Chapter 95 Unwanted Attention
Alex: POV
After the whole Daniel situation, my radar was completely shot. Was every guy hitting on me now? Or was I just paranoid? I mentally kicked myself for even going there. This might just be normal social stuff.
"Uh, sure," I replied, feeling a wave of relief that I wouldn't be sleeping alone in the wilderness. "Thanks."
I glanced over at Brian, who was now standing awkwardly by himself. "What about you? You okay with a solo tent?"
Brian shrugged, adjusting his backpack. "Actually, I prefer it that way. I snore like a chainsaw—you guys dodged a bullet."
"Good to know," I said, patting his shoulder. "But if you need anything, just give us a shout."
Trevor and I grabbed our gear and found a flat spot about twenty yards from the central fire pit. The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the desert landscape. Saguaro cacti stood like sentinels against the darkening sky, their silhouettes eerily human.
As an architect, I couldn't help but admire how perfectly these plants had adapted to their harsh environment—thriving where nothing else could, finding strength in adversity.
"You've done this before, right?" Trevor asked, interrupting my thoughts as he dumped his tent components onto the ground.
"Sure," I lied, staring at the pile of poles, fabric, and stakes. How hard could it be? I designed buildings for a living, for Christ's sake.
It turned out to be harder than I thought. Trevor and I fumbled with the poles for a good fifteen minutes, the damn things springing apart every time we thought we had them locked in place. But eventually, between my architectural logic and Trevor's trial-and-error approach, we got our tent standing.
"Not bad for two city boys," Trevor said, wiping sweat from his forehead despite the cooling evening air.
I looked around and noticed Brian still struggling with what had to be the world's most complicated tent. The poles kept springing apart on him, and the fabric seemed to have a personal vendetta against his efforts.
"Want some help?" I finally offered, barely containing my laughter.
"I've got it," he insisted, his pride clearly getting the better of him. He gave the tent one more determined effort, wrestling with the stubborn poles, but they just collapsed again.
"Come on, let me show you," I said, stepping forward. As an architect, the structural logic was obvious to me. I visualized the final form and worked backward, and the pieces clicked into place far more easily than I expected. Within minutes, his tent stood perfectly assembled.
"Thanks," he mumbled, looking a bit embarrassed. "Guess I should've paid more attention to the instruction manual."
"No worries," I said. "These things are designed by sadists anyway."
By the time darkness fell completely, Jack had built a roaring campfire, and we all gathered around it with plates of surprisingly decent camp food—some kind of hearty stew with chunks of beef and vegetables.
"So," Jack began once we were all settled, "tomorrow we head into the heart of the Sonoran. We'll be hiking about eight miles to our first real campsite. The terrain is relatively flat, but the heat will be your biggest challenge. Drink water constantly, even if you don't feel thirsty."
He continued with more safety instructions, but my mind wandered. Eight miles in desert heat sounded brutal, but that's exactly what I needed—something so physically demanding that I wouldn't have the energy to think about Daniel, or the hotel room, or the look on his face when I ran out.
"Everyone should turn in early," Jack concluded. "We leave at first light."
As the group dispersed to their tents, I lingered by the fire, watching the flames dance. The desert night had turned surprisingly cold, and the warmth was comforting.
"Mind if I join you?" Brian asked, approaching with a thermos. "Can't sleep yet."
I nodded, and he sat on the log beside me, offering his thermos. "It's just tea. Helps me wind down."
I accepted it gratefully, taking a small sip. The liquid was warm and slightly sweet, with hints of chamomile and something else I couldn't identify.
"Thanks," I said, handing it back. "So what brings you to the desert, Brian? You never said at lunch."
He gazed into the fire, his expression thoughtful. "Needed perspective. Got out of a long-term relationship about three months ago. Eight years down the drain." He sighed. "Figured the desert might help me see things clearly."
I nodded, understanding completely. "Same boat, different storm," I offered cryptically.
Brian seemed content to leave it at that, and we sat in comfortable silence for a while, passing the thermos back and forth.
"Well," he finally said, standing and stretching, "I should try to get some sleep. You too, Alex. Tomorrow's going to kick our asses."
After he left, I stayed by the dying embers for a few more minutes, enjoying the profound silence of the desert night. The stars here were incredible—millions of them, so bright and clear they looked like you could reach up and grab them.
When I finally headed back to my tent, I found Trevor already inside, scrolling through photos on his camera. He'd laid out our sleeping bags, positioned side by side with maybe a foot of space between them—closer than strictly necessary in a tent this size, but not so close that I could call him out on it.
"Checking out your desert shots?" I asked, trying to keep things casual as I removed my boots.
"Yeah, got some great ones of the sunset," he replied, turning the camera so I could see. The images were stunning—the desert bathed in golden light, cacti silhouetted against a sky painted in oranges and purples.
"These are amazing," I said genuinely. "You've got real talent."
"Thanks," Trevor replied, beaming at the compliment. He shifted slightly closer, his knee almost touching mine. "I'll take some of you tomorrow, if you want. You've got great bone structure—would look fantastic against the desert backdrop."
There it was again—that slight undertone I couldn't quite place. Was he flirting? Or just being a photographer who appreciated good facial architecture?
Not again, I thought, feeling that familiar knot forming in my stomach. Why does this keep happening? Am I sending out some signal I don't know about?
"Maybe," I said noncommittally, slipping into my sleeping bag and positioning myself as far from him as the tent would allow. "We should get some sleep."
"Right," Trevor agreed, putting his camera away. He switched off his headlamp, plunging the tent into darkness. "Night, Alex."
"Night," I mumbled, turning my back to him.
I lay there listening to the sounds of the desert—distant coyote calls, the rustle of wind through the cacti, the occasional scrambling of some small creature outside our tent. Despite my exhaustion, sleep eluded me.
Just as I was finally drifting off, I felt something brush against my back. I stiffened, suddenly wide awake. It was Trevor's arm, draping over my side in what could only be described as a spooning position.
My heart started racing—not from attraction, but from that same panicked feeling I'd had in Daniel's hotel room. Fuck. Not this. Not here.
"Uh, Trevor?" I whispered, my body rigid.
"Hmm?" he mumbled, his voice heavy with sleep—or pretend sleep.
"Your arm is on me," I pointed out, trying to keep my voice neutral.
"Oh, sorry," he said, withdrawing it slowly. "I move around a lot when I sleep. Just push me off if I do it again."
"Right," I replied, scooting even further away. "No problem."
But it happened twice more during the night—his hand on my shoulder, his leg against mine. Each time, I gently but firmly moved away. Each time, he apologized sleepily.
By 3 AM, I'd had enough. I came to the fucking desert to escape this shit, not walk right back into it. I carefully unzipped my sleeping bag and slipped out of the tent, pulling on my boots and grabbing my jacket. The desert night was freezing now, my breath visible in the moonlight.
I walked a short distance from the camp, finding a flat rock to sit on. The moon was so bright I could see everything clearly—the cacti, the distant mountains, the scattered tents of our camp.
I sat there for a while, trying to calm down and figure out what the hell I was going to do about Trevor. At least I only had to share a tent with him for two nights. Two very long nights.
As if summoned by my thoughts, a movement caught my eye. On a patch of dusty, flat ground between the tents, I could see two figures sitting close together in the moonlight.
I squinted, and my eyes widened as I realized what I was seeing—Megan and Lily, wrapped in a blanket together, kissing softly under the desert stars.