2006, Camp Wawa, End of Week One
Izzy’s round blue eyes are watery as she holds out her tiny hand, offering me a ball of hot pink gimp and beads in emerald green and aqua blue.
“For me?”
She nods. “I made it in art. So you can remember me.”
I chuckle as I slide the bracelet onto my wrist. It’s too loose, but there’s not enough slack for two loops. “I doubt I’ll ever be able to forget you.”
“Will you be my counselor again next year?”
“I hope so!” If Camp Wawa allows counselors who have been on probation back. That was the final verdict Darian delivered early this morning, after last night’s golf-cart fiasco. Probation for all four of us—a permanent black mark on our camp counselor employment record—but not termination for Kyle and Eric. There is to be absolutely no “shenanigans” after lights-out. We’re to be in our cabins with our campers, asleep. If we’re caught breaking these rules, it will equal immediate dismissal, no questions asked.
As much as mandatory nightly curfew sucks, it means I still get to spend my summer with Kyle. I had to fight the urge to hug Darian as she delivered our punishment to us.
Izzy’s mouth splits into a wide, toothy grin. It’s been a mad flurry of activity and emotion at Wawa today, as kids pack up and part ways, in most cases with tears streaming down their cheeks and scraps of papers revealing email addresses and phone numbers, and promises to come back the same week next year.
For these kids, summer camp is over. Meanwhile I’ve only survived the first week. I have seven more to go. Oddly enough, though, the idea of that isn’t nearly as dreadful as it was last Sunday, when I stood in this same spot, greeting frenzied children. Much of that has to do with a certain golden-eyed boy, but not all. Camp Wawa has begun to grow on me. The counselors are, for the most part, fun. Spending my days goofing off with them and the campers almost doesn’t feel like work. And Mom was right: Russell’s chocolate pudding is prison-grade bribery quality.
“Aren’t those your parents?” I point to the couple approaching.
“Mommy!” Izzy shrieks, taking off across the field as fast as her little legs can carry her under the weight of her backpack, her sleeping bag dragging across the grass. And just like that, I’m a memory.
“Hey.” Kyle sidles up beside me, his fingers discreetly skimming my outer thigh.
I turn to meet his gaze. “Hey.”
His eyes drop to my mouth, and I feel that instant urge to press my lips against his.
His smirk says he feels it, too. “Last one?”
“Yeah.” I smile, looking on as Izzy drops her things on the ground for her parents to collect and then skips along beside them, her arms gesticulating wildly in the air. “She’s so cute.”
“You know who else is so cute?”
“Eric?” I tease, feeling my cheeks flush.
Kyle chuckles. “Nice.”
I hold up my arm, letting the bracelet dangle. “Look what she made me.”
“I got some, too.” Kyle holds his arm up to display six similar gimp-and-bead bracelets of varying sizes and colors, two of them all-pink. “This one is from Maddie, this one . . .” He goes through each bracelet, identifying which little girl made what.
I roll my eyes. “Are you bragging because you have more than me?”
He shrugs. “I can’t help it if I’m well liked.”
“Nothing from your campers, though. Hmm . . . that says something.”
“Oh, no. They left me with a gift all right,” he mutters, tipping his head.
I burst out laughing at the countless specks of iridescent glitter clinging to the roots of his hair. How could I not have noticed them earlier? “That has to be half a bottle!”
“It’s all over my pillow and in my bed, my sleeping bag. I’ve already had one shower. I’m going to need two more, probably.” He sighs heavily and shakes his head, but his easy smile tells me he’s not actually annoyed.
“So?” I glance back once, in time to return Izzy’s frantic wave before she scrambles into the backseat of her parents’ car. The parking lot is mostly empty of camper vehicles. “What now?”
“Let’s see . . . Darian will do a half-hour roundup to talk about the past week and then she’ll give counselor-of-the-week stars out.”
I feel my eyebrows rise. “Stars?”
“Every week, three counselors get a star. She’s got these big gold stickers”—he holds his hands out in front of him to mimic the size—“and she makes this elaborate production of having the winners tell everyone what they love most about being a camp counselor.”
“Oh God.” I cringe.
Kyle chuckles. “Wait until you hear some of the shit people come up with.”
“Have you gotten one before?”
“Yeah. Two, actually.”
