CHAPTER ELEVEN
ELLIOT
Hank steps through the forest purposefully, shaking a stick at the ground in front of him to scare away snakes. I follow behind, plants brushing at my bare legs. In the forest, a canopy of towering trees casts us in shadows while rain trickles through the branches.
“Only step where you can see,” he says over his shoulder as he leads us through shrubs. “And keep an eye out for—oh! Ferns!”
Hank squats down, and my eyes dance down his solid build. His boxer briefs are loose, but I see enough of the shape of his ass to appreciate it.
“Shoot,” he says as he stands. “No fiddleheads yet.”
I raise a smile. “Shoot,” I agree.
He’s pretty cute, in his geeky, wilderness man way.
Hank gestures ahead. “We’ll follow this curve around, keep an eye out for mushrooms and maybe some berry bushes.”
“You mention berries, I’ll follow you anywhere.”
Hank chuckles and takes off again, leading us through the forest. Now that I’ve noticed his ass, it’s hard to stop noticing it, and my eyes keep flitting back for another glance as we move. Imanage to scoop up some violets in a sun spot, and Hank plucks more mushrooms.
I have to squeeze close behind him to move through a crowded, rocky bit, and his scent is earthy, surprisingly comforting. I catch myself taking a huff.
Gathering algae was almost fun, except for the fact that we’re trying not to starve. Fear for my life aside, splashing around in the water and working on a project with Hank felt good.
Everything feels better when we’re actually collaborating instead of fighting. And now that I’m giving myself a minute to fully appreciate Hank, I’m finding there’s a lot to like about him.
The relatively flat forest gives way ahead of us, becoming steeper and jagged as it turns into a mountainous cliff. He slows as we approach, then points up ahead. “Look,” he says.
Slightly up the mountain, probably eight or nine feet above us, a bush shines with red berries. There’s some flat ground around it, blanketed with violets.
I gasp and grab Hank’s arm. “There are berries! It’s a whole feast!”
Hank squints at the bush. “But too high to reach.”
“Just barely. We can climb on each other,” I say. “I can climb on you. Or you can climb on me.”
I walk over through the gently falling rain to inspect, and Hank follows.
“Slippery,” he points out. “But there are a few decent holds.”
We look up at the berries together.
“I could reach that big rock,” I say, pointing.
“With a heft from me,” Hank agrees. He grabs a rock with his good hand and scrambles up a little himself before stepping back down. “Let’s give it a try. But if it feels like you could slip, abandon plan.”
I nod in agreement, and Hank gets in position, squatting his legs wide as he leans his weight against the cliff, shouldersbraced. I wiggle my arms to loosen up and step forward, crawling up his body.
“Uh, erm,” Hank grunts as he catches me with one arm.
I grab the mossy rock above and steady myself with a vine, wobbling in Hank’s arms. “You okay?” I ask.
My junk is totally in his face, I realize.
“Fine!” he grunts out, and I manage to pull myself up. With another little scramble, I’m at the berries. My bare feet land between the violets, and there’s a sapling tree budding out next to me.
When I look down at Hank, he gives me a short wave. “Good!”
