Read Online Love In Alaska (The Love In 50 States Series Book 2) by Shelby Gates - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Shelby Gates
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“You?”
“Eh.” He reached his hand outside of his sleeping bag and grabbed something.
“What are you doing?”
He held up his phone. “Wishing I had service.”
“Why?” I tried not to panic. “Is something wrong?”
His eyes lifted to the roof of the tent. “Well, it's still raining.”
“Is that a problem? Is it supposed to stop soon?”
He sighed. “No idea. We had a forty percent chance of rain yesterday, a one-day front coming through. We're now at twelve hours of precip.” He motioned to the roof. “And no sign of stopping.”
I unzipped my sleeping bag a little to free my arms. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. “So what do we do?”
“There isn't much we can do,” he said.
“Could you maybe elaborate a little?”
“We're stuck here,” he said, sighing. He caught my expression and offered a small smile. “We're safe. But I have a feeling this storm is going to be here for the better part of the day. Even if it stops now, it's going to be a bitch to hike in. We're probably here until tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” I repeated.
I thought about our dwindling food and water supply; we'd only packed enough food for an overnight trip, not a three-day adventure. And I also thought about the bathroom. Because I had to go again.
It was like he could read my mind. “I have a portable toilet,” he said.
He sat up in his sleeping bag and reached into his pack. He pulled out something that looked like a thick, white Frisbee. He took off the lid and, within seconds, it popped up into a container. He fished inside of his bag again and found a plastic liner.
“I'm not using that.”
“Well, you're not going out in this,” he countered. “It's wet and it's cold.”
“I'm not going to the bathroom with you in here!”
He unzipped his bag and got to his knees. “You don't have to. I'm leaving.”
Panic gripped me. “What? Where are you going??”
“Relax,” he said. He found a hat in his bag and positioned it on his head. “I need to go grab the food. Assuming it's still there.”
I glared at him. “So you can go outside but I can't?”
“You wanna try and get it down?” he asked.
I thought about the contraption he'd built to secure the food in the tree. It probably was just a piece of rope I'd have to tug on but I didn't want to be the one responsible for losing our food.
I sighed. “Fine. Go get the food. But I'm not using that,” I said, pointing to the blue and white toilet.
“Don't be stupid,” he warned.
“I'll be whatever I want.”
He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. He pulled a windbreaker out of his backpack and stripped off his fleece pullover.
“Don't you want that?” I asked. “It's freezing.”
“I don't want it to get wet,” he said, his tone clipped. He zipped up the windbreaker. “I'm gonna be a little cold when I get back and I'll need it to warm up.”
He tied on his shoes, repositioned his hat and unzipped the tent. Rain drops pelted the floor tarp and I shrank back from the entrance, surprised by the blast of cold air.
“Zip this up behind me,” he said as he ventured outside. “To keep the water out. I'll yell when I'm coming back so you can let me in.”
I nodded and yanked the zipper down. I sat back down and my bladder tightened. I crossed my legs and glared at the toilet two feet away.
“I can't believe I'm doing this,” I muttered. Louder, I said, “Do not come in until I tell you to!”
I pulled down my pants and squatted over the toilet and emptied my bladder, convinced I was going to overflow it and there would be a puddle of urine inside the tent. But when I finished, glancing at the plastic liner, I was surprised—and relieved—to see it wasn't even a quarter of the way full. I yanked the bag out of the toilet and sealed it shut. I held it for a moment, the contents warm in my hand. What the hell was I supposed to do with it? On impulse, I stashed it in my bag, fervently hoping it was
“Eh.” He reached his hand outside of his sleeping bag and grabbed something.
“What are you doing?”
He held up his phone. “Wishing I had service.”
“Why?” I tried not to panic. “Is something wrong?”
His eyes lifted to the roof of the tent. “Well, it's still raining.”
“Is that a problem? Is it supposed to stop soon?”
He sighed. “No idea. We had a forty percent chance of rain yesterday, a one-day front coming through. We're now at twelve hours of precip.” He motioned to the roof. “And no sign of stopping.”
I unzipped my sleeping bag a little to free my arms. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. “So what do we do?”
“There isn't much we can do,” he said.
“Could you maybe elaborate a little?”
“We're stuck here,” he said, sighing. He caught my expression and offered a small smile. “We're safe. But I have a feeling this storm is going to be here for the better part of the day. Even if it stops now, it's going to be a bitch to hike in. We're probably here until tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” I repeated.
I thought about our dwindling food and water supply; we'd only packed enough food for an overnight trip, not a three-day adventure. And I also thought about the bathroom. Because I had to go again.
It was like he could read my mind. “I have a portable toilet,” he said.
He sat up in his sleeping bag and reached into his pack. He pulled out something that looked like a thick, white Frisbee. He took off the lid and, within seconds, it popped up into a container. He fished inside of his bag again and found a plastic liner.
“I'm not using that.”
“Well, you're not going out in this,” he countered. “It's wet and it's cold.”
“I'm not going to the bathroom with you in here!”
He unzipped his bag and got to his knees. “You don't have to. I'm leaving.”
Panic gripped me. “What? Where are you going??”
“Relax,” he said. He found a hat in his bag and positioned it on his head. “I need to go grab the food. Assuming it's still there.”
I glared at him. “So you can go outside but I can't?”
“You wanna try and get it down?” he asked.
I thought about the contraption he'd built to secure the food in the tree. It probably was just a piece of rope I'd have to tug on but I didn't want to be the one responsible for losing our food.
I sighed. “Fine. Go get the food. But I'm not using that,” I said, pointing to the blue and white toilet.
“Don't be stupid,” he warned.
“I'll be whatever I want.”
He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. He pulled a windbreaker out of his backpack and stripped off his fleece pullover.
“Don't you want that?” I asked. “It's freezing.”
“I don't want it to get wet,” he said, his tone clipped. He zipped up the windbreaker. “I'm gonna be a little cold when I get back and I'll need it to warm up.”
He tied on his shoes, repositioned his hat and unzipped the tent. Rain drops pelted the floor tarp and I shrank back from the entrance, surprised by the blast of cold air.
“Zip this up behind me,” he said as he ventured outside. “To keep the water out. I'll yell when I'm coming back so you can let me in.”
I nodded and yanked the zipper down. I sat back down and my bladder tightened. I crossed my legs and glared at the toilet two feet away.
“I can't believe I'm doing this,” I muttered. Louder, I said, “Do not come in until I tell you to!”
I pulled down my pants and squatted over the toilet and emptied my bladder, convinced I was going to overflow it and there would be a puddle of urine inside the tent. But when I finished, glancing at the plastic liner, I was surprised—and relieved—to see it wasn't even a quarter of the way full. I yanked the bag out of the toilet and sealed it shut. I held it for a moment, the contents warm in my hand. What the hell was I supposed to do with it? On impulse, I stashed it in my bag, fervently hoping it was
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