Page 8 of Searching for Bristol
“Yeah, the douche I came with. The one Ithoughtwas my friend. The guy who calmly asked if I wanted to participate in theménage à troishe was having with Carol and Drake. I don’t know what it’s called when there’s four people, but regardless, it’s definitely not my thing. Which Itoldhim several times.”
“That how you ended up on your own out here?” Rocky asked.
Bristol nodded. “They were too interested in sex to even make it to the campsite at the overlook. I really wanted to see it. So I decided to go on ahead. Stupid of me, I know. Then I had to pee and…you know the rest.”
“I saw where they camped,” Rocky told her. He’d finished cleaning her hands and was sitting next to her simply holding her wrists. She was very aware of his hands on her, but since he didn’t even seem to notice, she kept still, not wanting to be a weirdo about the tingles shooting up her arms from his touch. Of course, that could be from whatever cleanser he’d used on her palms, but whatever.
“I told them it wasn’t a designated camping spot, but they were too interested in getting in each other’s pants to care,” Bristol said with a shrug. “I figured I’d be back at the trailhead before they were the next day, to catch a ride back home with them. It would’ve been a very uncomfortable ride, but whatever. I’m guessing they didn’t stop to tell anyone that I might still be out here?” she asked.
Rocky shook his head. “Not that I know of. Sorry.”
“I’m not surprised. Mike wasn’t the best friend.”
“Why’d you come with him then?” Rocky asked.
“Honestly?”
“Always.”
“I needed a break…and I don’t have a lot of friends. I don’t get out much, and I love hiking. I figured it would at least get me out of the house for a while and I could recharge.”
“Recharge?”
“I’m an artist. I make custom stained-glass windows. I also do jewelry and some sculptures, but stained glass is my passion. Still, since I rarely do anything but work, I was getting a bit burned out and decided a change of pace would do me good. This was a bit more excitement than I anticipated,” she said a little sheepishly. Bristol knew she was babbling, but she couldn’t seem to stop. “Rocky?”
“Yeah, Punky?”
Bristol frowned. “Punky?”
Rocky smirked. “You kinda remind me of her.”
“You mean Punky Brewster, from that eighties show?”
“Yup. She’s funny and spunky. And resilient. Like you.”
“I guess that’s better than being called Teeny or Short Stuff.”
“Well, Punky was short too,” Rocky said.
Bristol rolled her eyes, but secretly didn’t mind the nickname. She’d been called a lot of things in her life, but she liked the reasoning behind Rocky’s nickname for her.
“What did you want to ask me?”
Bristol frowned. “I have no idea.”
“Your head hurt?” Rocky asked, sounding concerned.
She nodded.
“Your leg?”
Bristol nodded again.
“What else?”
“My hands. My back. My butt. My feet are squished inside my boots and feel like they’re suffocating, because I haven’t taken my shoes off since I fell. My elbows. And I think I scraped my side when I tumbled down the rock face.”
Rocky reached for the hem of her shirt, and Bristol pulled away from him instinctively.
