I roll my eyes at his cocky enthusiasm and start jogging in the right direction. Maybe I’m a princess in his eyes. Maybe not all of my shoes are camping-worthy. And maybe I try to give people more credit than slurping chocolate mousse from their employee’s pussy or jerking off into someone else’s T-shirt, but I’m not out of shape. It takes hard work to maintain my figure.

Jake, no doubt, can punch harder and lift more deadweight than I can, but he’s not going to outrun me. Not today. Not ever.

“Jesus Christ, woman! There’s not a bear chasing us,” he calls from a fair distance behind me after thirty minutes of fast-paced jogging on the somewhat level dirt trail.

Seeing the truck and tent up ahead, I slow to a walk, feeling so much better. Not a single step I just pounded changed my unfortunate situation, but my mental health feels completely recharged like I will survive another day.

“I bet you’re too protein deficient to keep up with me. Maybe we should stop for hamburgers today. Your treat.” I glance back and he shakes his head, chin tipped toward his feet as they scuff along the dirt. I bet those muscle-bound legs of his feel like two stumps of dead weight.

Off to my right are a few mushrooms that I recognize from my days of foraging mushrooms with my dad. I don’t know the name of this species, but I do remember what happened to us when we mistook it for a morel. Giving Jake another quick glance, assuring his head is still bowed, I snatch one of the mushrooms.

“You making a smoothie today?” I ask.

He has a travel blender. I keep turning down his nasty-looking green concoctions, but it might be time for me to show a little interest.

“Yes.”

“Why don’t you show me what you put in it? I’ll make it for you while you get a shower. I want to stretch a bit before showering.”

Turning at the tent, I flash him my best smile while holding the mushroom behind my back. He narrows his eyes a tiny bit, giving me the once-over.

“You’re hungry. You want me to share my smoothie today. Am I correct?”

Yes. I’m starving, but I’ll again forego food to have an opportunity to take the lead. My conscience scolds me for being so immature in my thoughts. I blame it on too much time in the woods. Jake might think this is refreshing and a place to clear his head, but I’m dying for an eight-dollar cup of caffeine, shopping therapy, and a full day at a salon getting myself pieced back together.

“I am.” I spread my legs for him last night. It’s killing me to submit to him again, even if it’s just a guise.