Love without a Compass. Lindy Zart

we’re on Crow Hill. I’m not a runner and it soon shows. Panting, my legs and lungs scream at me to stop, but I don’t slow down. I’m not slowing down until Ben does. I glance at him, taking in the determined set of his face.

      I don’t think he ever plans on slowing down.

      I push myself harder when I begin to fall behind, full-on running now. Ben moves ahead of me, his legs long and leanly muscled. He doesn’t appear to be sweating, whereas I already feel the salty wetness trickling down my spine and the sides of my face. A wheezing sound has replaced my normal breathing. I tell myself to pick up the pace, but my legs don’t want to cooperate, and that is unacceptable. I force my legs to go. Anything Ben can do, I can do—sometimes, even better.

      We briefly exchange looks crackling with intensity.

      As we near the end of the trail, it takes me far too long to realize what we’re doing, and that it is exactly what put us where we are. Working against each other instead of together. There’s friendly competition and then there’s rivalry.

      Duke was right to send us here. Ben and I have competed since the day I started working for the advertising company. It’s instinctive, part of our natures. Why would I think now would be any different?

      And it needs to be.

      “We’re supposed to be a team,” I remind him around gasps of air.

      “Now you want to want to be a team?” Ben scoffs, his form and breathing steady. “Forget it.”

      “We’ll be in trouble if we don’t.”

      He pulls up abruptly, jerking around to face me. I skid to a stop, gravel rolling beneath my tennis shoes. I fight to breathe, partially from the run, mostly from the man before me. Ben’s eyes are alive with simmering emotion, sparking green and electrocuting with thunderous gray. His chest lifts and lowers as I watch, finally seeing a hint of exertion. Ben’s hair is damp, the ends curling around his ears.

      The air turns stifling as we stare at each other, the heat combustible. Ben looms over me, dark and furious. Desire streams through my veins, and I see it reflected in his eyes. I’ve wanted Ben since the moment I met him. I saw the same lightning bolt response in Ben. He tries to hide it beneath a shield of resentment, but sometimes, like now, it finds its way through the cracks.

      “I won’t be in trouble,” Ben says confidently. He’s probably right.

      “Do you want to take the chance?” My voice is scratchy.

      Ben studies me, his gaze dropping before slowly returning to my face. I feel that look as strongly as if he’d physically touched me. It steals my air; it turns my body to warm mush. Something unmistakable and equally unnamable glints in his eyes. “With you?”

      He’s toying with me. I know it, and I can’t seem to care. Because he’s looking at me in a way that makes me forget everything, even why I sought a job for Sanders and Sisters in the first place. Too often, Ben makes it hard to remember what I promised myself, what I vowed to my mom.

      Unconsciously, as if I can’t control myself, I step forward.

      Ben steps back.

      “Maybe,” is all I allow myself to admit.

      “You’ve never been very good at being direct, have you?”

      I watch the fire die out, feeling the loss of it as if it’s real and not only in his eyes. I bite my lower lip, not answering. If I ever decide to be brave enough, I’ll be so direct with Ben he’ll wish he could mute me like the volume on a television with a remote control. ‘If’ being the key word.

      I cross my arms and reply with a scowl, “I know how to be direct.”

      He steps closer, bringing his heat and earthy scent. Ben stares into my eyes, his face devoid of expression, and lifts a hand toward my face. “Oh, yeah? How so?”

      I hold my breath and go still, wanting to feel his fingers across my skin. I can’t remember ever wanting anything more.

      Toying with me or otherwise, I don’t want this to end.

      “Show me,” Ben encourages silkily. “Come on, be direct. Tell me what you’re really doing at Sanders and Sisters.”

      My heart lurches and I study his face. He can’t know anything. Realizing that doesn’t make me feel any relief. I open my mouth, but no sound comes forth. If we’re playing games right now, Ben’s winning.

      Ben pauses, darkness billowing around his lean frame like a shadowy cloak. “You can’t, can you?”

      “Ben, I…”

      Holding my gaze, he trails his fingers across my shoulder. I unconsciously shiver. Then he snatches his hand back, a red flag dangling from his fingers. Hardness claims Ben’s features, wiping any hint of seduction from his bearing as he growls, “Don’t forget who I am.”

      “I have no idea what you mean.”

      His eyes narrow. “I think you do.”

      I swallow hard, knowing what he’s going to say before he says it.

      Ben turns from me. “Remember, Avery, I know you. I know you better than anyone at Sanders and Sisters.” He looks over his shoulder with a single glance that blazes and chars. “How could I not? I’m the person you royally screwed over.”

      I blow out a noisy breath, wrinkling up my nose. Yes, he is that indeed.

      2

      BEN

      Duke Renner has never been much of a rule follower. Since he was in his mid-twenties, he’s run Sanders and Sisters, a small, but prestigious company that centers on marketing words to the right buyer. The company, run by two aging sisters and their brother, wasn’t much when Duke took it over, but he had the right amount of humor, bullheadedness, and charismatic personality to get his words noticed by the right people.

      Inspirational quotes, greeting cards, business logos, makeup, clothing, and athletic apparel slogans—Sanders and Sisters handles that and more. Words are everything. They can be the difference between crying and laughter, a smile and a frown. Hope and giving up.

      The Avery Scottam that Sanders and Sisters is familiar with doesn’t complain. She doesn’t have to, because everything is easy for her. Everyone wants to help her; I’ve even seen Duke fetch her tea as if it was his idea when she was the one who mentioned it. She writes some average saying a duck could think up, and her words are instantly sold. I wish Duke could see this Avery, and finally realize what I’ve known all along.

      I tried to tell Duke, but he just thought I wanted to get her in bed and my sexual frustration was making me cantankerous. That was his word. Cantankerous. That wasn’t it at all. Avery says I’m not her type, but she’s not mine either. She is relentless in her pursuit of any and every client in sight. She outshines me, again and again. It isn’t coincidental. It’s personal, and I don’t know why.

      My stomach growls, or maybe that’s just me. It does it again, confirming that it’s my stomach and it wants food.

      The last time I ate was at six this morning, and it’s now early afternoon. Too long ago. Except for some sips of water and a piece of jerky each, Avery and I haven’t had any real sustenance. We were told to ration what we were given, and I guess they thought bribing us with a gourmet meal tonight at the lodge would make it okay. I guess they were right, because here we are. This survivalist bullshit is a joke, and we’re the ones being laughed at.

      I glance over my shoulder to Avery. She’s unusually quiet—not that I’m not enjoying it. I’m generally a nice guy, but once someone deceives me, I’m done with them. Avery is the queen of deception. Sweat glistens on her sun-pink skin and a layer of grime covers the outfit I’m sure she bought specifically for today. She lifts an eyebrow when I don’t immediately look away and shifts her eyes forward. I turn my head back around and focus on the path.

      I’ve known Duke Renner for