“Really.”
“Probably not gonna get one this year, though.” He flashes me a sheepish smile. I sensed the relief pouring off him when Darian told him he could stay, even as Ashley was near tears for what this could mean for her college applications, should they see it.
I feel sorry for her, but we deserve it.
“What’s after the star award?” Counselors are supposed to get the afternoon and night off.
He shrugs. “Russell serves up lunch, and then we’ve got the rest of the day to do whatever we want. Most people catch up on sleep and try to get laundry done. If it’s nice out, they swim.” He glances up at the gray sky. Rain has been threatening all morning, but it hasn’t come to pass yet. It’s only a matter of time before the skies open up. “You wanna head into town later? Grab a burger or something?”
I smile. Is that code for our first “date”? “Yeah. Sounds good.”
Kyle rests an arm casually over my shoulder, in a way that could be explained away as simply friendly to any casual onlooker. “Before we’re on lockdown and we have to do this counselor thing all over again.”
I groan, though in truth there’s nowhere I’d rather be this summer than in this moment, with him.
I’m pretty sure I’ve never been in a car this old before.
Or one that has its side-view mirror duct-taped in place.
“Shotgun!” Eric charges for the passenger-side door of Kyle’s car, testing the handle. It’s locked.
“Nice try.” Kyle meets his best friend’s eyes.
Eric throws his head back in mock-dismay. “Fine. But do you know how uncomfortable your backseat is, bro?”
“Yeah, that’s why you’re sitting in it.” Kyle smirks, unlocking his door with his key and folding his seat forward for Ashley. She scrambles in, crawling over the passenger seat to pop a small knob on the other door, releasing the lock from the inside.
God, this is an old car.
“If I make out with him, do you think he’ll let me sit in front on the way back?” Eric mumbles, easing his tall body in, then fumbling with the seat’s latch to reset it for me. “It’s not working, Miller.”
“ ’Cause you’re doin’ it wrong.” Kyle rounds the car. With one flick of his wrist, the passenger seat snaps back into place.
“Thanks.” I smile, his proximity stirring my blood.
“No problem.” He backs me up against his car, pressing his body into mine. I bite my bottom lip to hide the goofy smile threatening as I feel how much he wants me.
His heated gaze drifts down the plunging neckline of my emerald green tank top before lifting to settle on my mouth.
“You lovebirds wanna get excommunicated from Wawa? Because Darian wasn’t kidding around,” Eric warns.
“We’re not breaking any rules. Read the fine print. There aren’t any campers here,” Kyle throws back, his eyes lighting up with mischief. “If this is all I get for the week, I need to make the most of it.” He weaves his fingers through my hair and tugs gently, just enough to pull my head back and expose my neck. The kiss he sets just below my jawline sends shivers through my body.
“Come on, you can hump each other in town. I’m starvin’!” Eric complains.
Kyle sighs heavily, his lips shifting back to my mouth. “Can we drop them off in town and then leave?”
“It’s forty minutes to walk back, isn’t it?”
“They could do it in thirty, if they have to run in the rain.”
I burst out laughing. “You’re terrible.”
He grins. “Am I?”
I revel in the feel of Kyle’s lips as he deepens his kiss, his hands beginning to wander, one of them hooking the back of my thigh to pull my leg up around his hip, his fingertips skimming over my bare skin, his pelvis pressing harder against me. I can only imagine what tonight could bring, if we can find somewhere private to steal away. The very thought has my own hands wandering, sliding around his waist, pulling his body tighter against me, reveling in the feel of his soft cotton T-shirt as I imagine peeling it off him later.
The sounds of tires crunching on gravel sounds behind us, breaking us free.
“Someone’s lost,” Kyle murmurs.
I turn. And frown at the familiar black Lincoln SUV with tinted windows now parked beside us.
Eddie, my dad’s hired driver, steps out, offering me a curt nod on his way to open the back passenger door.
Out comes my father.
“Dad!” I exclaim, dashing forward. “What are you doing here? Is everything okay?”
“Can’t I surprise my daughter?” he says evenly, smoothing the lapel of his typical crisp, tailored navy suit. The fact that it’s muggy and warm hasn’t stopped him from dressing so formally, and on a Saturday. Obviously he was coming from an important meeting. His cold blue eyes flitter around us, taking stock of the campground, before landing on me once again. My friends back home are convinced that my dad belongs on an afternoon soap opera, not just because his very presence commands attention but also because of his deep, velvety voice.
