Chapter Thirty
“Take this.” I hold out a sandwich, but Amy doesn’t stop pacing in our kitchen, and I immediately regret making her the super sweet coffee that she did accept. I pry the mug from her hand and replace it with the sandwich. “Come on. You need to eat something.”
“No,” she says. “What I need is for those damned buses to get here.”
I chew my mouthful of cheese and bread. “You’re nervous.”
She turns on her heel and stares me down. “No, I’m not.”
“Good,” I say. “Because you’re going to be great. Now eat my cooking.”
She glances at the food, then back out the window, like she’s expecting the buses to arrive any second. And, in reality, they might. But she’s going to have a hell of a day wrangling campers on only two cups of coffee—especially after the workout she’s had this morning, both in bed and on the ropes course.
“Come on.” I pop the last of my lunch into my mouth. “Cook’s coming up on the bus, so this is the last time you’ll get to enjoy my cooking. You know, unless I’m staying. You do fucking love me and all.”
I mean for there to be a joking quality to that statement, but I can’t quite pull it off. I haven’t been able to pull off much since last night, when Amy drew pleasure from all parts of me and I couldn’t hold back the emotion—the driving force behind my need to give her whatever she needs, and the complete body orgasms that rock me when I give all of myself to her.
But hearing her say it back was more than I could have hoped for. Having her muscles clench and relax on my most sensitive part while she gasped out the words that were pure fantasy only a week ago was enough to melt every part of me but one.
The corner of her mouth turns up and she takes a bite of her lunch. “Don’t get any ideas, Paul.”
“Too late.” I kiss her cheek.
She picks at the bread and rolls the crumbs between her fingers. “You know I’m still thinking, right? About you staying?”
I push a hand through my hair and turn away. “Right. Yeah. Sure.”
She circles my waist with her arm and leans into me. “It’s just—”
But I don’t get to find out what it is. The rumble of diesel engines and crunch of gravel cut her off as the first bus passes under the archway. Amy grips my chest with her free hand, kisses me quickly, and pulls away, wearing the type of smile I remember from when we were kids—the thrill of camp incarnate.
Her grin sears me with the knowledge that although I’m the one bringing her this joy, it’s because of what I gave up before she got here, not what we’ve found since she arrived.
“Go on.” I pluck the lunch I made from her hand and the bread folds in my grip. “Meet your campers, Director.”
Kids pile out of buses while I toss her mangled lunch in the compost. Amy greets the counselors, all united in this year’s camp shirt, while the younger campers break into some kind of game that looks like tag combined with gymnastics, but could just be their reaction to having sat still for the two or more hours it took them to get here.
The older campers head straight for the stairs, eager to get camp underway. They know the routine.
Or, they did.
My eyes stay with the older campers—the kids I’ve watched grow up. The pip-squeaks who have turned into the teens I thought I’d be working alongside in a couple years. The dedicated young people who were enough for me until I was finally as alone as I always thought I’d been, and couldn’t stand it anymore. They turn to look at Amy as they pass and she raises her hand in a wave they ignore. I flick a crumb from my plain blue T-shirt and wash my condiment-tainted hands.
Outside, Amy’s corralling the younger campers toward the stairs. It’s a slow process, but she puts the counselors on it and it’s under control for the most part. But a couple of kids dodge the roundup and crouch down behind the campfire logs in a one-sided game of hide-and-seek.
I leave the house and make my way over to them. “Leon,” I say when I’m close enough to recognize the kids. “Eric. Planning to sleep here instead of in a cabin this year?”
Eric’s cheeks erupt in pink patches. “We thought you weren’t here.”
I cross my arms. “Well, looks like you thought wrong. And cabin assignments are about to happen over there. So unless you plan on roughing it every night...”
The boys jump up and sprint toward the stairs. Amy spins at the sound of their incoming footsteps and her eyes dart to me. She pops a hip, taps her pen against her clipboard, and damn if the nerves in my palm don’t itch from halfway across the field, wanting to curve around that hip and hold on. But I throw her a salute instead. She nods and says something to Leon and Eric as they run by.
I jog up next to her. “Leon and Eric. They like to think they’re jokesters.”
Amy takes a step towards me, mouth tilted up, before she freezes. She shakes her head and clicks her pen, dropping her eyes to the clipboard she holds. “Right. Thanks.”
I dart my gaze to the campers and staff collecting on the stairs and lean towards her. My lips brush her ear on the side hidden from everyone else. To them, it should look like I’m sharing camp secrets, but her breath catches when my tongue teases her earlobe.
Her voice shakes. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to relax you.” My breath cools her taste-dampened skin.
She raises her eyebrows. “Definitely not relaxing me. Save it for later, Harding.”
With a half-smile in my direction, she heads to the bottom of the stairs and I slink to the side, leaning against the storage shed. A hand claps my shoulder hard. “Hey, man,” says the attached voice. “Someone order a lifeguard?”
Cam’s full beard hides the college kid I met when I took this job five years ago—when I wasn’t much more than a kid myself. “Jesus.” I give him a thump in return. “When did you get so haggard?”
“Same time as you, my man.” He grins. “So who’s the new hottie?”
My eyes trail from Amy’s boots to her ass. God damn, that woman makes jean shorts something out of a centerfold. I shove my hands in my pockets and clear my throat. “That would be your new boss.”
Cam lifts his eyebrows. “So Fred hasn’t finally eaten one too many questionable mushrooms? You’re actually leaving?”
Amy blows a whistle that sounds more like a goose than anything else, and waits for the campers’ attention. But she has all of Cam’s, which makes me want to punch one of the best guys who’s ever worked here—especially since I can’t answer his question, and I’m definitely not okay with that. I cross my arms. “Amy’s the new director.”
If he notices my evasion, he doesn’t comment. He rests his hands on his hips and watches as Amy blows her bird whistle again. “What do you know about her?” he asks.
The newer campers give her their attention and elbow the people next to them, but the returnees look to me and continue catching up with their friends. Amy reaches for her sound maker again, but my heart picks up speed for her and I can’t bear to see her lose control of them so early in camp. I push off the wall. “I know enough to be damned sure I’m about to piss her off.”
I stick a finger in each side of my mouth and blow. The sharp whistle immediately quiets and directs their attention to me. Amy’s glare bores into my temple and I send her a silent apology that doesn’t unfreeze her stony face. I paste on a smile and clear my throat. “Hey, campers! Who’s ready for the best two weeks of summer?”
The kids stomp their feet and cheer—old, young, it doesn’t matter. They’re all into it. “Some of you remember me as the guy who holds the clipboard around here, but, guys? This is Amy. She has the clipboard of power now.” Her jaw is locked closed and it takes her a moment to rearrange her mouth into a smile for the group. I take a deep breath. “We used to be campers here together, and she can kick any of your butts at pretty much anything around this place. But aside from being pure awesome on about a thousand levels, she’s also your new camp director. So, any attention that you’d normally give me needs to go to her. Got it?”
The campers murmur their agreement and I risk looking at Amy. Her muscles have relaxed and she gives me a small smile that lights up her eyes before she takes over and gets the counselors to introduce themselves one by one.
I head back to where Cam’s holding up the wall. “That beard doesn’t hide your shit-eating grin, you asshole. Say it.”
He wiggles his eyebrows. “How many of those thousand levels are between the sheets?”
My eyes follow Amy as she hypes up the crowd. “In the sheets. Out of them. The woman is made of awesome.”