“Right. Survival and rescue.” Hank lets out a relieved breath. “Fires and beach signals. That’s what matters.”
He was the one who kissed me first, so I’m hoping that with a little time, he’ll come around again. If we’re going to be stuck here anyway, we might as well enjoy it the best we can. And the more I think about it, a slightly scandalous, totally unexpected fling with my dad’s employee sounds like a great way to do just that.
“Cool,” I say with a nod as I put on my pants, too. “I’m with you. For the rest of the day, we’re just flipping wood.” I shake my head. “But not like that. We might make three X’s in the sand, but we’re keeping it rated PG-13.”
Hank half-smiles. “Good. Yes.”
We head back up toward the peak. Each of us is covered in bruises and red marks, and Hank has a slight limp.
I struggle over some rocks, my arms exhausted. The sun keeps getting brighter, and I have to squint as sweat forms on the back of my neck.
When we reach the wood stacks, now streaked with soot and ash, I lean against a tree to catch my breath. “I wonder if near-death experiences usually make people horny.”
Hank wipes sweat off his face. “In that case, it’s not personal.”
I turn a piece of wood, and Hank rotates some branches.
“It’s not like I’d be horny for just anyone,” I clarify. ‘If I were stranded here with like…my high school gym teacher, I’d still think Mr. Dawson was atrocious.”
Hank continues working. “Well, I’m usually not interested in younger guys. So perhaps there is something to the circumstances.”
I note the subtext that he is interested in me, though.
I pull apart a wood stack, spreading the half-burned pieces back out. “It’s probably biological,” I say. “Knowing death might be imminent, our bodies want to mate.”
Hank looks up at me, a flush under his beard from exertion. “If you think my body was going to have the energy for anything like mating, you were going to be sorely disappointed.”
I laugh and flip a few more branches. We meet in the middle and stand under the bright sun.
“Your chest is pretty scratched,” Hank mumbles.
“So is your arm,” I point out.
He looks at his injury like he’s seeing it for the first time. I gently rest my fingertips on his arm, and he sucks in a soft breath as I stroke his skin near the scratches, comforting him.
“That okay?” I ask.
“Yes. Feels good,” he murmurs. Hank glances back to me. “What was I saying?”
“We were talking about being too exhausted for proper sex.”
He rubs the back of his head, pulling his arm away. “Right. I think it’s time for a water break.”
I follow him to the creek, where we both sit immediately and cup water to our mouths.
Hank looks up at me. “That tree,” he says.
“The helicopter.”
We sit glumly and drink more creek water. When I’m revived a bit, I stand.
“How do we make signals on the beach?” I ask, returning to business like we agreed. “Do you know a wilderness man protocol for that?”
“Like we discussed, three X’s work,” he says. “There’s that clear stretch of sandy beach with all the tiny white pebbles. It’s probably the best place for the color contrast.”
“More hauling sticks. At least I know a fallen tree full of them nearby.”
Hank rubs his beard. “Anything dark that will stand out against the sand, we should be able to use.”
