2006, Camp Wawa, Day Two
Avery’s perfectly shaped brows spike as I set the can of Coke and ten packs of Fun Dips on the makeshift counter—a barrier of plywood atop stacked wooden crates.
“They’re for a bet,” I say, as if that explains everything. Well, not the Coke. That’s to help me survive the fact that they don’t serve coffee to camp counselors.
“I never took those bets with him,” she murmurs casually, her crystal-blue eyes on a clipboard of paper as she makes a few quick tick marks, her long red hair pulled to one side in a loose braid. Last night, I didn’t notice how milky white her skin is, nor how long and slender her arms are.
“Yeah, well . . . I like Fun Dips.” I shrug, because how else should Kyle’s potential summer fling for this year respond to Kyle’s summer fling from last year in a way that doesn’t guarantee an enemy?
“Hope you won,” Avery says, finally. She’s wasted no time altering her Camp Wawa T-shirt, cutting off the sleeves and collar and cinching the waist with a knot, a style that makes the bulky red cotton thing not quite as unflattering and her waist look that much tinier in comparison to her chest. I noticed a few other counselors at breakfast had done it, too. I guess they didn’t get Christa’s speech about “the rules.”
“I did win.” I pull out a twenty from my jean shorts pocket, which should just cover it, and set it next to the candy. “And you’ll want to order more razz apple.” There were only nine, so I grabbed a cherry flavor, as well.
“We went through, like, fifty cases of Fun Dips because of those two fools last year.” She jabs the buttons on the archaic cash register, the printer churning its tally.
Does she still like him? Is this air of indifference a cloak for her feelings? Why did they break up?
Did they sleep together? How many times?
I realize that I’m staring at her now, so I avert my eyes, letting them wander over the canteen’s interior again. It’s a modified mobile trailer with the wheels replaced by concrete blocks. From the outside, it looks like it belongs in the Louisiana bayou of a Disney cartoon, the typical white vinyl covered by cedar shingles painted a forest green and plastered with at least fifty kitschy metal signs. A loose string of patio lanterns dangles unevenly from the roof’s edge. The inside has been gutted of all the traditional mobile home amenities to make room for a perimeter of thin metal shelves that house everything from licorice, candy bars, and chips, to cans of Coke and Dr. Pepper, to bug spray and sunscreen, to tampons and maxi pads. In the corner sits a chest freezer with a laminated sign listing available ice cream flavors. Tubs of dime candy line the front of the cash register, tongs and small brown paper bags at the ready to fill up.
“Does all this stuff actually sell?”
Avery snorts. “You kidding? Those candy shelves will be empty and the kids will be broke by Wednesday.”
It can’t be that hard for a kid to go broke, I note, scanning the prices. Definitely no candy discounts around here.
“Of course, Christa won’t let your kids do that. She’ll have a whole speech about saving money prepared for the first day.” Avery laughs, a musical sound. “Who tries to teach money management to a bunch of eight-year-olds at camp? Just let them have fun!”
“That’s right. You guys shared a cabin last year.”
“Yeah . . .” The cash register drawer pops open with a ding, and she slides my money into the slot. “That was fun.” Her voices drips with sarcasm.
I match it. “Well, I’m the lucky winner this year. Any tips on how to deal with her?”
“Pretend she’s not there.” She rolls her eyes, parroting Christa with, “ ‘You need to do’ this, ‘you need to do’ that.”
I laugh. Avery seems friendly enough toward me, even if it’s at Christa’s expense.
“Seriously. It’s brutal. Just wait ’til you try to get out after the kids are asleep. She threatened to go to Darian because I didn’t come back until, like, four one night.” Avery shakes her head. “So I lost it on her. She stayed out of my way after that.”
I frown. “So, we are allowed to leave our cabins at night?” Darian had alluded to counselors “unwinding” after a day of refereeing, but I forgot to ask Ashley.