“Of course. It’s just . . . you’re hours away.” I wrap my arms around his broad shoulders.
He returns the warm embrace, and it instantly brings me back ten years to my six-year-old self, curled up on his lap, watching him read through building proposals.
“I was looking at a potential investment property today that’s only forty minutes away, so I figured I’d take the opportunity to swing by.”
“You should have called.”
“I thought your cell phone doesn’t work well out here.”
“You’re right. Good thing you caught me. We were just heading into town.”
“Is that what you were doing.” His sharp, raptor’s gaze shifts to settle behind me.
And with that look, any hope that Dad’s attention was engrossed in a report when he drove up—and that he missed the public mauling—withers away.
I feel my cheeks burn as I take a step back and clear my throat. “Dad, this is Kyle. Kyle, this is my dad.”
Kyle steps forward, extending his hand. “Hi, sir. It’s nice to meet you.”
My dad pauses a moment to assess Kyle’s face, then his hand, before finally taking it. “I take it you’re a camp counselor, too?”
“Yeah.” Kyle reaches up to scratch his bicep, inadvertently flashing the ink on his arm.
My dad’s eyes narrow but he says nothing, his focus instead shifting to Kyle’s car.
“Can’t say I’ve seen a Pinto on the road in quite some time. For good reason, it would seem.”
Kyle dips his head to hide his smirk. “It’s my brother’s car. I’m just using it for the summer.”
“And what’s he using?”
“Uh . . .” Kyle seems caught off guard by the question. “Nothing. He went away for a while.”
“Traveling!” I flash Kyle a warning look. Not even a minute and we’ve already somehow stumbled dangerously close to the topic of Kyle’s family situation.
A frizzy head pokes out of the car window then. “Hello, Mr. Calloway. I’m Ashley. It’s nice to meet you! I met your wife last weekend. Would you like to come to dinner with us?”
A glimmer of amusement flashes across my dad’s face before it turns stern again. “No, but thank you for the invitation. In fact, I’m going to steal my daughter for a few hours. If that’s all right with her,” he adds.
As if I could say no.
“I guess I’ll see you guys later?” I try not to sound reluctant. It’s not that I don’t enjoy seeing my father. It’s that I don’t want to lose my one free night a week with Kyle.
“It was nice to meet you, Mr. Calloway,” Kyle offers stoically.
Dad makes a throaty sound. “Yes. Come, Piper.”
He has already decided that he doesn’t like Kyle. My stomach aches with disappointment. But behind that is a flare of anger. He’s not even giving Kyle a chance!
Kyle’s gaze flickers to my father, then back to me, and I wonder if he can tell. He shrugs. “We’ll be around here later.”
“Okay. I’ll see you soon.” Skating my fingers over his in a fleeting touch, I climb into the back of the Lincoln and settle into the cool leather seat, wishing dinner away.
“You made your mother very happy, agreeing to attend this . . . budget camp of hers,” my dad says through a sip of his cocktail, his eyes scrolling over the menu, his lips curled with distaste. For the scant wine list or the lackluster food options, I can’t tell. He’s already made comments about both. We found what he referred to as the only semi-respectable restaurant in town—an oversized white farmhouse that doubles as an inn, with several room rentals on the second floor. The dining room overlooks the river that cuts through town, which would be picturesque if not for the dilapidated houses and public beach on the opposite bank. My dad has scowled at the view as if it’s a personal affront to him. Poor city planning has always been a pet peeve of his.
“You’ve talked to her?” I ask, hope in my voice. Does this mean they’re working through things?
“Briefly, this morning. She called to tell me about the incident with the golf cart and the fact that my daughter is now on probation at her summer job, like some sort of delinquent.”
Shit. Darian must have called my mother.
Now this impromptu meeting makes sense. My father wants me to know how disappointed he is in me, and he needs to look me in the eye to do it. My shoulders tense. This is not good.
“I don’t know what it is with Calloway children putting golf carts into water. You’re lucky you didn’t break your arm like your brother did,” he mutters, shutting his menu and tucking away his reading glasses. “And you could have lost your job. That would have been an embarrassment for everyone.”
