How to Choose a Guy in 10 Days: Chick Flick Club #1 Page 11

  I exhale. Marty can be annoying sometimes, but he always has my back. “I know. It’s just a fucked-up situation. I came here wanting to get away from everything, not come face to face with my biggest mistakes.”

  “At least you have Gemma here with you,” he suggests.

  “Gemma isn’t with me,” I correct him.

  Marty gives me a look.

  “Fuck off,” I shove him away. “That’s not happening. But either way, Lisa is the last thing I need.”

  It’s almost ironic. I’d just made the decision to stop wallowing and get on with my life, but now I show up here and find the reason I was wallowing in the first place, shoved into my face.

  “I get it,” Marty says sympathetically. “But if it makes you feel better, Julie put her in the leaky yurt.”

  I laugh. “Please tell Julie I love her.”

  He smirks. “You after my wife, asshole?” he asks. “Do you need to get locked in the outhouse to learn some manners?”

  “Fuck no,” I wince. “I’m still in therapy over that.”

  Marty slaps me on the back. “Just ignore Lisa. The camp is big enough for the both of you. And have fun with Gemma,” he adds meaningfully. “She’s great—we like her.”

  I roll my eyes at the blatant matchmaking, and shove him away. “Cut it out,” I grumble. “Believe me, romance is the last thing on my mind.”

  Marty laughs and strolls away, and I turn back to the trailer, in time to see Gemma take her hair down from her ponytail. She shakes it around her face, where it frames her cheekbones, and pretty blue eyes, like something out of a damn shampoo ad. Then she reaches to re-fix it—making her T-shirt rise up over her bare stomach.

  Damn.

  What did I just say to Marty? Romance might be off the table, but it’s not romance making me glad I’m wearing baggy shorts right now.

  I can’t take my eyes off her. How did I not notice her amazing body, or the way she absently bites down on her lower lip when she’s distracted?

  I want to taste that mouth.

  She catches sight of me watching. “Everything good?” she calls.

  I reel back. “I’m, uh, going on a hike.”

  “Ooh, I’ll come with!” Gemma exclaims.

  “Nope!” I cut her off quickly. “I, uh, just need some time alone. Clear my head. You get settled in here.”

  I take off towards the nearest trail, before she notices I’m practically panting over her.

  Great, now there’s two women I need to avoid here.

  Though for very different reasons.

  * * *

  It turns out, my alone-time lasts all of two minutes. I’m almost at the trail head when I hear my name being called.

  Gemma. A least it’s her and not Lisa. I keep walking. Maybe I didn’t hear her.

  “ZACH! WAIT UP!”

  Okay, the whole camp had to have heard that. I reluctantly stop. “I told you, I’m hiking.”

  “And I’m coming along.”

  “A very steep hike,” I add.

  “That’s okay,” she says, pointing down at her own feet. “I’m wearing sneakers.”

  “It’s a really long trail.” I continue, getting desperate. Does she have to be wearing a T-shirt that basically screams, ‘look at my breasts’? Because despite ignoring them all morning, now they’re the only things I see. “And it might rain.”

  Gemma shrugs. “I have an emergency poncho in my pocket.”

  “There are a lot of mosquitoes,” I warn. Because seriously, can she not take a hint?

  She flaps her arms a little, still smiling. “I put on spray.”

  “Gemma.” I sigh.

  “Yes, Zach?” she gives me an innocent beam.

  “I could use some time to myself.”

  “I don’t think so,” she says, still smiling. Is she hard of hearing? Suffering from a blow to the head?

  “What do you mean ‘you don’t think so’?”

  “I mean, you spend a lot of time by yourself already.”

  “Yes,” I agree. Not sure what her end-game is.

  “Right,” she says with a decisive nod. “And how’s that working out for you?”

  I narrow my eyes.

  “Exactly,” she says. “I’m here to cheer you up. Besides, it’s a free country. I can go hiking if I want. Pretend like I’m not here.” she falls into step beside me, and I sigh.

  “Anyway, you need me with you,” she continues. “I’m Bigfoot repellent, remember?”

  I don’t reply. Because the whole reason for this damn hike is how NOT repelled I am by her.