Avery’s eyebrows arch in surprise. “Wow. You really haven’t been to camp before.”
“Not really. I . . . no.” There’s no point trying to describe White Pine.
“Some of the counselors go out after the kids are asleep, to hang out for a bit. It’s no big deal. There’s always someone around if a kid wakes up. That’s the one good thing about bunking with Christa—she always stays back. Which is great because nobody likes her anyway.” Avery stuffs my purchase into a brown paper bag just as the air-conditioning unit mounted in the far window kicks in. A fresh wave of cool air blows into the shop, ruffling the dusty and tattered floral window valance.
It feels heavenly. “So, how do you get a job in here, anyway?” I don’t remember canteen being on the activities sheet.
“Seniority. It can get boring, but when it’s ninety-five degrees out and you’re not in the lake, you want to be in here.” Avery reaches behind her to grab a can of root beer. She takes a long draw from her straw as she eyes me, as if sizing me up. “Talk to Darian. There’s four of us taking turns in here, but she has a backup list. She might be willing to put you on it.” She hesitates. “Or, I could mention it to her when I see her next.”
“That’d be . . . great. Thanks.” I frown as I wonder why she’s being so nice to me, but quickly decide that it’s better than the alternative, whatever her motives may be. I grab my paper bag. “Enjoy the cool air. I’ll just be out there, dying in my own sweat.” I head for the door, my stomach beginning to flutter with anxious nerves at the thought of tracking down Kyle.
I’ve only seen him briefly since last night. The counselor meet ’n’ greet shut down promptly at nine forty-five. Counselors had just enough time to get back to their cabins and settle in, Darian’s curfew warning heeded. I crawled into my top bunk and expected to spend the night memorizing the knots in the pine boards above my head while obsessing over every little gesture, glance, and word exchanged between me and Kyle, but somehow drifted off to the rhythm of Christa’s soft snores.
Kyle didn’t make his grand appearance until the end of breakfast, sauntering in just long enough to throw a casual smile my way. Then he scooped up a bagel and orange juice, and strolled off with Eric at his side.
I haven’t seen him since and, even with that quick but obvious flirtation, I can’t help but wonder if he’s now avoiding me, if maybe he’s already lost interest.
The very thought threatens to sink my spirits.
“Hey!”
I glance back over my shoulder to find Avery grinning mischievously, showing off her perfectly straight, white teeth. “I’ll bet Christa told you that you’re not allowed to cut your T-shirt?”
“Um . . .” My wary eyes flitter between her face and the enormous silver blades of the scissors as she rounds the counter.
She laughs. “You look like you’re worried that I’m going to stab you.”
“Well . . . are you?” I ask pointedly.
“Relax. I’m not interested in Kyle anymore.”
I feel my shoulders sink with relief and a sheepish smile form. At least I wasn’t the only one sensing that awkwardness.
“Don’t move,” she murmurs, slipping her cool fingers beneath the collar of my T-shirt to pull the cotton away. She begins snipping.
I hesitate. “So, what happened with you and Kyle anyway?” What can she tell me about him that I haven’t heard yet?
Her eyes flicker to me a moment. “Nothing really . . . Summer ended. He went back home; I started college. He’s too young for me, anyway. It was fun, but that’s all you’ll get from Kyle. Fun.”
“So he’s a player?” My stomach turns queasy.
“No. Not that. At least, he wasn’t with me.” She tosses the bound cotton collar to the trash can and sets to work on my left sleeve. “He just won’t let you get too close.” She smiles secretly, snipping off my right sleeve. “But you’ll have lots of fun. There.” She steps back to admire her work. “Just tie the waist up and you might not die.”
“Thanks,” I murmur. “See you later.” I push through the canteen’s rickety door and am immediately hit with a blast of mid-morning heat.
Christa is loitering nearby, intently studying her clipboard.
I stifle my groan to offer, “Hey.” Great. Here we go . . .
