“You okay?” Loren asked the next morning as we broke camp.
“Yeah,” I said. But I’m sure I looked like the pile of horse dung whose smell was wafting over to our campsite. “It’s just—”
“Allergies,” Loren cut me off as she stuffed her sleeping bag into its liner. Her tone spoke volumes—she wasn’t buying the excuse any longer. She probably never had. “That keeps happening to you, but only when you’ve been around Fine Frenchy and Broody Billionaire. I’m starting to wonder if you’re allergic to men you find attractive, which would be the weirdest form of birth control I’ve ever heard of.”
Loren was in the wrong career. She should give up tomb raiding. Clearly, her talent was elsewhere. The girl should be a contestant on a game show where people solved puzzles for money.
“We’re just half a d
