“Oh, myGod.” I cringe when she screeches out the last word. “I’ve seen you in concert at least six times. You’re like the best guitar player ever.”
“That’s kind of you.” Jensen’s practiced tone lacks the rough-edged warmth I hear when he talks to me. I’m not sad about that.
The other two aren’t die-hard country music fans, but since it’s clear that he’s hot and famous, the fawning and ass-kissing commences post haste.
I know he’s famous. I’m not an idiot, although my search history from last summer might suggest otherwise. Of course, I Googled him after the nurse mentioned his career.
Okay, fine. I did a two-week deep dive into all things Jensen Grant that would make a CIA operative proud. From YouTube concert footage to old press coverage from when “Lucky Me” went viral to interviews with other musicians talking about why he’s a legend, I consumed that content like it was my last meal. I finally forced myself into a Jensen moratorium when it became clear that obsessing over a man I never planned to see again crossed about a dozen lines.
Our trail companions have no problem fangirling. They’re ready to invite Jensen along for the rest of their trip, and probably into their tent, sleeping bag, or pants. Especially after I make it clear we aren’t a couple.
The slight narrowing of his eyes tells me he doesn’t like that, even though it’s true. And as the miles go on, the flirting gets a little less subtle as the trio peppers him with questions and song requests. Veronica—who I’m not sure I like so much anymore—laughs like an asthmatic hyena while Emma keeps finding reasons to touch his arm. The third woman, whose name I refuseto commit to memory, giggles at everything he says like he’s the main act at a backcountry comedy club. And now I’m wondering if I imagined his annoyance at my refusal to claim him.
Overnight spider-monkey imitation notwithstanding.
“We’d love to spend the evening hearing more of your stories,” Veronica says as the sun starts to dip below the peaks in the distance.
“It would be the highlight of the trip,” Emma agrees in her high-pitched, perky voice.
For the record, I hate perky. Sunshiney is different than perky. Don’t ask me how.
“We’d make sure you had a great time, too,” the redhead says. Since I can’t remember her name, I’ll call her Slut Muffin. Rude, I know, but have a little dignity, ladies.
Jensen doesn’t appear the least bit interested in spending another minute with his adoring fans, even with the promise of agreattime.
“We’re going to press on a ways,” he says. “Don’t you think, Sloane?”
He speaks my name like I’m the only person in this conversation whose opinion matters, and my stomach flutters with butterflies I’d rather not acknowledge.
“Yeah.” I adjust my pack strap and force a smile. “It was nice meeting you guys. Sorry about your husband, Veronica. He sounds like a real cockwaffle.”
“There aren’t a lot of good ones left.” Veronica’s eyes flick to Jensen with resigned longing.
“There are still some,” I say, and I’m pretty sure all three of them know who I’m talking about. Not that I’m admitting it out loud.
“Right,” Veronica agrees. “Maybe we’ll see you guys on the way back.”
“I doubt it,” I tell them and pretend I don’t notice Jensen’s satisfied smirk as we continue on downthe trail.
“Those three would like to do a lot more than hear you sing,” I say when we’re out of earshot.
“Never gonna happen.”
“Never say never.” I shoot him a look over my shoulder. “If you want to?—”
“I don’t.” His tone is firm enough that the rest of the sentence dies in my throat. “I don’t want to spend any more time with them. Plus, I had the best night’s sleep of my life last night, so why would I want to change a thing?”
I cough out a laugh. “I highly doubt you had the best sleep of your life on an inch-thick sleeping pad in a tiny tent.”
“I woke up a happy man,” he says, and I hear the smile in his voice.
“Happy or frustrated?”
“Happy.”
I don’t bother to hide my answering smile since he can’t see it. “I thought that was just the morning.”
“It was you being wrapped around me on this particular morning,” he clarifies.
