Love without a Compass. Lindy Zart

I give her a sidelong look. “You hate outside?”

      “That’s what I said.”

      “That’s a pretty general statement.”

      We lock eyes, hers like smoldering fire. “Meaning?”

      “Meaning it covers a lot of areas. There’s nothing you like about outside?”

      “No. Wait. Air. I like air. Air is outside.”

      “Yes. It is,” I agree, and wait.

      Avery sighs. “You’re getting to a point, aren’t you? What is it?”

      “I find it interesting that you hate everything—besides air—that has to do with outside, since you were gushing to Duke about how excited you were to go on this wilderness team-building quest.”

      Avery’s golden eyes land on mine and skirt past.

      I gesture to her spotless pink Pumas. “I bet you bought those tennis shoes just for this, didn’t you?”

      The corners of her mouth tighten. “So?”

      “I find it interesting, that’s all.” I tell myself I will not be the first to look away, but I still blink in surprise when she does.

      Avery scowls. “Hiking in the mountains is not my idea of fun, but I always do what is necessary.”

      “With a lying smile in place,” I murmur.

      “Can smiles really lie?” she returns with an arched eyebrow.

      “Yours do.”

      Her jaw shifts, but Avery doesn’t reply.

      After a couple minutes of walking, I ask, “Aren’t you from Montana?”

      “What’s your point?”

      “Do I have to say it?”

      She gives me a look.

      I guess I do. “How can you be from somewhere that is known for its mountains and have not a clue as to how to navigate through them?”

      “Illinois is known for its high crime rate. Does that make you a criminal?”

      Touché.

      Avery straightens, running a hand through her hair. “I might have overstated my level of enthusiasm over this.”

      “You mean you lied.”

      She scowls. “Overstated.”

      “Lied.”

      She’s been sweetness and goodness to everyone since she walked through the red door of Sanders and Sisters. She even has Duke Renner, the owner of Sanders and Sisters and a man who cannot be manipulated, captivated. She’s a fraud, and I plan on exposing her. It could be said that, so far, my attempts have backfired. Case in point: where we presently are.

      “Okay. Fine. I lied,” Avery says.

      “Was that so hard to admit?”

      Avery rolls her eyes and faces the rocky walkway. “How much farther do you think we have to go?”

      “Duke said it should take around five hours to find the flag and get back to the lodge, so, for us, it’ll probably take twenty lifetimes. Here’s to many, many years of torture,” I tell her cheerfully.

      “He said this is mandatory continuing education, whatever that means.” She complements her next statement with a pout. “What is the purpose of this, really? Other than to make us miserable.”

      “True. The same outcome could easily have been accomplished by sticking us in a room together for two minutes.”

      “You’re hilarious,” Avery replies mockingly, swatting at something that dares to try to touch her. Probably a speck of dirt.

      Twigs snap under the weight of my hiking boots. I squint at the landscape before me. In the distance, brown and gray rocks climb a path to the clouds. We both know why we’re here, and it isn’t because of any continuing education bullshit. “I wasn’t kidding.”

      A prolonged pause follows that.

      “I can’t believe he did this to me,” she finally says.

      “Well, he did. And what’s worse is that he did it to me.” I’ve been Duke Renner’s star employee for years; Avery’s been around less than seven months. It chafes. It chafes a lot.

      “At least you have something nice to look at. I just have…you,” Avery says.

      I turn around, studying the woman. “Careful, Avery. You’re starting to show your true colors.”

      Avery crosses her arms and turns her head to the side. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

      “What’s wrong with the way I look?” I don’t know why I ask it, or why I care what she thinks. I know I’m not the best-looking guy around, but I’ve never had a problem getting dates.

      “You’re, you know…” She gestures vaguely to me.

      I stand up straighter, hands on hips, and lift an eyebrow. “What am I? Please, do tell.”

      Avery makes a face. “You’re not that tall.”

      “I’m five-ten.”

      “Exactly.”

      I decide not to point out that five-nine is the average height for a guy. Plus, she’s barely five-four herself, if she’s even that.

      “What else?” I know there’s more. That can’t be the only thing about me she sees as a negative.

      “You wear glasses.”

      I snort. “Yeah. A lot of people do, so they can, you know, see.”

      Sighing, she shakes her head and attempts to move around me. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

      I step into her path. She has to tilt back her head to meet my gaze. I don’t point that out either. “Oh, no, let’s hear it. I’d like to know all the ways I am visually unappealing.”

      “Okay, well, your hair is, I don’t know, boring.”

      “Boring?” I narrow my eyes. “How can hair be boring?”

      “I don’t know. It just can. It lacks character.”

      “Are you serious?” I ask in a low voice.

      Ignoring my glower, she adds, “And you’re not nice.”

      My voice is unusually high as I sputter, “What the—”

      “It makes you less attractive.”

      I stare at her hard, long enough that my vision blurs beneath the lenses of my glasses that apparently make me unattractive.

      “You’re not my type,” Avery says, as if she thinks I want her to want me.

      The world goes unnaturally silent as my blood pressure skyrockets. I take a slow breath, keeping my eyes trained on Avery. She watches me with that fake innocent look she uses around the office. Whatever the scenario, I will not let her win. I will remain calm. I will one-up her, again and again. Because I’m too short, and wear glasses, and not her type.

      I may not be a lot of things, but I am something.

      I move closer. “Avery.”

      Avery lifts her eyebrows.

      My gaze trails from her eyes to her mouth. I watch her lips part and sweep my eyes back to hers. “I think we both know you’re not my type.”

      She gasps, her face going pink, and I turn before she catches my smirk. Satisfaction, warm and pure, flows through my limbs.

      AVERY

      I must