Chapter Three
I drop my pack onto the single bed and flop onto the thin foam mattress next to it. My groan reverberates off the walls of the boxlike staff bedroom.
Of course it had to be him. Of all the people who’ve come through here in the sixty-year history of this camp—of all the people who love this place enough to call it home—it had to be Paul.
And me.
Not like there had ever been a Paul and me. Not at camp. Not at home. Not ever.
I tug the elastic from my hair and stare at the ceiling, like the spiders in the corner will somehow tell me how I’m supposed to get through ten more days with Paul fucking Harding and his arms. Those stupid, work-toned arms that squeezed me just right. And, dammit, that hard back I’d rubbed under my palms. Not to mention another hardness that was probably his keys. Or his wallet. Or something completely un-penis-related.
“And then I asked him if he wanted to lick my thigh. What the hell is wrong with me?” I ask the spiders. They don’t move, so I tear myself off the bed and dig through my pack. The lake is going to be chilly, and plunging into that water is better than any cold shower here, unless the water pressure has somehow managed to double in the last decade. And I need blinding cold to freeze out the images of his tousled hair and the way his eyes crinkled when he grinned. The memory of how those jeans rubbed against my thighs and how I’d forgotten, just for a second, how repulsed I should be by him. That in that second I’d wanted to grip whatever was pressing into my stomach and hoped to hell it wasn’t key-shaped.
I close my eyes, still elbow-deep in my pack. “God dammit. This can’t be happening.”
“Forget something?”
Paul’s voice sends me jumping back. I wrench my hands from my pack, still clutching whatever I’d last grasped in my quest to find a swimsuit. I turn and whack him with the fabric, over and over. “Do. Not. Sneak. Up. On. Me.”
He holds his hands up. “Jesus. I called your name and you didn’t answer. I surrender, okay?” I pull back and he lowers his hands. His mouth quirks up on one side. “Think you can put away that thong now? I mean, those things can be dangerous, but that’s normally when they’re, you know. On.”
My cheeks heat and I ball the slick fabric in my fist. “What do you want?”
Paul leans his shoulder against the doorjamb and I eye the space next to him. I could probably sneak out. But it would mean rubbing against him, and once I started... I blink fast and force myself to focus on what he’s saying. “...wrong impression. It gets a little lonely up here and I haven’t talked to anyone since our last rental group left a few days ago and took the cook with them. So. Sorry for going all puppy on you.”
I stuff my underwear into the locker beside the bed. “Don’t worry about it.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, actually, that’s not really why I came out here.”
“Then why are you here?” I cross my arms under my breasts and his hand stalls. His entire being freezes, voice included. I raise my eyebrows and flex my thumbs to push my boobs together. Busted.
He clears his throat and raises his eyes. “You’re right. About me not getting it. I don’t know why you want to stay in a staff bunk instead of in what’s about to be your own house.” I open my mouth to respond but he holds up a hand to stop me. “And I don’t understand why you stood me up when we were counselors-in-training, then never spoke to me again. Well, didn’t talk to me until today. But I kind of got the sense that you were as surprised to see me as I was to see you.”
I swallow hard. He brought it up. He remembers. And he was happy to see me, anyway. Then I had to go and throw ancient history at him. The history born of the childish naivety and unrestrained optimism I shed in my tears and left behind when I climbed onto the bus that last time.
But I let him get to me. Let it get to me. The ancient hurt that prepared me for all the guys who came after him. That crushed my innocence and thickened the very skin I’d let him touch. And now I’ve left him hanging with some cryptic, passive-aggressive allusion to our teenage years. And passive isn’t who I am. Not anymore.
“I didn’t know you were up here. Asking who I was taking over for wasn’t my priority. It all happened so fast,” I say.
Paul nods. “Yeah, that’s my fault. Not staying for the summer was kind of a last-minute decision.”
“Why are you leaving, anyway?” I bite the inside of my cheek and look at him. Really look at him. Fighting past the resurging teenage hormones and a very adult dry spell to see the man beneath the body. To see the person I used to like more than anyone else in the world.
He tucks his hands into his pockets. “I need a change. You know?”
“Yeah. I definitely know what that’s like.” I turn back to my pack and continue the search for my swimsuit. But I deserve more than this. More than tiptoeing around like the kid I was. I may have gifted my pencil skirts and pumps to charity, but the driven woman they housed is here. And nothing makes a simple business relationship messier than an unwillingness to speak frankly. “You really don’t know why I wasn’t at dinner that last night?”
“No. I’ve never been able to figure it out. I thought... Never mind.” His voice has lost its gruffness. Its manliness. In an instant he’s turned into the boy I used to know. The guy I spent hours with, chatting while I waited for my friends to blow-dry their hair and paint their toenails. Getting inside each other’s heads while he waited for his girlfriend.
I keep my back to him so I don’t revert to my teen self along with him. So this conversation stays focused on facts. Just two employees clearing the air and creating a working relationship. I crack a knuckle. “Do you remember the overnight hike we did on the second-to-last night?”