“It was an accident.”
“A completely avoidable one, from what I understand. This doesn’t sound like something you’d do, Piper.”
He’s right, it’s not. Until you throw a hot guy into the mix and then I’ll—literally—jump off a cliff for him.
All I can do is shrug. Shrug, and worry my lip as I wonder what type of punishment he’s about to dole out. When Rhett ditched that golf cart in the club’s pond, my parents took his car away for three months. I don’t even have a car for them to take away.
“Was this Kent guy with you?”
“No.” Dad’s eyebrows spike and I know Mom told him otherwise. “His name is Kyle, and it was my fault. I was the one driving. But he tried to take the blame for it,” I add quickly, hoping to score Kyle some points, seeing as he’s already starting off in the red.
Dad’s lips press tight. “So he’s not bright, but he’s chivalrous.”
“Dad.” I roll my eyes.
The waitress comes by to take our orders and clear our table of menus.
“What do you know about him?”
He’s the most beautiful guy I’ve ever known, and the most adventurous; he makes me feel good about myself. I could kiss him forever. I would be kissing him right now, if not for you. “He’s a nice guy.”
“His family?”
I knew my dad would ask that question. I knew, and yet I haven’t prepared a suitable lie. Shame on me. I buy myself time to think of my answer while taking a long, leisurely drink from my water glass. “He has a few brothers. His parents are married.”
“And what does his father do?”
“Um . . . something to do with the prison system.” I casually toy with my fork, avoiding his gaze.
“A warden?”
“A guard, I think?” I shrug, feigning a casual, clueless expression. “Not sure, though.”
He eyes me for a long moment, and I’m afraid he knows I’m lying. Dad’s bullshit meter would put Kyle’s to shame.
“I don’t want you getting in that car of his. The thing shouldn’t even be on the road. Does he have insurance?”
“Of course he does.” I hope that’s true. “And it’s not like I really have a choice if I want to leave camp.”
“Funny you should mention that.” He reaches into his satchel to pull out a Volvo catalogue and slide it across the table toward me. “You’ll need to choose all the details so we can get it on order.”
I hesitate, momentarily stunned. “Really?”
He smirks. “Your mother enlightened me as to your demands. I figured this is the easiest way.”
I’m not getting punished for the golf cart? Oh, man, Rhett would be pissed. He always did say that I could get away with just about anything in our father’s eyes.
Dad frowns curiously. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I reach for the brochure, unable to help my giddy grin as I flip through the pages.
“Does that smile mean you’re finally coming around to my choice of car?”
“If I must. Though I’d still prefer a Corvette.”
“And I’d prefer to never have to deal with another rezoning committee again, but we don’t always get everything we want,” he throws back smoothly, adjusting his tie. “Sixteen-year-olds don’t belong in sports cars. O’Connell’s daughter drove hers into a concrete barrier within the first week because she couldn’t handle it. It’s a miracle she walked away from that.”
I roll my eyes every time my father uses his friend’s daughter as an example. “Becky O’Connell has ridden her bicycle into a park bench. Twice.”
“And yet she’s never put a golf cart in a lake.”
“Touché.”
He chuckles, always one to enjoy delivering a dig. Settling back in his chair, he clasps his hands and rests them on his small belly. “I can’t remember when you and I had a dinner date last.”
“New Year’s Day. We went for Chinese.”
“Has it really been that long . . .” he says absently, as if not looking for an answer.
“You’ve been busy.” Busy cheating on Mom. I grind my teeth to keep from saying something that could blow up the rest of our “dinner date.” When I first found out about his tryst with the redheaded architect from LA, I was sitting next to my cracked bedroom door, eavesdropping. I didn’t need to strain to hear Mom’s accusations carrying through their bedroom wall.
I assumed it was a misunderstanding. There was no way my father would fracture our already fragile family for one night with some Californian siren. But I’ve heard enough fighting through the walls since then to accept that Kieran Calloway is guilty as charged. Also, that he’s sorry for it. Flowers have arrived at our doorstep every Friday afternoon like clockwork. All my mother’s favorite blooms. Surely ordered by Greta but still. And he surprised her with that trip to Paris back in May—a no-business getaway for just the two of them. That she declined.