Her chest puffs out with a deep breath. “Hi, Piper.” Lifting her chin, she strolls into the shop, offering me a tight-lipped smile as she passes, making no note of my deviant attire.
I frown curiously.
Until I hear her say, “I’m here to collect your count sheets.” The air-conditioning unit has switched off for the moment, allowing her voice to carry clearly through the thin walls and poorly sealed window.
A sinking feeling hits me as I realize that Christa must have been outside when we were talking about her.
Must have heard the less-than-kind words directed toward her.
I quickly trudge off, guilt swarming my conscience.
“Can I drive on the way back?” I grip the bar as we speed along the narrow gravel path, the golf cart bumping and jolting as Ashley manages to hit every pothole so far, and there aren’t that many to avoid.
“Didn’t you just get your license?”
“I’ve had mine longer than you’ve had yours!” It’s not a wonder she failed the driving test three times before finally passing just two weeks ago, something she admitted to with a sheepish grin as she jumped into the driver’s seat.
“Fine. We’ll switch when we get to—ahh!” She jams on the brake just as Eric jumps out from behind a thick crop of bush. “Are you crazy? I could have hit you!” she shrieks, her face flushing instantly.
“Ahoy, fair maidens!” he booms, stalking forward in an exaggerated stiff gait, waving a stick in the air. “I seek you now by order of . . .” He falters. “Maximus Decimus Meridius to commandeer said fine vessel hence forth.”
Ashley rolls her eyes. “We don’t have time for this.” She gestures at the little trailer attached to our hitch, stocked with Tupperware bins full of plastic trash bags, toilet paper, hand soap, and flashlights. We’ve been tasked with stocking the girls’ cabins and shower room before the campers begin arriving.
“Forthwith!” He takes a step forward. “Tout suite!”
I bite my tongue against the urge to correct him, as Madame Monroe’s squeaky voice fills my head. My French teacher drilled the proper phrase into our heads by yelling “Tout de suite!” at the beginning of every class to rush us to our seats.
Meanwhile, Ashley’s nose crinkles with confusion. “What?”
Eric tosses the stick to the ground and reaches in to scoop Ashley from her seat. As tall as she is, he still manages to throw her over his shoulder with surprising ease.
“Put me down, Eric!” she squeals, but she’s giggling as she thumps her fists against his back.
Kyle suddenly appears from behind another thicket.
“Don’t you dare . . .” I begin, my hands in the air to block him from any attempt to pull me off. Meanwhile, my heart is leaping in my chest with the thought of his hands on me.
But he slides into the driver’s seat instead, reaching back to smoothly unfasten the hitch, releasing the wagon. “Hark! A captive!” he yells, and then throws the cart into forward. The electric engine whirls as we speed away, leaving Eric and Ashley behind with the trailer of supplies.
“What are you doing?” I say with a laugh. “We have to deliver those!”
He glances at his wristwatch, and I can tell that it’s all for show. “You’ve got tons of time. Plus it’s right there.” He nods toward the girls’ cabins as we pass the turnoff.
“Where are you taking me?”
“For a tour. Why? You worried?”
“About getting fired on my first day? Kind of.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re not gonna get fired. And, don’t worry, Eric and Ashley will be done in no time.”
“But if Christa sees that we’re not—”
“Christa’s busy driving people crazy in the rec center.” Suddenly we’re whipping around a bend in the path and I’m squealing with a mix of glee and fear, my body pressing against Kyle’s.
“You’re going to roll us!” I warn.
“These things don’t roll. Trust me, I’m an expert.”
“My brother broke his arm rolling one of these.” Rhett and his buddies—drunk—decided to take a shortcut down a steep hill at the thirteenth hole and ended up putting the cart into the country club’s duck pond. He’s lucky it wasn’t worse, though the tongue-lashing and financial penalties my father laid on him more than made up for the lack of serious injuries.