  “For example,” she continues. “There was this giant hairy one that lived across the hall from me, but I scared him off. Now there’s just this GQ guy who lives there. Shame. I thought bigfoot was pretty fun, though sometimes he gets pretty crabby.”

  “You didn’t scare him off,” I sigh. “Maybe he has good reasons for being crabby.”

  “You’re probably right.” She looks up at the sky and nods. “I think it is a full moon tonight. Maybe we’ll hear him howling while we’re toasting marshmallows.”

  “Right,” I say with a snort. “The artisanal ones.”

  “Yes,” she grins. “Exactly. Transcendent.”

  It’s clear I’m not going to shake her, so I focus on the hike instead. It’s a good trail, winding through the woods, and up the hill.

  "And if you want to talk about Lisa, just say." Gemma adds.

  “I don’t.”

  And this time, thank God, she finally takes the hint, because after that, we fall into a companionable silence. After about an hour, the trail gets steeper, and I have to focus on my steps.

  “Uh, Bigfoot—is it much farther?” Gemma pants behind me. “I know you’re used to this terrain, but I’ve got to be honest, I’m dying back here.”

  I pause. “You can head back if you want.” I say, even though it turns out I kind of like having her here. Walking in silence is strangely soothing, even if she does pipe up to ask about random things every ten minutes.

  She narrows her eyes at me. “I’m not a quitter. I just …” she takes a gulp of air. “I thought you were bullshitting about how steep it is to get rid of me.”

  I grin. “Well, I was trying to get rid of you, but I never bullshit about trail grade.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Are you sorry I came?”

  “No,” I say immediately.

  She gives me a suspicious look. “More bullshit?”

  “Nope.” I don’t even feel so stressed anymore. I guess all the restorative powers of nature finally kicked in.

  Her smile widens. “I told you so.”

  That’s when I feel the first raindrop. Then the second. Then the skies open, and suddenly it’s pouring with rain.

  “Argh!” Gemma cries, looking up at the dark clouds.

  “Where’s your emergency poncho?” I ask.

  She rolls her eyes. “In the trailer. It’s in the box marked, ‘I was bullshitting’. You’ll find it right next to the bug spray I didn’t put on.”

  I look around, and thankfully spy some kind of structure, just ahead. “Come on,” I say, picking up the pace. We make it to the cabin and manage to get inside before we get completely soaked.

  “Brr,” Gemma shivers. I look around the dusty old shack, memories coming back to me.

  “I remember this place,” I say. “We used to come here to hide out and tell ghost stories.”

  Gemma snorts. “So, what is this, the ‘farewell to my virginity’ cabin?”

  I laugh. “Not exactly. I mean, definitely not for me.”

  I kick aside some of the old newspaper on the floor. There’s no furniture, and the windows are open to the elements, but we’re pretty well sheltered from the rain outside. “What do you think? We can wait out the storm?”

  “Works for me.”

  Gemma drops to the ground and stretches her legs out, leaning back against the wall. I slide down opposite, close enough for our feet to touch.

&
nbsp; And far enough away for me to see how wet her T-shirt is from the rain.

  Ahem. I quickly lift my eyes to hers, and find her smirking.

  Busted.

  “Were you looking at my tents?” Gemma quips.

  “Well, they’re very well-built …” I shoot back, and she laughs.

  “So. Do you want to talk about Lisa?”

  Talk about a cold shower.

  “If I wanted to talk about my ex, I wouldn’t have started on this hike,” I growl. “By myself.”

  “Fair enough,” she says. “But really, what’s the story? It must be something juicy. People break up all the time without racing up a mountain to get away from each other.”

  I sigh. “It was more than that.”

  “Oh,” Gemma’s face changes. “Was she your first love? Super-serious?”

  “Serious as a colonoscopy. And about as fun,” I finally meet her eyes. “Lisa isn’t just my ex-girlfriend. She’s my ex-wife.”

  13

  Gemma

  - Day 5 -

  What?!

  If I wasn’t already sitting in the dirt, Zach’s bombshell would have sent me flying. “She’s your ex-wife?” I demand, my voice rising. Which is the dumbest question ever. Until I blurt out an even dumber one: “You were married?”