I’ve found myself flip-flopping between simmering rage toward him and frustration with my mother, wishing that she’d just forgive him so everything could go back to normal.
I guess that’s selfish of me.
He takes another long sip of his drink, seemingly lost in his thoughts for a moment. “So, what have you been up to so far at summer camp, besides trouble?”
“Let me see . . .” Images of Kyle flash through my mind, but I quickly push them aside. “So there was a bat . . .”
“I’m leaving for Tokyo on Tuesday for ten days. If you need anything while I’m gone, it’s best you call your mother.”
“Do you think you guys will be able to work things out?” I ask, as we turn into Wawa’s driveway, the Lincoln’s wipers swishing back and forth rhythmically.
“So, you are aware of what’s going on.” Dad’s hard, assessing gaze skims over the pavilion and outbuildings, dim in the evening’s gloominess, toward the small group of counselors in the field, kicking a soccer ball around, despite the drizzle.
I roll my eyes. “I am living in the same house, Dad. And I’m not six years old.”
He sighs. “She’ll come around.”
“Do you really think so?” I hesitate. “After what you did?”
His jaw tenses and I brace myself for a tongue-lashing. “No marriage is easy, Piper, and I am far from the first man to make a mistake. But this is not a topic I’m going to discuss with my daughter.” He adds in a more conciliatory tone, “She seems to be in better spirits since getting away from the city. She’s been out at the club every day, socializing. And I hear she’s on the tennis courts a lot. I think this time to herself will be helpful. It’ll give her some perspective. Remind her how good we have it. How my one mistake is not worth throwing the life we built together away.”
“I hope so.”
He reaches over to pat my knee just as the SUV eases to a stop next to Kyle’s Pinto. Just the sight of it—knowing Kyle is here—makes my heart skip.
“This was a nice surprise, Dad.” And it was, despite my reluctance at the beginning. I wrap my arms around his neck, inhaling his comforting cologne one more time—a scent that he’s worn for as long as I can remember, it’s now his signature. I wave the car catalogue in the air. “Should I call Greta with my choices?”
“Email her if you can, so it’s all written down. First thing Monday morning.”
I reach for the handle.
“Before you go, Piper . . .” His steely gaze shifts to Kyle’s car. “I don’t want you with that boy anymore.”
It takes me a moment to process his words, to be sure I heard them correctly. “What?”
“I agreed with your mother that you should experience a summer in a . . . modest environment, so you can see how others live and appreciate the privilege you’ve been afforded. Mainly so you don’t end up like your brother down the road, having this sudden crisis of conscience and throwing your life away.” He frowns. “But I won’t have my daughter getting mixed up with a boy like that.”
“You don’t even know him!”
“I know what I don’t approve of. And the boys I’d consider suitable for you wouldn’t be pawing you in public like that. Against a car that belongs in a junkyard, no less.”
“He wasn’t . . . That was a joke.” I feel my cheeks flush, from a combination of anger and embarrassment. Worse, Eddie is listening.
“I didn’t find it funny.”
“You weren’t supposed to see it,” I mutter under my breath.
“You can talk to him, of course. You’re working together for the summer, so it’s not like you can avoid him. But leave it at that.”
I shake my head, my fury rising. My dad’s never made a demand like this. Then again, my circle of friends and male interests has always been associated with Breyers Collegiate and the families that can afford to go there. He approved of Trevor before he ever met him, namely because Trevor’s father is a high-profile civil lawyer.
If he knew what Kyle’s father did for “a living,” we’d likely already be on our way home.
I try another angle. “I really like him, and Mom’s okay with him.”
“She won’t be after I speak with her.”
“Dad!”
“I’m not going to say it again. Do you understand me, Piper?”
And there it is. Kieran Calloway issuing an edict in his calm, cool voice. There’s no swaying him when he gets like this. And he expects me to adhere because I always have. No one defies Kieran Calloway, especially not his children.
Tears of frustration prick my eyes. I shove open the door and climb out, into the drizzle.
“Piper.” I hear the warning in his steely voice.
“Fine. Whatever.”
He sighs heavily, as if I’m being the unreasonable one.
A sudden wave of rebellion inflames me. “Just so you know . . . your perfect Trevor Reilly spiked my Coke to get me drunk so he could try to screw me.” I slam the door with force and storm off, the cool rain against my face a soothing balm to my anger.