“Well, I’m a better driver than your brother.” We wind around another bend and this time, instead of continuing along the path, Kyle veers off onto a wooded one.
“Seriously. Where are we going?”
He settles back into his seat, gripping the steering wheel casually with one hand, his lips curled up in a secretive smile.
I try to match his calm ease; meanwhile inside, my nerves are going haywire. Wherever he’s taking me, it’s away from the rest of the campground.
I train my gaze on the trees as the forest grows denser and the trail grows narrow. It stops altogether in front of a bramble of bushes and a sign that marks Camp Wawa’s property line. Beyond it is a “No Trespassing” sign, indicating government land. Kyle shuts the cart off, hops out, and begins walking ahead. He pauses just long enough to look at me and call out, “What are you doing?”
“Uh . . . following you, I guess?” I climb off my seat. On impulse, I grab the brown candy bag from the storage container and then begin trailing him up a steep footpath, wincing as the evergreen branches scratch at my bare legs.
We finally break through the dense bush and are suddenly out into the open.
“Wow,” I murmur, shielding my eyes from the blinding sun as I take in the vast expanse of blue water and trees below. We’re on the edge of a rocky cliff. “This lake is bigger than I thought.” From this vantage spot, it looks like it might go on forever.
“It has a lot of little bays.” Kyle pulls a pack of Marlboros from his pocket and tosses it on the ground nearby.
He smokes? I’m not sure how I feel about that.
His phone, wallet, and sunglasses follow closely after. “If you can get in the boat on waterskiing day, you should do it. You’ll get to see more of it.” He kicks off his running shoes and socks.
“What are you doing?” I ask warily.
Reaching over his head, he peels off his Camp Wawa T-shirt, giving me a good, long look at his lean torso, cut with muscle and decorated with swirls of ink over the ball of his shoulder and along one side of his collarbone. “It’s hot out.”
I try not to stare at the way his board shorts hang off his hips, but I fail miserably.
And then Kyle takes a running leap over the cliff.
I gasp and rush for the edge just as he breaks through the water’s surface, his body disappearing into the murky darkness with a small splash. He surfaces a moment later, his groan of content loud. “Oh, yeah. Damn, that felt good!”
“You’re insane!” I shriek, my blood pounding in my ears.
He laughs and then swims out, pulling himself onto his back to show off his bare chest. He’s at ease in the water, as if he’s been swimming for years. “Come in!”
“No way!”
“Why not?”
“Because!” I gesture a hand out, as if that’s answer enough. “How high is this, anyway?”
“It’s only thirty feet.”
Only. “There’s rocks everywhere!”
“It’s clear. I’ve jumped off it a hundred times. Five hundred times.” His arms cut through the water as he treads, watching me steadily. “Oh. I get it. You’re scared.” The taunting is unmistakable.
“I am not,” I scoff, though the height is daunting.
“Prove it.”
“But . . . I don’t have a bathing suit.”
“Weak,” he throws back, and I can see the smug smile all the way from up here.
Is this a test? Did Avery jump off this cliff with him?
It did look like fun. And I’m not afraid of heights. “No, what’s weak is you trying to get me out of my clothes like this,” I retort, matching his arrogance.
“I’d never do that. I swear.” He pauses, treading water to lift a hand in the air, giving me a Boy Scout salute.
I roll my eyes at him, even though I doubt he can see it.
“Just jump in with your clothes on. You can change on the way back. It’s not like you don’t have a thousand camp T-shirts, anyway.”
More like six, but his point is fair.
“Come on. I know you want to.” He swims farther back, to give me space.
The water does look enticing and it’s hot out.
And I’m feeling a rush of adrenaline with the thought of doing it.
And Kyle is waiting for me at the bottom.
“Oh my God, I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I mutter, setting my things next to Kyle’s and kicking off my shoes. “You’re sure there aren’t any rocks?”
“Positive. Just take a run at it.”
I take a deep breath and, before I can chicken out, I dart forward and leap.
