Two hours of absolute torture. That's what Gwen's delivering after the first hour elapses and her sea of constant chatter is drowning me. I'm being hit by waves of words that mean nothing.

The positive is that I've hardly had to speak. Other than confirming that I am, indeed, named Blake and that I'm thirty-six, she hasn't prodded me for any more information. Whereas I think it's possible I could map her family tree if someone gave me a sheet of paper.

How is anyone this transparent with a complete stranger?

Or maybe I've gotten too used to being in the DRC or other places like it, where most of the people I interact with coat themselves in a layer or wariness or indifference or professionalism to keep their emotions in check.

I'm hopeful that she'll somehow talk herself out in the next two hours, and the subsequent legs of our journey will be quieter. Or silent. I would love if they were silent.

The point of signing up to a 'mature' sightseeing trip through British Columbia was to avoid having to speak to anyone who was remotely close to my age. See some pretty scenery and get some sleep. That's it. My only requirements for the booking agent.

While Gwen continues to talk, I very pointedly get out my noise canceling headphones and show them to her before sticking them onto my head. The tiniest frown creases her brow, and for a moment I feel like a complete jackass.

She's attractive with her long brown hair and expressive brown eyes. It's clear she's wearing makeup, but she doesn't have so much on that I wonder what she'd look like without it.

Ten years ago, I'd have jumped on the vibe she's giving off. In Whistler, I'd have knocked on her door, offered to buy her a drink, and let nature take its course. Now I'm more discerning when I'm on leave. Careful not to get into anything that might keep me from going back overseas. Most women don't want a partner who routinely puts themselves in harm's way. Not that I blame them. When shit goes wrong, it can go really fucking wrong.

On assignment, a meaningless hookup with a nurse or another doctor or a logistics coordinator satisfies any urges. In those cases, we both know exactly what we're getting into. They don't want the commitment, and neither do I. The one time I did let a hookup go down that path, I nearly lost myself when I lost her. Not an experience I'd willingly repeat.

"Do your headphones mean you want me to stop talking?" Gwen asks.

I point to them as though I can't hear her, even though I haven't switched them on yet. The majority of people would have gotten the hint without having to ask.

She plucks one of the arms off my head. "Did you want me to stop talking?"

"Quiet would be nice," I say. In other circumstances, I might try to hide my anti-social tendencies, but if we're going to be stuck sitting together for the next two weeks, she might as well understand who she's dealing with. We won't be swapping childhood traumas and friendship bracelets. She's an open book, and I'm one that would prefer to be left on the shelf.

"Where are you from?"

Apparently getting out the headphones and agreeing with her 'stop talking' assessment won't cut it. I could refuse to speak to her, but I'm trapped on this bus, and she seems like the type to make a scene. "Out east."

"You're Canadian? I wondered what the accent was."

I've said approximately ten words to her, so for her to pick up on my east coast accent is mildly impressive. The word 'out' must have given me away. Even if she hadn't told me her life story, I'd have guessed she was from a northern US state.

"Were you somewhere warm before you came here? You're so tan."

I tap the side of my headphones, and she huffs out a sigh before facing forward in her seat and getting out her phone. Most people would have reached for their phone right away when forced to sit beside a stranger. It's the great avoidance technique.

Though an extrovert might not think so.

We sit in silence, and I switch on my headphones letting the international playlist I've complied over the years whisk me away to another place. Somewhere not on this bus.

Except I can't.

What I haven't anticipated is the awareness that blooms between us now that she's not talking. As though her chatter kept my brain occupied enough that my body couldn't tap me on the shoulder with the hot girl mantra. My music should quash any hint of interest—normally the reminder of the places I've been, the things I've seen, draws me out of the current moment and into another, but not today.

She smells like oranges or mandarins, and I resist the urge to suck in a deep breath. Her forearm is on the arm rest beside me, and rather than keeping my own space, I set my arm beside hers. A test. It's possible I'm so sex deprived that I'm imagining a current. But every point of contact electrifies, and she tenses beside me before sliding me a glance that I don't meet.

She feels it too.

Not good. Not good at all. I withdraw my arm and lean more toward the aisle and the unpleasant mix of antiseptic and piss that emanates from bus bathroom.

Two minutes ago, I was sure she annoyed the shit out of me, and I've never found someone who annoyed me attractive. The two emotions have always been mutually exclusive. Even for my flings, I've gravitated toward women who are serious and dedicated professionals. People like me who aren't looking for commitment, and for whom a fling isn't just good enough, but preferable. 

My level of annoyance with her was going to be an issue on the bus trip, but the realization that I also find her attractive is an added complication.

Trust me to get on a bus with a bunch of pensioners and get a hardon for the only mildly attractive woman in sight who's been trying to become my best friend for the last hour.

Fuck my life.

~ * ~

By some miracle, Gwen strikes up a conversation with the woman in the seat ahead, and the two of them talk so loudly and effusively that you'd think they were separated at birth. Not even my noise canceling headphones can completely cancel them out of my consciousness.

It doesn't help that every time Gwen's hair swings off her shoulders, oranges and mandarins invade my senses. I'm developing a worrisome craving.

When the bus drives into the parking lot of a quaint lodge on the outskirts of Whistler, I breathe a sigh of relief.

Sarah is standing in the aisle with the microphone so close to her lips its practically in her mouth. Not sure why I thought a bus tour would suit me. I should have just rented a car. Done a slow solo trip across the country. Stopping wherever I want, doing whatever I want.

Not sitting beside women who smell too fucking good for my sanity.

I hadn't been sure what I'd do at the end of these fourteen days when the tour ends in Prince Rupert, but I know now. Car rental. Solo trek.

Gwen plucks my headphones off my ear. "Did you want to come?"

"No," I say, not even bothering to ask where she's going with her fast friend in front of me. She doesn't appear to have an issue with being their third wheel, and I'm not going along to make a neat four when I don't want our wheels joined together.

She searches my face for a beat, and I get the distinct sense that I've been a disappoint to her. It's strange to sense it, and even stranger to realize I'm tempted to change my mind, if only to see her reaction.

Keeping my distance is for the best.

People begin piling off the bus, and it's slow going. Although it's been clear for several minutes that we'd be getting off to check in and branch off to our own itineraries, everyone up front is taking their sweet time to gather their belongings. Some of them seem to have emptied their entire travel suitcase across their two seats.

From behind me, Gwen says, "You doing something fun? You seem like you're in a hurry."

I glance at her over my shoulder to make sure it's me she's talking to. She earns points for persistence. Doesn't seem to matter how abrupt I am.

"All out of patience," I mutter.

"That's funny. I thought maybe you didn't have any to begin with." Her lips quirk up with amusement.

Finally the line begins to move and we file off. After I've hauled my backpack out of the bottom of the bus, Gwen catches my eye.

"We're ziplining. Five of the longest and fastest ziplines on the mountain. You sure?"

I stare at the peaks in the distance, but I'm suddenly more tired than I'd like to admit. After the last two years of being on assignment, and with an increasing uncertainty over the security of the DRC, I just want quiet and solitude behind a locked door.

"No, thanks," I say, and I swing my pack over my shoulder. "Enjoy your adventure."

"Thanks," she says with a smile. "I guess I'll see you later."

Doubtful, but I nod my head anyway and head to the check-in desk.

I've been in a massive writing slump for weeks now. Ugh. I can't wait until I figure out how to get into a groove again. Maybe I burnt myself out a bit. Not sure.

Before you go, hit the star. Drop a comment. Send me good writing vibes.

Update: Friday

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