  Because from what I know about him: the lack of grooming, the bachelor lifestyle, including the many hookups, Zach hardly seems like the marrying type. Maybe a failed marriage will do that to a person. Could Zach: carefree player really just be Zach: rebounding divorced guy?

  Because he has to be rebounding. I mean, marriage? He took vows, ‘til death us do part kind of vows. If I can spiral into ice-cream-eating, Kelly Clarkson-yelling post-break-up wallowing after two dates and a bad handjob, then I can’t imagine what divorce will do to you.

  Zach lets out a weary sigh.

  “Come on,” I stare at him wide-eyed. “You can’t just drop the m-bomb and not give me the details.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  Try everything!

  “How long? When did it happen? How long has it been?”

  Zach takes a breath, like he’s bracing himself. “We met after I moved to the Bay Area, got married a couple of years after that … We were together about five years, total. And the divorce papers finalized about a year ago.”

  Wow. Okay. This explains a lot about him. He must have moved into our building not long after the split. No wonder he was skulking around in a mood. “So what happened?” I ask, realizing even as the words are coming out of my mouth that I’m pushing him. “I mean, if you want to tell me. You don’t have to.”

  Zach gives me a knowing look. “Like you’ll let this go.”

  I smile. “Guilty.”

  He stretches, giving a shrug. “It wasn’t anything dramatic. It just didn’t work out. Maybe we were too young. Turned into different people. Or didn’t, I guess.” A strange look flits across his face. “I mean, I was still figuring shit out when we started seeing each other, so it was all something we did together: moving in, learning to be adults. Even the first time buying a coffee maker—which turned into world war three,” he gives a wry chuckle.

  “Over a coffee maker?”

  “Sometimes the biggest fights were over the littlest things.” He shakes his head. “She wanted the fancy espresso machine and I was fine with a low tech French press. There’s a fucking metaphor for you,” he adds.

  “Who won?” I ask.

  “She did,” he says. “Again, metaphor. Anyway, after it all fell apart, I guess I kind of went wild. On my own for the first time in a long time. Free to do … whatever.”

  Or whoever, I silently add. And then, because I can’t help myself, ask, “Are you … I mean … are you over her?”

  I’m surprised at just how much I care about his reply. When Zach nods, I let out a silent breath of relief.

  “Yeah. I was over her—and the marriage—for a long time before it officially ended. I…it just took me a long time to figure out who I am without her. Who I am outside of a marriage.”

  I’m not sure what to say to that, so I just nod.

  “I even grew the beard as a ‘fuck you’ to Lisa.” He adds, giving me a sideways look. “She hated it. She hated a lot about me,” he adds, rueful.

  I frown. “She married you.”

  Zach shrugs. “I guess she saw me as a project. A work in progress. But when she couldn’t fix me up to her satisfaction, she started to resent me. She came to hate all the things about me she couldn’t change.”

  “Like what?” I ask, feeling slightly guilty. Even though Zach agreed to this makeover project, I am kind of steamrolling him to transform him for the bet.

  “Oh, all kinds of stuff,” Zach replies. “She hated me and Marty working on the games company. She wanted me to switch to working a corporate job, something with a fat paycheck. She never believed we could make anything real.”

  I snort. “Clearly she was wrong. Tell me she didn’t get anything from your sale!”

  He shakes his head, smiling. “Nope. She was actually earning more than me when we split, so she went out of her way to make sure we didn’t have any claim to each other’s assets. We actually got the offer on the company the week after the divorce went through. If she’d waited any longer … Well, she could have claimed half.”

  I laugh, and reach up to high-five him. “Karma’s a bitch!”

  Zach looks bashful. “I wasn’t looking to screw her,” he says quickly. “I mean, I loved her, that much was real. Even if it didn’t work out, you don’t suddenly lose that.”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  Zach glances up, curious. I flush. “I’ve never been in love,” I admit. “I mean, I’ve had relationships, but not like that.”

  “Enjoying the single life?” he grins.

  I shake my head. “No. Just … some near misses. I thought things were heading that way and the guy would bolt.”

