He reached into the pocket near the top of the tent where he’d tucked his glasses, then pulled his wrist to his face to check his watch. “It’s six thirty.”
“My God, I slept hard as a rock last night.” Did she have to talk about things being hard? “How early do you think we’ll head out?”
“Um, I guess we can eat something and then get going. No reason to stick around here much longer.”
Well, Ford could think of a few things they could do. She had been calling his name a few minutes ago.
“Well, I’m going to find a place to go to the bathroom.”
Ford didn’t budge until she exited the tent, yanking on his boxers to adjust himself the minute she was gone. What is wrong with you? He could sleep platonically next to a woman. Jeez, it wasn’t like he never spent time around the opposite sex. Half of his colleagues at Yale were female. And most of the nurses who’d been helping his mom. And he’d been around Sunny and Agnes every day for the last three months.
Though Agnes might as well have been his mom. And after knowing Sunny for a few years now, he was pretty sure she was more interested in Corrie than any of the other guys at camp. Not that he could blame her. Too bad Corrie wasn’t interested in either of them.
It was weird, though—Corrie being unattached was both surprising and unsurprising at the same time. Surprising because Ford would have thought men would be lining up at her door, dying to make her theirs. But unsurprising because Corrie wasn’t the type to belong to anyone. She was strong, independent, and could stand up to any man. It sucked that she didn’t get the respect she deserved.
Then again . . . men like Ford were the reason she lacked faith in herself.
He’d ogled her more often than he liked to admit. Heard every single one of those “jokes” about her, even the Lake Titicaca one. Failed to speak up when another man sexualized her. Pictured her naked and definitely had inappropriate thoughts when he’d read that magazine article.
Who was he kidding? He hadn’t read anything. I get it for the articles wasn’t a line that applied only to Playboy.
But worse than that—he’d taken what should have been hers. Taken the fellowship with Dr. Crawley. Taken the Chimalli dig despite knowing with one hundred percent certainty that she was the better person for the job. And he’d gotten those things easily. Things that probably would have gone a long way toward earning that respect she so desperately wanted. And all it had taken for him to get those things was some light convincing and a smile.
Too bad it had cost him six years with a woman who couldn’t have cared less for him and any chance he could ever have with Corrie. Sure, she already knew about the fellowship, though she didn’t know the full story. If she knew the full story, maybe she would get over it. And, in all fairness, she might have thought she had that one in the bag, but it hadn’t been a guarantee yet. She’d been close, but if all it had taken was for Addison Crawley to be interested in Ford, then Corrie probably hadn’t been as strong a contender as she’d thought.
But she’d never forgive him if she knew about how he’d gotten the lead for this dig. He’d be lucky if she ever spoke to him again. The guilt that had seeped in when she’d mentioned the impetus of this dig last night still made him squirm. But it didn’t weigh as heavily as the guilt he had for not coming clean when he’d had the chance. Now if she found out, there’d be hell to pay.
And that would be the end of The Adventures of Badass Mejía and Weak Sauce Matthews.
Had to admit, it had a nice ring to it, even if it meant highlighting Ford’s faults. But he’d happily be Corrie’s sidekick. He’d happily be her anything.
That meant she couldn’t find out. No, now that he had her back in his life, he didn’t want to lose her again, even if all they were was friends. Because friends were something Ford desperately lacked. Real friends, at least. People he could talk to. People who understood him and everything he’d sacrificed to get where he was. Sure, he had a cool job and he loved teaching, but he’d sacrificed real connections to get it. Corrie understood that, though. It sounded like she was in much the same place. But she seemed to genuinely prefer it that way.
Maybe Ford might prefer it, too, if he gave it a try.
God, why had he signed up for this expedition? Maybe he needed to scrap the whole thing and let Corrie take the glory as lead archaeologist on her dream dig. Maybe she wouldn’t need to know about his whole scheme. It was actually a perfect solution to the predicament he was in.
Except for the fact that he couldn’t fail. He needed the money too badly. His mother’s life depended on it.
Which meant he needed to get his ass up and get that raft on the river.
He threw on his shoes and grabbed his jacket, then crawled out of the tent, finding Jon and Memo sitting directly across from him, stoking the fire with giant shit-eating grins on their faces. Great. They’d already seen Corrie come out. He could practically see the wheels turning in their heads.
“Good morning, Dr. Matthews,” Memo said. “Sleep well?” The suggestion in his voice couldn’t be missed.
“I slept fine.” In actuality, he’d slept wonderfully. It had been the first night since he’d arrived in Mexico that he didn’t lie awake thinking about his mother and worrying that they hadn’t found Chimalli.
Jon and Memo shot each other a glance before turning to Ford.
“I know what you’re thinking, and don’t,” Ford followed up. “It’s not like that. It was dumping rain last night. Where else was I supposed to sleep?”
“Could have slept with one of us,” Jon said.
“In those tiny-ass tents? Sorry, but I’ll take my chances with Dr. Mejía any day in that situation.”
“Take your chances with me how?” Corrie walked right beside Ford. How had he not heard her coming?
The guys pressed their lips together, afraid to comment. Chickens. But Corrie did that to people. Ford didn’t believe that none of her students had crushes on her. They were just intimidated. And there was so much about her that was intimidating—her beauty, her accomplishments, but mostly her intelligence. But after everything they’d talked about last night, he didn’t want to admit that they’d been talking about sleeping arrangements. Corrie wasn’t oblivious. She’d know exactly where their minds were, feeding right into her complaints. Because if Corrie looked less like Corrie and more like any one of the other dozen men on the crew, there wouldn’t have been any insinuation in Jon’s and Memo’s morning well-wishes.
God, men really were pigs.
“We were talking about the rest of this rafting trip,” Ford offered.
Corrie scanned his face, then glanced at Jon and Memo. “Sure you were.” She then walked up to Ford and put her hand on his shoulder. “You’re a terrible liar,” she whispered.