I spot Kyle at the far end of the field, shirtless and deftly maneuvering around another player with the soccer ball to take a shot at the goal. It sails into the top left corner, earning a round of cheers from his teammates.
My anger at my father only intensifies.
I glance over my shoulder to see the SUV’s brake lights as it eases around the bend in the road, and then out of sight. He didn’t even bother to linger, to see how I’d handle Kyle.
He assumes I’ll listen.
I always have.
“Hey, Richie Rich!” Eric calls out from his place in net, his blond curls flattened, his T-shirt sitting in a wet heap by the goalpost, to show off a lanky, sunburned torso. “So, is that, like, how your dad rolls all the time?”
“A lot. Yeah.” And for possibly the first time in my life, I’m embarrassed by that.
“Oh.” Eric shrugs. “Cool.”
A cheer carries from the other end, and Eric’s arms are in the air. “Nice! Your boy’s on fire!”
Kyle is high-fiving another guy when he notices me there. He waves and, brushing his damp hair back with his hand, begins jogging my way, his lean body rippled with muscle.
My boy. That’s right. He’s mine. And no one—especially not my dad—is going to decide otherwise.
Normally, I hate the discomfort that comes with rain—clingy clothes and strands of hair stuck to my face. Now, though, I’m too mad at my father and emboldened by my feelings for Kyle to care.
With a determined smile, I take off running across the field, intercepting the soccer ball meant for the center line, to throw myself into Kyle, knocking us both to the soggy grass.
“What are we doing tonight?” I ask, through our laughs.
“I don’t know. Hanging out? It’s supposed to rain all night. They’re talking about setting up the movie screen in the rec hall.” He shifts onto his side, propping himself on his elbow to peer down at me, shielding my face. “How was dinner?”
I roll my eyes. “Fine.”
“Yeah?” His finger trails my collarbone. “What’d your dad say about me?”
“That you seem nice.”
He gives me a doubtful look. “He doesn’t want you near me, does he?” I see a mix of resignation and disappointment in his eyes.
“He doesn’t want me with anyone he hasn’t chosen.” I hook my wrists around the back of Kyle’s neck. “But it doesn’t matter what he wants. It matters what I want. And I want you.”
“Yeah?” He smiles thoughtfully. “How much?”
I pull him down into a kiss, reveling in his hot, soft lips, mildly tasting of salt from sweat.
Kyle flinches and breaks away when the soccer ball bounces off his hip, reminding me that we’re not alone.
“Are we playing or are we taking a break to watch you two do it right here?” Eric hollers.
“Shut up,” Kyle grumbles, turning back to me. “Maybe we can pick this up later, when we’re not in the middle of a soccer field?”
“Probably a good idea.”
“ ’Kay.” He dips his head into the crook of my neck with a chuckle. “Shit, I need a minute.”
“Why . . . Oh.” A rush of heat floods my body as I get his meaning.
His hard swallow fills my ear. “Quick, help me think of something else.”
Something else besides Kyle and me together? Because now that Eric has said it, it’s all I’m picturing.
“Eric in a maid’s costume. Extra-short skirt and his hairy legs,” I blurt out, because yesterday’s drama performance had everyone torn between howls of laughter and cringes of mortification.
“Yup. That should do it.” With a groan of reluctance, he climbs to his feet, attempting to discreetly adjust himself in the process.
“You gonna be able to run with that?” Eric teases.
“Run . . . kick . . .” Kyle hoofs the soccer ball, sending it straight for Eric’s head. “Get back in net so we can finish this.” He offers me his hand to hoist me up off the ground. “Ash and Avery and them are in the rec center, making popcorn. Meet you there when we’re done?”
“ ’Kay.” Maybe it’s a residual of my defying my father, or maybe it’s because of the growing tension between Kyle and me, but I lean forward to graze his earlobe with my teeth, whispering, “Hurry up.”
The pained look on his face as I back away makes me smile.
“You’re gonna pay for that,” he warns.
“I hope so.”
Heat flares in his eyes, and I know in that moment we’re both thinking it at the same time.
The question isn’t if I’m going to give myself completely to Kyle.
It’s a matter of when.