“Of course.” His voice lowers. “The counselors were blocking the campers in at one end and we were at the other. Everyone was asleep except us. You saw your first shooting star. Then I kissed you.”
“Yeah. You did. God, we were so young and I was so inexperienced.” I look over my shoulder. “You were my first kiss, you know.”
He smiles. “And your second.”
The corner of my mouth turns up. “And my third. But, yeah, I thought you liked me.”
His forehead creases and his eyes search my face. I suddenly feel like I’m wearing nothing more than the strip of fabric I’ve tossed into the locker. I turn back to my bag.
“But that was a long time ago,” I ramble. “I shouldn’t have thrown that in your face earlier. I mean, I should have known you didn’t like me. I was just—”
“Amy. Stop.” His breath blows warm against my shoulder and every nerve ending stands at attention. He’s moved so close behind me that the heat of his body seeps through my clothes. “I did like you.”
I shake my head and step around him, sliding between him and the lockers. I almost make it through without touching him, but he finds my hand. His rough fingertips tease my skin, convincing me all of my high school biology texts were wrong. That there is in fact a direct connection between my palm and clit.
His eyes bore into mine. “Amy. I liked you.”
And I don’t doubt that part of him wants that to be true. The part of him that I’ve caught checking me out today. Maybe the part of him I felt through his jeans earlier. But I give him a sad smile. “No. You didn’t.”
He grips my hand tighter. “Why don’t you believe me?”
I detach my hand from his ribbed-for-pleasure hold and rest it on his shoulder. I mean it as a friendly gesture. Some kind of contact to comfort and make peace. To touch him like an old buddy should, with a barrier between his skin and mine. But he leans into it, and his T-shirt is no protection.
My fingers curl into his muscle, and I wish to hell that I didn’t know what I do. That I could believe him. That I’d been asleep and wouldn’t have recognized his voice anywhere. “Because,” I say. “I was just the resident fat kid. And you had Tanya.”
He backs away like I’ve punched him. “The resident fat kid? What does that even mean?”
I drop my hand and roll my eyes. “You know exactly what it means. I had all the curves. Like, too many of them. But Tanya? Hers were in all the right places.”
He rakes his eyes up my body. My nerve endings buzz under the intensity of his gaze. “Not that last summer. And now...”
My shoulders creep up and I curse the traitorous tug low in my belly that wants more of Paul’s eyes. More of his anything. I swallow hard. “Now I’m here. To work. But I was serious earlier. I can show myself around, re-familiarize myself with camp. I’ll let you know if I can’t figure something out.”
Paul shakes his head. “Not going to happen unless you plan on starving for the next week. The director’s house has the only working kitchen in camp right now, so we’ll have to hang out at least a little.”
He’s leaning against the wall. Totally relaxed except for that decidedly not-keys outline in his jeans. The outline that makes a part of me want to slide him a sultry smile and an invitation to drop his pants right there even though he’s Paul fucking Harding and he thinks I’m the Amy he knew.
“Crap.” I shift my eyes to the motionless spiders and force that part of me into the back corner of my mind. That part of me that’s softness and curves under a glossy veneer. “The house really has the only food?”
“Really. I know I said you could run this place on memories alone, but that might have been a bit of an exaggeration. There are actually some behind-the-scenes things we never saw as campers that I have to show you.” He hooks his thumbs into his pockets. “So, dinner at six?”
I bite the inside of my cheek. The sound of a mouse scampering through the rec hall reaches my room and I flinch before I can stall the muscles. I rearrange my face. Force my shoulders down.
Paul smiles. “It’s been a long time, Amy.”
“Yeah.” I can’t tear my eyes from his. “It has.”
He pushes off the wall and comes closer to me. “I’m getting the sense that you might need a bit more of a reintroduction to camp than you’re letting on. I mean, a mouse, Amy? What are you going to do when the raccoons interrupt campfire, or the bobcats are out stalking?”
I clasp my hands together and swallow hard. “I hate to say it, but you might be right. I mean, I’m a pro at chasing off small dogs and drunkards, but I am a little out of practice with anything wilder than a seagull.”
He chuckles. “That settles it. It only makes sense for us to hang out,” he says. “Explore camp together.”
My neck cracks when I roll my head from side to side. “Maybe.”
“Plus, I won’t lie. This job can be pretty isolating. I could use some human interaction.”
I laugh mid-neck-crack. “You always did need to be social. Feeling a little starved for attention, are you?”
He gives me a lopsided grin. “You have no idea.”
I raise my eyebrows. “What kind of starved?”
Paul’s eyes darken. “All kinds.”
My breath catches. “So starved I need to worry that you might lick my thigh?”
“I’m not going to greet you for dinner by sticking my head between your legs.” He licks his lips and pushes his hands farther into his pockets. “Well, not unless you ask me to.”
I bite my tongue and turn back to my pack. “See you at six, Paulo-bo-ballo.”