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Once I locate the only remaining wipe, I shove everything back into my bag and quickly get down to business. After stripping off my sweaty shirt and shorts, I unfold the wipe to its full size, pausing to glance at my flushed reflection in Mom’s shiny urn.
“Sorry, Mom. I can’t do this with you watching.” I march the urn out of the tent and rest it on a log a few yards away.
As soon as Mom’s ashes are safely out of the picture, I scrub the lone wipe across every sweaty inch of me before wadding up the tattered square and stashing it at the bottom of my tote. Then I give my dirty T-shirt a quick once-over before tossing it aside. If I’d known I would end up half naked, I would’ve worn something sexier than a plain white bralette and the bright-yellow Pikachu underwear I found at the bottom of my backpack. I don’t even remember packing them. But at least they’re clean. After going through everything else I’d packed—and Dash’s Superman boxers—I was out of options.
My stomach flutters as I glance toward the shadows. What’s taking him so long? He must be tearing his car apart, searching for a condom. If he doesn’t find one, this will all be for nothing. But if he does . . .
A thrill runs through me, and my bladder clenches. No, no, no! This cannot be happening! I’ve already peed my pants once on this trip, I’ll be damned if I let it happen again!
With a groan, I crawl out of the tent and stare at the tree line in the distance. There’s no way I’m walking into the dark woods alone. And I’m sure as hell not going out in the open and have Dash catch me squatting against a tree. Talk about a mood killer. What I wouldn’t give for indoor plumbing right about now.
Indoor plumbing?
The thought, combined with a flash of red in my peripheral vision, gives me a brilliant idea. I grab Dash’s discarded plastic cup and crawl into the tent.
No sooner is my bladder empty than the sound of someone rustling around our campsite steals my attention.
“Don’t laugh, but . . .” Balancing the full cup in one hand, I wriggle my undies up and over my hips with the other. “I had to pee . . .”
Swallowing a nervous giggle, I poke my head out of the tent.
In the half second it takes my eyes to adjust to the darkness, I realize it isn’t Dash’s sexy smirk waiting for me. Instead, a huge black bear lurks less than a yard from where I left my mom’s ashes, grazing on chocolate bars and graham crackers. The animal raises its massive head, his fathomless eyes staring a hole through me.
A scream catches in my throat, the strangled sound becoming lost in the deafening buzz of the katydids in the trees.
Still gripping the red plastic cup in my trembling hand, I eye the urn just beyond the bear’s reach, calculating my odds of beating him to it.
“Go on!” Heart racing, I attempt to shoo him away with my free hand. “Get out of here!”
The bear ignores me and ambles toward Mom’s ashes.
Screwing up what little courage I can muster, I stab a finger in his direction. “Listen, Yogi! You lay one damn paw on that urn and, PETA be damned, I’ll make a rug out of you!”
He chuffs, my empty threats doing nothing to deter him as he sniffs the shiny metal.
Mumbling obscenities under my breath, I scramble for anything I can use as a weapon. Where the hell are those bolt cutters when I need them?
The bear nudges Mom’s urn with his snout, keeping his gaze locked on his own reflection as he rolls it forward, like a cat mesmerized by a laser pointer.
A spike of fear stabs my gut and, using the only weapon in my arsenal, I attack. Aiming for his head, I lob the red plastic cup like a Molotov cocktail, holding my breath until it hits the beast square in the muzzle with a splatter. The animal startles, flinching as if I’d pepper sprayed him.
“Take that, Yogi!” I shriek at the bear’s retreating form.
Looks like Dash isn’t the only resourceful one on this trip. I dart my gaze around the empty clearing. I finally get the chance to restore my tarnished dignity and show off a little ingenuity in the process, and there isn’t a single soul around to witness my triumph. Figures.
24
Lady Grinning Soul
No sooner does the tail end of the bear disappear into the shadows than Dash comes running into the clearing, armed with a strip of condoms and another pack of wet wipes. “Holy hell, was that a . . . ?”
“Yes.” With my hands shaking and my knees about to give out, I flash a proud grin. “But don’t worry. I took care of it.”
Pocketing the foil squares, Dash surveys the scattered chocolate wrappers and graham cracker packages at his feet. His gaze moves into the tree line again, and he palms his neck. “What—how?”
“I uh . . .” The sting of embarrassment rises in my cheeks as I nod toward the discarded cup. My nose wrinkles at the faint trace of fresh urine in the air. My self-defense tactics may have been somewhat unorthodox, but at least I got the job done. “I peed on him.”
For half a second, I think maybe he didn’t hear me. Then his face splits in a wide grin, and he barks out a loud laugh. “Looks like you finally found a use for your special talent.”
