“Someone has to be prepared,” I say when I go up to him and poke his hard chest. I swear the damn thing could withstand a bullet. “If I left it up to you, we would go up with nothing but whatever supplies are in our pockets.”
“Tents and sleeping bags are for pussies,” Xavier says, and my eyes are drawn to his full lips and the way they move when saying pussies.
“Fine, then I’ll set mine up and you can sleep out on the hard ground tonight,” I tell him.
Before I can blink, he reaches out and pulls off my shades, causing the bright kitchen light to temporarily blind me or give me an aneurism, maybe both.
“Hey!” I exclaim while slapping my hands over my eyes.
“That’s what I thought,” he says. “You’re not up for this, Bambi.”
“Give me back my sunglasses or I will knee you in the nads,” I warn him. Thankfully, he puts the shades back over my eyes. “Now, let’s go!”
Xavier
“Oh, holy mother of mercy,” Cass says after she kneels in the leaves to throw up on the trail for the third time.
“We’re turning around,” I tell her because I hate seeing her so miserable. And despite what she says, she was really fucking drunk if she doesn’t remember kissing me. I would think she’s lying except I know Cass; and if she had remembered, her cheeks would’ve turned tomato red.
“Nope. That was definitely the last time I’m going to get sick,” she says when she grabs my arm to pull herself up straight again.
“That’s what you said the last two times,” I point out.
“I’m almost sure of it this time,” Cass replies. “And we’re almost to the camp site.”
“Thank god,” I mutter. While I may get in at least half an hour a day of cardio in the gym, it’s nowhere near as strenuous as the up-hill hike on a steep mountainside. Not that I would admit it to Cass, but I’ve almost tossed my own cookies once or twice.
The terrain finally flattens out. And then, with a few hours to spare before sunset, we come to a stop in the clearing. Cassidy has our tent set up in record-breaking time while I start a fire to heat up whatever food she brought us for dinner.
Since there aren’t any tree stumps or logs to sit on, I walk around until I find us one. Picking up the six-foot log, I hoist it over my shoulder and carry it back to camp.
Cass comes out of the tent and does a double take before I toss the log down. “Go easy there, Paul Bunyan,” she says. “I could’ve helped you carry it over.”
“I had it,” I say when I take a seat on one end.
“You had it, sure, but you could’ve thrown your back out.”
“Are you calling me old and out of shape?” I ask when she sits down next to me.
“No, I’m saying there’s no good reason to go around carrying your body weight.”
“The log weighs less than you,” I tell her. Pinching my finger and thumb together, I say, “You came this close to me carrying you the rest of the way up here like I had to carry you to bed.”
“I’m perfectly fine.”
Getting up, I go over to her pack that’s next to the tent to find her canteen to take it back over to her. “Drink up or you’re gonna get dehydrated.”
She accepts it and removes the lid to guzzle it down. “Thanks.” Once she’s done, she sits the container on the ground by her feet and then tips her head back to inhale the fresh air. Rays of sunlight that break through the trees hit her smiling face and make her hair glow like some kind of unearthly fairy. “It was worth the hike, right?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I agree, drinking her in while she’s not paying attention. Climbing mountains to make her happy is nothing. I would try to move them for Cass if she asked me to, because I know she would do the same for me.
“So,” she starts before she glances over at me. “Did you talk to the coach yesterday at Havoc or chicken out since I wasn’t there to strong-arm you into it?”
“First of all, you can’t strong-arm me into anything,” I reply. “And secondly, yes, I did talk to Coach Briggs, thank you very much.”
“You did?” she asks, green eyes brightening. “What did he say? Did he think you still have time?”
Swiping my sweaty palms down the thighs of my cargo shorts, I tell her, “He said he thought I could have a title belt in three years if I worked my ass off.”
“Seriously?” Cass asks. “That’s great, Xavier! Why didn’t you tell me about this last night?”
“Maybe I did, and you just don’t remember our conversation.” My words are terse, not because I’m mad at her for having a few drinks, but because she doesn’t remember kissing me. How is that possible when I can’t seem to stop thinking about it; how fucking hot it was; how natural it felt when it should’ve been awkward and strange since we’ve never done it before.
“I would’ve remembered our conversation! I wasn’t that drunk,” she huffs, blowing the loose pieces of her hair that fell from her ponytail around her face.
“You were pretty drunk,” I assure her. Unable to help myself, I ask, “Do you remember telling me how good I smell?”
“I did not!” she gasps, her cheeks rosy red, just like I predicted. If she’s that embarrassed about a slip of her tongue, then I wonder what she would think if I told her she slipped me her tongue…
“You did too. Something about my deodorant mixing with my pheromones.”
“Oh my god,” Cass whispers when she covers her face with both hands. “I’m never drinking around you again.”
That’s a shame since I was kind of hoping for more kissing, even though I shouldn’t, especially when she’s not sober. But sober Cass would never admit to wanting me.
“You were pretty funny until you passed out and I had to carry you to bed.”
“Anyway!” she exclaims when she lowers her hands from her face and shakes her head like that makes the topic disappear. “Back to you and fighting. So you’re going to go for it, right?”
“I haven’t decided.”
“What is there to decide?” she exclaims. “You want to give fighting a try, so there’s no reason to keep wasting time. What did your parents say? They’re all for it I bet.”
“I haven’t told them yet,” I reply. “Not until I know for sure. I need time to think…”
“Oh, no, Xavier,” Cass says. “Not this again.”
“Not what again?” I ask.
“You still can’t make your own decisions, can you?”
“I make decisions all the time,” I huff.
“Not major ones. Nope, you always sit back and wait and wait until your options are limited or someone makes the decision for you.”
“What are you talking about, Cass?”
“College. How did you decide on Stanford our senior year?” she questions.
“They offered the best scholarship.”
“Yeah, they did,” she agrees. “And it’s not like your parents didn’t have the money to send you anywhere in the world you wanted to go, but you decided to go to the school that made it the easiest for you.”