“Can you just pretend to have manners for a few minutes?”

“Sixty seconds is my manner limit.”

“Done!” She peeks out of the tent wearing more pink—short shorts and a tank top—and a ridiculous grin.

I start to shrug off my wet shirt.

“Oh jeepers …” She hides back inside the tent. “Things I don’t need to see.”

I smirk to myself.

“I’m ready when you are,” she calls.

“Ready for what?”

“You to come inside.”

I unzip the flap the rest of the way.

“I can’t see you.”

Just when I’m certain things can’t get any crazier, they do. She’s perched in the corner in lotus pose on her sleeping bag with a pink satin sleep mask over her eyes.

“Just tell me when you’re dressed.”

With my back to her, I pull up my gym shorts, sans underwear, halfway up my legs. “I’m basically there.”

“Okay—oh! Oh, oh, oh! No! You are not dressed yet.” She slaps her hands over her face, fumbling to get her mask back down over her eyes. “Why would you do that?”

I slide my shorts up the rest of the way and pull on a T-shirt before hunching down in front of her to peel her hands away from her face.

Avery exhales in relief until her gaze meets my T-shirt.

My heart has no room for you,

but the trunk of my car definitely does.

“Nice shirt. You know, a lesser woman would be offended by you wearing it in her presence.”

“But you’re definitely not a lesser woman, are you?”

“No.” Her timid reply holds no conviction.

“Well, I’m calling it a night.”

Her head jerks back. “It’s not even nine.”

I grab my toothbrush. “I’m an early riser.”

“Ugh! Not me.” She wrestles with her sleeping bag. “We need to stop and pick me up a blowup mattress. There’s no way in hell I’m sleeping on the ground from here to L.A.”

“Noted.” I brush my teeth and fall like a tree onto my sleeping bag while she fumbles with her shitload of stuff.

Somewhere between her bitching about the temperature in the tent and the lumpy ground, I fall asleep.

By six the next morning, she’s snoring loud enough to wake every animal within a five-mile radius. Naturally, I take a video of it with my phone. At some point, I will have to bring her to heel, and I think this little piece of cinematography will do the trick.

“Rise and shine. It’s time to hit the road.”

She grumbles rolling to her side. “Oh my back …” Peeking out from under her eye mask, she inspects me. “Did you shower?”

“Bathed in the creek after my jog.”

“You’ve jogged already?”

“Yes. Get up. Let’s go.”

“I need a bathroom. A shower.”

“The creek feels amazingly refreshing this morning.”