I vaguely hear Kyle’s cheer over my scream as I sail through the air, my stomach in my throat as I plummet, to plunge into the dark waters feet-first. It’s shockingly cold the second the water envelops my body, but by the time I emerge, it’s a refreshing cool against my skin, a balm for the summer heat and humidity.
I laugh, wiping drops from my eyes, exhilaration moving in where fear lived a moment before. I look back at the sheer wall of jagged rock looming over us. “I can’t believe I just did that. Oh my God. That was amazing!”
“Told you so.” Kyle smiles wide, his dazzling eyes flashing with amusement as he wades over to me. He’s so close that our knees bump with each pedal of our legs, trying to stay afloat.
So close that he could easily kiss me, if he wanted to.
Does he want to?
I swallow the rise of nerves in my throat. Suddenly the thirty-foot drop pales in comparison to the bravery I’d need to summon to lean in, to press my lips against his.
“Did that hurt?” I ask, pretending that the silver ring had my attention all this time.
“Nah.” His tongue darts out to flick at it and I feel my own lips parting. He’s so close now, I can feel his breath caressing my skin.
“So, how do we get back up there?”
He abruptly shifts and begins swimming away. “This way.”
My disappointment swells as I trail him, wishing I hadn’t asked.
With easy, strong strokes, he cuts through the water and around a bend on the left, to a low platform of rock. His muscles tense and glisten as he hoists himself out, before offering his hand to help me pull myself up. My clothes hang heavily from my body as we pick our way around boulders and bushes, along a weedy, narrow path that leads up the steep hill. Kyle takes my hand at the halfway point where it’s especially treacherous, his wet fingers wrapped firmly around mine to help me climb.
My thigh muscles are burning by the time we reach the top but I barely notice, enthralled by his touch, not wanting to lose it. I groan when he lets go, and duck to hide my embarrassment at the reaction while I wring out the cotton of my T-shirt. “I’m soaked.”
“Sun’s hot. You’ll dry off fast out here.” Settling onto the rock, Kyle reaches for his pack of Marlboros and slides a cigarette into his mouth. He notices me watching him. “You don’t mind, do you?” he asks, his lips already hugging a cigarette, lighter paused midair to ignite.
I shrug. “Nah, it’s cool.” I sit down next to him.
He holds the pack out for me, but I wave it away.
He lights up and in moments, the acrid smell of smoke is filling my nostrils. Oddly enough, it’s not bothering me as it normally does, and I find myself content to sit next to a shirtless Kyle while he puffs away quietly, his gaze drifting over the blue skies and the majestic lake.
So far I’m enjoying Camp Wawa a hundred times more than I imagined I would, this time yesterday. It might have something to do with my company, but I haven’t ached for Europe once since I stepped out of my mom’s car. “You said you come here a lot?”
He releases a ring-shaped cloud of smoke and watches it sail upward. “Still remember the first time I jumped. I was nine, and I tagged along with some older kids. I stood on the edge of that cliff for almost an hour, my knees shaking.” He pauses, as if recalling that very moment, and then a soft chuckle escapes. “Thought I was gonna piss my pants on the way down. And when I did it, and looked back at that rock wall, I was so sure it was the bravest thing I’d ever do in my entire life. After that, I couldn’t stop.” He absently rubs a finger across the tattoo on his wrist. “It’s the first thing I did when I got here last year. And I’ve been waiting all year to do it again. ”
It dawns on me then. “Those coordinates are for this spot, aren’t they?”
He winces against the sun’s glare as he peers at me. “Look at you. You’re kind of smart, aren’t you?”
I shrug, feeling my cheeks flush. “Sometimes.”
His stomach muscles tense as he eases himself back, one arm resting under his head, the other free to hold his cigarette to his lips. His eyes are closed against the sun’s brightness, allowing my gaze free range over his lean body, already dry and coated in a thin sheen of sweat. He doesn’t have the padding of muscles that Trevor had, but there were rumors that Trevor had been doping.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks suddenly.
