“What kind of people are there? Do any of them look like good Christians?”

“Yeah, they look like Jed.”

“Abigail Margaret Mitchell. Are you gettin’ smart with me?”

I sigh. “It feels like being at school. Everyone’s young.” And attractive, from what I’ve seen so far. I guess that makes sense though. A high-end hotel that’s focused on aesthetics would extend that focus to what their staff looks like, right or wrong. “Mostly female.”

“That’s good.” I hear the relief in her voice. I know what she’s thinking. An all-female staff would be the best way to preserve Abbi’s virtue for marriage. I don’t know how many uncomfortable birds and bees and “wait until you’re married” and “you’ll get pregnant if he touches you” lectures I’ve had from my mama. The only reason she allowed me to go away to school is because it’s a Christian college, Jed was going, and the Reverend’s son can do no wrong in my parents’ eyes.

Even though my eyes saw exactly the wrong he can do, firsthand.

“Okay.” She sighs. “Remember that your father and I love you, and...” There’s a long pause. “If this trip is what you need, then we support you.”

I can almost hear her teeth grinding as she forces those words out. But I don’t call her on it. I don’t tell her that I’m old enough to make my own decisions without her approval. If giving it helps her sleep at night, so be it.

“Just don’t forget who you are, and how you’ve been raised. And no alcohol. Look what happened when Jed got mixed up in that stuff.”

That’s one of their excuses for what happened. Alcohol. Parties.

A.k.a. the devil.

“It’s late. You best be goin’ to bed now. And text Jed. Let him know you’re safe. I’m sure he’d like to hear from you.”

I have no intention of texting him now, knowing that she’s there. “Right. Gotta go. Love you, Mama.” I hang up and sigh.

“People been doin’ that all day long,” a voice says beside me.

I look over. A guy with dark skin and a cropped haircut wipes the table behind me, the chain that dangles from his pocket slapping against the wood. “Doing what? Telling their parents that they love them?”

“Sighing with relief as soon as they hang up. Though the ‘I love you’ is sweet.”

I chuckle. “If their mamas are like my mama, then I believe it about the sighing.”

He works on a spot of ketchup, his tattoos prominently displayed on his forearm. “Name’s Miguel.”

I offer him a polite smile. “I’m Abbi.”

“Where you from, Abbi?”

“Pennsylvania, originally. Going to school in Chicago.”

He takes a break from wiping to stand up straight. His chocolate eyes wander over the area. “Another beautiful college girl.”

I blush at the compliment, though I don’t know how valid it is. While I don’t think I’m a complete troll, I’ve spent many years wishing away my dull ginger hair for blonde, my owlish hazel eyes for blue, and natural D-sized breasts for Bs, so it doesn’t hurt so much when I run.

They say every girl battles self-doubt, feeling ugly or fat or undesirable. I never really did, because I always knew I was desirable to Jed. He told me so regularly.

But everything has changed. I’m becoming more and more self-conscious, more unsatisfied with myself.

“Where do you live, Miguel?”

“San Jose.”

“Wow. That’s a long way to travel for a job.”

“And it’s damn cold up here, too.” He emphasizes the temperature change by shuddering, making me laugh.

“What made you come here to work then?”

“Me and my cousin are line cooks for the Wolf San Diego. This job came up and we were lookin’ for something new. An experience, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.” I stack my dishes onto my tray.

“And you can’t beat the money. But,” he chuckles as he continues wiping, “not sure this Mexican can handle remote wilderness and lack of basic communication with the outside world. It’s a good thing they got me working the staff lodge where the Wi-Fi is. I may go loco otherwise.” He collects my dirty plates for me. “Listen, anything you want, my sweet Abbi, you call my name and I’ll hook you up.”

“Thanks, Miguel.”

He winks and then leaves with a slight swagger, the rag over his shoulder, humming to himself. He’s obviously flirting with me, but it’s the kind of casual flirting that I’ll bet he’s done with every female he’s come across so far today. I’ll bet there are plenty of sweet Saras and sweet Jennifers.

He’s a good-looking guy, though too wiry and short for my taste, and I don’t much care for tattoos. Still, it feels good, the attention, given where my confidence has sunk to over the past few months.

I like the classic tall, dark, and handsome. Jed fit that mold, in my eyes, anyway. And I had his eyes without fail, too. They were glued to me. To my face, to my chest, to my ass. Just because we were choosing the parent-approved route of saving ourselves for marriage didn’t mean we didn’t suffer from normal teenager hormones.

He’s palmed my breasts more times than I can count, playing with my erect nipples until they were sore. I wrapped my fist around his erection plenty, too. Only, it was always through his clothes. That was our rule—pants stayed on at all times. He came up with that rule. He said he wouldn’t be able to control himself otherwise, and honestly I wasn’t sure I would be able to either.

You can do a lot of things with clothes on. I loved teasing him, and I used to do so mercilessly, up until last summer when I teased him so much that he got mad and decided to teach me a lesson. That’s why, in the barn behind my house, he held me down by my wrists, pressed himself between my legs and ground against me until I was begging him to take my pants off and touch me.

The perfect time for my father and the farmhand to walk in.

That Sunday at church, Jed’s father gave a full-hour sermon on the sins of the flesh. Mama began prepping for a shotgun wedding, assuming I’d be delivering news of a future grandchild any day, even though I’ve been on birth control to help alleviate terrible menstrual cramps since I was seventeen. Boy, was getting her to agree to me on birth control a battle. My cries of pain were what finally softened her resolution.

Since last summer, we were both more considerate of each other, and maybe a little more careful, realizing exactly how wound up we could get. How easy it would be to ignore everything we’ve been taught to value and give in to human desires.

Jed ended up throwing it away anyway, only with someone else.

It’s not until a tear lands on the iPad screen that I realize I’m sitting here in the staff lodge in Alaska, still crying over Jed. I give my eyes an angry rub and then, collecting my backpack and tote bag, head for cabin seven.

Chapter Four

The staff accommodations remind me of summer camp, with small rectangular cabins lined up in rows and narrow pathways weaving among them. There are at least fifteen, from what I can see.

I make my way toward cabin seven, where a faint glow of light fills the windows. Laughter explodes the moment I open the door.

“Hey!” The closest woman comes forward with a grin. She reaches for my tote bag with her free hand. Her other one is gripping a silver flask. “Someone’s late to the party!”

I feel my face growing red, never one for overt attention. “My plane was delayed.”

She grins wide, showing me a beautiful set of white teeth. She’s extremely pretty, her pixie-cut hair framing her delicate features nicely. “No worries. I’m Autumn. You and I are bunkmates. Hope you don’t mind being on the bottom.”

“Not at all. I’m Abbi.”

“You’re going to get to know us all really well, and really fast.”

“I see that.” I do a quick scan of the cabin. Three sets of twin bunkbeds, one on each wall, and a tiny powder room opposite me. I’m not sure how six women are going to handle being in here together, but I guess we’ll manage.