  “You don’t mean that Delaware triad guy? Because I think you’re in with a shot there, as long as you’re up to share”

  I laugh. “Dakota? No. Not him. But … others. It’s like, just as I’m starting to fall, they can’t get away fast enough.”

  “Their loss.”

  His reply is sincere, and when I glance up, there’s not a trace of a smirk on his face.

  Our eyes catch, and for a moment, I forget I’m damp and cold, and stuck in a dusty cabin. The only thing I can think is,

  Wow.

  Because the more I discover about this guy, the more I realize, he’s more than he appears to be. Buried under all that flannel, there’s a really big …

  Heart.

  He’s hiding a big heart.

  Down, girl!

  I look away, feeling weirdly self-conscious. “Oh, the rain’s letting up. We should probably head back.”

  I quickly get up and brush down my clothes, but my cheeks are still burning, and my stomach is dancing an odd jig. Things just got … intimate, and even though Zach hasn’t given me any sign he’s into me as more than an almost-friend, I feel like the air is crackling with tension.

  Sexy tension.

  Sexy, thigh-clenching, heart-stopping tension.

  From some eye contact?

  You really need to scratch that itch, I tell myself, heading outside. Preferably with somebody I’m not making over for a secret, career-making bet.

  As we emerge from the cabin, the rain is still sprinkling down from the trees above, but it’s not pouring anymore. That’s the good news. The bad news is that the trail has turned from packed dirt to sloppy, muddy mess.

  “Can’t you call a helicopter to come get us?” I ask Zach as we start back down the mountain. I’m only half-joking.

  “No cell service,” he laughs. “Sorry.”

  I try to carefully pick my way around the muddy patches and puddles. But my cute sneakers are still getting filthy as the mud gets deeper and deeper. Soon, I give up and just squelch my way through, but then I
take a wrong step, and sink in up to my knee.

  “Um, Zack?” I call, struggling to balance on my one free foot. “I’m stuck!”

  Like, really stuck. The earth has grabbed my foot and isn’t letting go.

  “Is this quicksand or something?” I wail.

  “Nope. Just good ol’ California mud,” he looks amused. “What do you want me to do?”

  Since airlifting is out of the question, I beckon him over. “Maybe if I grab hold of you and kind of pull?” I suggest.

  He moves closer, and I anchor my hands on his shoulders. Which are very broad and muscular. Not that I’m noticing them in a sexy way, just because they are good anchors so I won’t fall over. My noticing his sturdy shoulders is purely physical. I mean, physics.

  “Okay,” I grab on tightly and yank. But my foot doesn’t budge. I try again, letting out an unladylike grunt, but no dice.

  “Let me try,” Zach says. He squats, and reaches for my ankle, gripping it firmly. “On three. One, two … three!”

  He yanks, and my foot comes out of the guck with a wet slurp—splattering mud all over his face.

  I cackle with laughter. I can’t help it. I shouldn’t mock while he’s helping me, but it’s too late.

  “Sorry,” I snort. Still laughing.

  He tightens his grip on my ankle, reminding me he still has a hold on me. I’m at his mercy. Perched over a very big, very muddy puddle.

  “Still amused?” he says, a wicked teasing grin on his face.

  I shake my head quickly. “Nope! Not funny at all.”

  “Really?” Zach grins up and me. “Because it sounded like there was something hilarious going on.” He tugs my ankle, just a little, but it’s enough to make me wobble, and grab hold of him tighter for balance.

  “Zach!” I yelp. “Don’t. seriously. I’m sorry!”

  He laughs. “That’s OK. I’m not that cruel. I’ll leave the mudbath to the spa.” He releases me, and slowly straightens up. “Think you can make it to dry land?”

  “Uh huh.” I release my grip on him, and take an unsteady step to the side of the trail. “I’ve got cat-like reflexes, you’ll seeeeeeeeEEEEEEE!”

  I spoke too soon. My wobble turns into a tilt, and my free foot comes down on a slippery stretch of mud. Before I know what’s happening, I’m skidding out of control, grabbing wildly at Zach for balance again. But he’s just taken a step, and my weight is too much—he slides backwards and then suddenly, we’re both belly up and ass-down in the mud.