I avert my gaze from his smooth chest to the sparse blades of grass between the rocky surface and think fast. “That robbery,” I blurt out. “What was it like?”
It’s a moment before he answers. “Crazy.”
“But, like . . .” I fumble through the questions now churning in my head. “Where were you? A convenience store or someone’s house?”
“A bank.”
I feel my eyebrows pop. “Seriously? People still rob banks?” I mutter in disbelief, more to myself.
“The stupid ones do.”
Stupid ones with a gun, apparently. “So, did the police catch them?”
“Oh, yeah. They caught ’em all right. They’ll be going away for a long time.”
“Were you scared? Did you think you were going to get shot? I mean . . . I’d be terrified.”
His tongue flicks at his lip ring. “More in shock than anything.”
“What did your parents say about it?”
“My parents?” He pauses, as if needing to think through his answer. “They were glad I was okay.”
“No shit. Mine would lose their minds. Never let me out of their sight again.”
“Understandable.” He takes a drag off his cigarette.
And my eyes draw over the various ink on his body. “They’re okay with you getting tattoos? Your parents, I mean.”
“Why wouldn’t they be?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “ ’Cause you’re only seventeen?”
“Ashley was pretty thorough.” He smirks. “What else does she have on me?”
My face begins to burn. “Not much. Just that you came here when you were younger but then suddenly stopped. You and Avery were together last summer . . . and every girl here wants you.”
“Not every girl,” he murmurs after a moment. “Christa doesn’t. Unless she has a weird way of showing it.”
“Yeah, I don’t think she likes you.”
“So then, every girl except Christa.”
I laugh. “Wow! Aren’t we cocky.”
He smiles through a puff. “Hey, you said it.”
I let my gaze drift over the landscape as I absorb the hum of motorboats and nearby birds chirping. “I can see why this is your favorite place.”
“You want to jump again?”
A rush of adrenaline spikes through my body at just the suggestion. With him, a hundred times over, until my throat is hoarse from screaming and my legs wobble from the climb back up. But I’m not getting paid to go cliff diving and gawk at Kyle. “What time is it?”
He shrugs, not making a move for his watch or his phone.
“Don’t you think we should get back soon? I mean, before anyone notices that we’re missing?” I’ll be surprised if they didn’t hear my scream as it is.
“Do you always worry so much?”
“I’m not worried,” I lie, because I’m betting Kyle isn’t the type of guy who would be attracted to a worrier.
“Why’re you here, anyway?” he asks around a mouthful of smoke, smoothly diverting the topic.
Catching me off-guard. “Uh . . . I needed a summer job?”
“Your mother dropped you off in a brand-new, fully loaded Nine-Eleven, Piper. Something tells me money is your family’s last problem.” And, by the tone in his voice, that’s somehow a strike against me.
There’s no point denying it. “Yeah, my family has some money.” A lot of money. More than Kyle can possibly imagine, I’m guessing. I hear the defensiveness creeping into my voice.
So must Kyle, because he holds a hand up in surrender, murmuring, “Relax. I’m just trying to figure you out, is all. You seem out of your element here.”
“Like I said last night, my mom went here when she was growing up and she really wanted me to come for a summer.” After a moment, I add, “And she thinks it’ll look good on my college applications.”
Kyle’s lips twist in thought, seemingly pondering that. “Fair enough.”
I wait for him to ask me who my father is, what my parents do that has made us wealthy, but he doesn’t. I wonder if it’s because he doesn’t want to know, or doesn’t care.
“So, why’d you come?” I finally ask.
“Because I actually need a summer job and this place beats flipping burgers at Johnny B’s any day of the week. Plus, Eric is basically my best friend and everyone’s pretty cool, for the most part anyway. The kids are fun.” He takes another long drag, his mouth working around the O’s. He smiles slyly. “I had the best summer of my life last year.”
