as my breath hits her neck, and I know I have her. I move away and slap her ass playfully. “So, get dressed in your damn Walmart camping clothes and get ready for an adventure!”

She squeals and lets out a huff, but then does what I ask, moving past me to the back bedroom. Just before reaching the door, she turns around to face me with a smile to match my own. “You’re an asshole, Casen Thompson, don’t forget that, but I do appreciate this.”

“I do my best, sparkplug,” I tell her with a nod before she turns and enters the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

Jen

By the time I make it out of the camper, the dishes have all been cleaned up and Casen is sitting on the back of his truck with the dog. I don’t remember his name; Goliath fits him just fine for me. I managed to put myself together, with what I’m assuming are the best pieces in the Mary-Kate and Ashley collection. I’m impressed he remembered the small items like deodorant and a toothbrush. The average male would have forgotten such things and then insisted I use my finger with a little toothpaste and his Axe Body Spray to freshen up.

I want to hate Casen. I want to not want him, but when he does things for me which no other man has ever even thought to do, it makes it damn difficult. I might actually choke on the words, but he is a decent guy. Mix that with the tattoos and toned body, tousled hair and flippin’ steel-grey eyes, and I may have to weld myself a chastity belt to keep myself under control around him.

He looks no less tasty when he looks up from the mammoth sitting next to him and sails a panty-melting smile to me. No freaking fair. How does a woman even begin to maintain herself when a guy does that? I could take up residence in his adorable dimples when his hair sweeps across his brow, forcing him to run a hand through it to push it back. I have to direct my attention to something, anything else, but him.

“That thing is huge, it’s going to dent your truck,” I say as I adjust my ponytail. There was a shower, so I took full advantage of the camper’s bathroom facilities. I’m glad he was already dressed for the day because I used every ounce of hot water.

I look up again at Casen and he begins to chuckle. “You know, I’ve received several compliments over the years about my size, but never has someone suggested he would dent metal. I’m not sure what to say other than thank you.”

“Oh my God, you are such an adolescent. I was talking about your dog, but I’m glad to know you pride yourself on the size of your genitalia to such an extreme.” I roll my eyes and begin to walk toward the truck.

“What man doesn’t value his junk, sweetheart?” he laughs. “I knew you were talking about Henri, I just like watching you squirm,” he adds, hopping off the tailgate and moving around to the passenger door.

“Yeah right, whatever you say.”

Casen opens the door allowing the dog to jump in and then holds it open for me. “Climb in, Jen. We need to get moving if we want to have dinner tonight.”

I slide in onto the smooth leather of the bucket seat and push the horse over a bit to give myself a little more room, as it apparently has some kind of drooling condition.

“Are we going to a grocery store for food or something?” I ask once Casen is behind the wheel.

“Nope, we have to catch our dinner. We’re going to Skagway Reservoir to go fishing,” he answers, turning the key in the ignition, revving the engine to life.

“Um, you did hear me say I’ve never been camping, right? If you are depending on my fishing capability for survival, then be prepared to starve. That is, unless you want to eat your dog.”

Casen pats the dog’s head. Damn, I need to pay attention and remember his stupid dog’s name. “Henri is the laziest, snuggliest dog on the planet. I don’t think he would be very tasty.”

Henri, Henri, Henri. Must. Remember. Dog’s. Name. Is. Henri.

“You’ll be fine, Jen. Between the two of us, we’ll catch enough fish, and if not, we can always eat the hotdogs and marshmallows I have stockpiled in the camper.”

“Surely there is something more valuable we can do with our day than spending it drowning worms. I’m good with hotdogs and marshmallows for tonight,” I say as convincingly as possible. Casen rolls his eyes, almost ignoring my attempt to wiggle out of this fishing excursion.

Realizing this is happening whether I like it or not, I focus my attention on the scenery around us as we climb the mountain toward the reservoir. Things are blooming and it appears to be warming up, but looks are definitely deceiving. Even in this oversized sweatshirt, which by the way screams tourist due to its large printed lettering, which has ‘I did 9,500 ft. at Cripple Creek’ splayed across the front, I have frozen my ass off all morning. Surprisingly, the rest of the ensemble Casen picked out fits well, even the tennis shoes.

There are constant winding curves leading us to our destination. As I notice Henri encroaching on my area and the amount of drool multiplies, I become increasingly concerned with his potential motion sickness and the well-being of the limited clothing I currently possess.

“Um, is your dog going to get sick?” I ask, lifting Henri’s head from my lap and moving closer to the door and away from possible disaster. Casen looks him over for a second and pats his head again.

“Nope, he’s good. I think he just likes you and wants to give you a little love.” He turns his attention back to the road and places both hands on the steering wheel.

I examine Henri further, not yet convinced my Walmart jeans aren’t about to get sprayed with munched up kibble. I run my hand across his neck and pat his side. I have no idea what I’m looking for, but I’m hoping for some blaring sign to duck for cover, since the slobber is his apparent regular behavior. He takes this as a sign to “love” further, moving onto my lap and licking me. Now I’m concerned for my own puking status as well as my ability to breathe. “Oh sweet baby Jesus, make him not like me, make him not like me!” I squeeze out through strained breaths as I attempt to push his massive body off mine.