“Because of Avery?” I dare ask in a nonchalant tone, though I’m dying to get his take, now that she offered me hers.
He snorts as he studies the end of his cigarette. “Because of everything. But Avery and I had fun, yeah.”
That stir of jealousy sparks in my gut. I struggle to push it aside. “That’s what she said.”
“You two were talking about me?” There’s no mistaking the surprise in his voice.
“I didn’t bring it up. I swear.”
“What’d she say?”
“Exactly what you just did: that you two had a lot of fun.”
“Anything else?”
I open my mouth, intent on saying “Nothing,” but I decide I’d rather go with the truth. “That you don’t let people get too close.” I watch him carefully for his reaction.
He seems to consider that. “I guess she’s right, I don’t. Not her, anyway. I knew right away that it wasn’t gonna last past the summer, so I made sure to keep it easy. You know, so no one got hurt.” He pauses. “It doesn’t bother me at all if she ends up with someone else this year. I haven’t thought much about her, to be honest.”
What about this? Me? Has he already dismissed me as this year’s summer fling? And will I be okay with that? I want to ask, but I bite my tongue.
His crooked smile tells me he somehow knows what I’m thinking anyway.
“This summer will be even better,” I dare say.
“Oh yeah?” He squints against the sun as he studies my face. “And why’s that?”
“Because I’m here.”
He chuckles. “Now who’s being cocky?” Taking one last haul off his cigarette, he butts it out on the stone and then sits up. He reaches for his shoes, a pair of suede Adidas that are literally falling apart—the seam on one toe broken, the ends of the laces frayed, the dark gray material severely stained.
“Can’t let go of them, huh?” I tease.
“They’re comfortable,” he murmurs, but I note how his cheeks flush.
Did I just embarrass the guy I’m madly crushing on? Way to go, Piper.
I quickly backpedal. “I have a pair of tennis shoes like that. They’re my lucky ones. I haven’t lost a tennis match in them, like, ever.”
His gaze is still on his grayed laces, but I see the corners of his mouth pull, in a tiny smile. A smile that says he knows I’m lying, punctuated by his quick glance at my pristine teal Nikes, bought just last week, along with two more pairs to choose from throughout the summer.
“We should probably get back.” He yanks his T-shirt over his head.
As anxious as I am about getting caught shirking responsibility, I’m not ready to leave. “Not so fast.” I reach for the brown paper bag and toss it to him.
He cringes. “I knew you had these.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Yeah, I did. I saw you come out of the canteen with them.”
I frown. “Where were you?”
“Around . . .” He tips his head to gaze at me, his eyes twinkling playfully. “You’re really gonna make me do this?”
“A bet’s a bet.”
With a groan, he dumps the packs out on his lap, holding up the cherry flavor with a scowl.
“They only had nine razz apples.”
He tosses it onto my lap. “I’m allergic to cherry.”
“Really?” I frown. “But I doubt there’s actual cherry in it.”
“You willing to find out up here?” He gestures at our secluded spot, high up on the rock. “Because I’m anaphylactic.”
“Oh. No. Definitely not.” I shake my head for emphasis. “Let’s prorate it, though. You’ve gotta do nine in . . . one minute, forty-eight seconds.”
“You’re taking this to a whole new level.” Chuckling, he tears open the tops of the pouches, holding them upright between his thighs in a line. Setting the timer on his watch, he hands it to me, our fingers sliding across each other in the process, sending my blood racing through my veins.
I clear my throat to help calm myself. “Ready?”
“No.”
“And . . . Go!” I press the tiny red button and the numbers begin churning on the screen.
With a curse, he grabs the first open pack and, tipping his head back, he dumps the powder into his mouth. His face twists horribly against the tartness. “Oh, God . . . I forgot . . . how sour these are!” he manages between swallows and cringes.
I howl with laughter. “One down, eight to go!”
He fires a glare my way, tosses the empty pack aside, and collects another one. “Just you wait—I’m gonna get you back for this.”
I’m in tears by the time he finishes the last pack, just as the beep of his watch sounds. “I can’t believe you actually did it!”
He rubs at his bottom lip with his thumb, wiping away at some residual powder. “I thought I was going to puke for a minute. My mouth hurts.” He stretches his tongue out and waggles it around, showing off his green-tinged candy-coated taste buds, making me laugh harder. “Shut up and eat yours,” he mutters through a smile, as he begins collecting the tossed packs.
“I haven’t had one of these in forever.” I wet the candy stick in my mouth before dipping it into the powder, and then pop it back into my mouth. My cheeks pucker, the cherry tart on my tongue.
I glance up to find Kyle’s gaze locked on my mouth. “So that’s what those are for,” he murmurs, his expression contemplative, his lips parted. It’s the same look he had earlier, when we were in the water.
When I was sure he wanted to kiss me.
I desperately want him to.
With a small, playful smile, I scoop more powder on my stick and suck it off, more slowly this time, repeating the steps several times.
Kyle dips his head. He’s trying not to laugh.
“What?” I ask, and a touch of apprehension stirs.
“Nothing. It’s just . . . your mouth, it’s stained red.”
“No it’s not.” I press my lips together.
He bursts out laughing. “Yeah. Like, all over.”
Heat floods my cheeks as I silently curse, tossing the stick into the pack. Here I am, trying to seduce him, and now I look like a four-year-old who got into her mother’s lipstick. “Yeah, well, your tongue is green.” I furiously rub my palm against my lips, trying in vain to wipe the color off.
“Stop! Stop . . .” He’s still laughing as he grabs hold of my hand and pulls it away, lacing my fingers within his. His eyes are twinkling with mischief as they settle on my mouth. “Actually, I like the red on you. Like, really like it.” He leans in a touch but then hesitates.
I can’t take it anymore.
I close the distance and press my mouth against his. Only for a second, long enough to feel the softness of his lips and the cold metal of his lip ring, and to taste the sour apple candy powder.
And then I remember.
I break free with a gasp, my heart rate spiking. “Oh my God! I forgot! I’m so sorry, I wasn’t thinking! What do we do?”
He frowns with confusion. “About what?”
“Your allergy!” How far is the walk to the golf cart? Can we make it in time?
“Oh. That.” He grins. “Yeah. I lied about that.”
“What?”
He shrugs. “I hate the cherry flavor.”
Relief bowls over me, even as I smack his chest. “Kyle! You don’t joke about stuff like that!”
“I’m definitely regretting it now.” His gaze drops to my mouth, lingering for a moment before he finally leans in.
The last kiss was fast and fleeting, driven by my impulsiveness. This one, though, is all Kyle. It’s slow and intentional, his lips brushing over mine once, twice . . . before settling against them in a playful dance of soft presses and the occasional graze of his tongue. Only his tip, though, and only against my lips, moving fast enough that I barely catch it with my own. Each time that I do, I sense Kyle smiling.
Trevor never kissed me like this. He always dove right in—with passionate lips and busy hands. I thought he was a good kisser. I thought that was what I liked.
But this . . .
This is more like a game. Kyle is teasing me.
And I am devouring every second of it.
My breathing turns shallow as I match his tempo, my fists balled in my lap, heat beginning to pulse through my limbs and into my core. My fingers reach for his lap, but I hold them back, curious to see what he does next.
But he just keeps going with this torturous, slow pace for minutes that feel like hours, until he finally breaks free.
“Was the cherry that bad?” I whisper, my head swimming in a heady fog.
His golden eyes burn with heat as he smiles at me. “Actually, I think you’ve made me a huge fan of all things cherry.” With a deep—shaky, I note—exhale, he eases himself off the rock and holds out his hand. “Come on. Don’t want to get you into trouble on your first day.”
