Booth had done some crazy things in his life as a hockey player. Pranking was part of the hockey culture and something he really enjoyed. Years ago, a bellboy had told him when a hockey team came to stay, the hotel staff braced themselves for hijinks. Often, the team got a bill from a hotel for damages. Booth could understand that. He’d seen some crazy shit go down—furniture put on balconies, in hallways and elevators, the old trashcan-filled-with-water-leaned-against-the-door prank, even full-on food fights in rooms. While funny as hell, he could see why hockey players got bad reps. Booth had a code when it came to pranks and he wouldn’t participate if it meant permanent damage to a person or property. On the rare occasion that it did damage something, he made sure he paid for a replacement. He also always left large tips for the staff when he was on road trips, huge ones if he heard of anyone doing something out of line.

But these pranks occurred in hotels where he actually had a room booked in his name. Not so here at Camp Firefly Falls. There had been no cancellations so he was forced to go through with Plan B—which was to rough it in the wilderness and pretend he was a registered camper. He had no problem with the roughing it part. He’d been on enough family camping trips to know the drill. But even so, he didn’t own a tent or even a sleeping bag anymore, so he’d gone to a store that specialized in outdoor gear and bought everything the people there told him to. His bill was over a thousand dollars, but better to have stuff he didn’t use than to be stuck without.

Playing detective, he’d gone online and read review after review of the camp and figured out there was plenty of camp acreage that was off the beaten path. There didn’t seem to be any wristbands or IDs on lanyards identifying guests, thank goodness. Other than flying under the staff radar, showering might be one of his only challenges. He might have to wash in the lake, which wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

He arranged for ground transportation via the private driver app on his phone. SUV owner Shelby lived in Briarsted, a town close to the camp. She picked him up at the airport right on time and dropped him and his shit ton of gear off on the side of the road about a half mile from the entrance to the camp.

“So, to reiterate,” he said to Shelby, “come to this spot at eight a.m. for the next six days just in case I end up cutting the trip short.”

“You got it,” she said. “I’m to stick around for a half hour and if you don’t show, then I’m good to go until the next morning.” She giggled. “This is so CIA.”

“Right. You have that contact info I gave you?”

She nodded and held up the paper that had Alex’s and Calder’s phone numbers. He didn’t think anything would happen to him, but you never knew. He’d seen that movie about the guy who got stuck between immovable rocks and had to legit cut his own arm off because no rescue could be expected because no one knew where he was. Better to be safe than sorry.

“Okay, so I think that’s it. Here’s the money for today,” he said and handed her the agreed upon amount of cash, which was outside what she would receive for the fare from her company.

“Thank you very much. I’ll see you tomorrow maybe. Be careful out there.”

“Thanks. I will.”

After watching her drive away, he put his game face on. He was now committed to twenty-four hours here in the wilderness, like it or not.

“Might as well get a move on,” he said to no one.

Weighed down by a forty-pound pack, he hiked toward the lake. When he felt like he was about halfway there, he started searching for a good spot. When camping with his family, they’d always reserved spots at actual campgrounds, with community toilets and showers, fire pits and barbeques. Still, Booth felt confident he could handle this. The people at the outfitting store had given him a pamphlet with helpful tips.

The most important thing, according to the pamphlet, was to find running water and to set up camp at least two hundred feet away. Apparently, this was so he didn’t spook the wildlife and prevent them from getting water. He was cool with that. Animals had it hard enough having to find or hunt all their own food and defend themselves against enemies. He couldn’t imagine having to do that and thought the least he could do was make it easy for them to get a damned drink.

It took him quite a while to find a spot and then he couldn’t remember how to put the tent together. It seemed like the directions were missing a step, but he eventually figured it out. Unfortunately, the wind kicked up from off the lake when he was trying to set it up, and he had to find big rocks to hold the parts of the tent down while he threaded the poles through. He felt as if he were fighting Mother Nature, one on one.

Of course, the moment the tent was up, solidly anchored to the ground, the wind died.

“Yeah, that’s just great,” he muttered.

At least it hadn’t rained.

Much later as he stepped back and surveyed the site, a sense of pride welled up inside. He shook one of the tent supports and nodded when the structure stayed put. He walked the perimeter of his site and was again pleased with his location choice. The tent was partially hidden and protected by a rocky outcropping on one side and some shrubbery on another. He’d chosen a drab color so it would blend in as much as possible.

He unpacked, making sure his lantern worked and was handy for when he returned later that night. He shoved a flashlight into his back pocket and set off in the direction of the camp proper. He heard the sounds of the campers before he saw anything—people talking and laughing. Eventually he saw what seemed like an outdoor amusement park—zip lines, giant swings, bridges that spanned trees. He wanted to stop and check it out, but he really wanted to get the lay of the land. There were paths now and signs. He stayed on the path and about ten minutes later he’d arrived at the main lodge.

Telling himself there was no way they could tell he didn’t belong just from looking, he went up to the reception desk.

“Hey, do you guys have a map of the camp?” he asked.

The man frowned slightly. “There should have been one in your cabin…”

“Oh sorry. Maybe my girlfriend took it.”

“That’s no problem. Here’s another one.”

“Can I have one of those too?” he asked, spotting a “This Week at Camp Firefly Falls” flyer.

“Of course.”

“And one more thing,” he said, pushing his luck. “Remind me where I can grab some lunch?”

“Right now I’d say your best bet is the Grub Shack. Just go out those doors, make a left and you can’t miss it.”

Booth followed the man’s directions and found lots of delicious choices. No one challenged him. No one looked at him suspiciously. Maybe Alex was right and he’d get away with this crazy plan. He looked at the “This Week” flyer and when he saw the week was devoted to the movie Grease, it all made sense. Jane loved that movie and had made him watch it at least twice the summer they’d been together.

After lunch he continued surveying the camp, all the while keeping an eye out for Jane. Part of him hoped he would see her, for obvious reasons. She was the entire reason he’d spent all that money on the camping stuff, come all the way out here, and trespassed on private land. But he still wasn’t sure what he planned to say to her. He imagined the conversation might go something like this:

Hi, Jane.

Booth, what are you doing here?

Looking at the most beautiful woman in the world.

Well, that was just corny. Honest, but corny.

However, if he said it with enough earnestness, he might be able to pull that off. But what then? He had to make a decision to either come clean or lie and he didn’t like lying, not about stuff like this.

Maybe he should make a joke out of it.

I was just in the neighborhood…

I had a sudden craving for toasted marshmallows.

I’m here because I’m still in love with you, Janie.

Again, honest, maybe to a fault. That would probably scare her away and make her think he was a stalker.

Or maybe, like Calder said, it would just be wearing his heart on his sleeve and letting her make the choice.

He was just heading back to the camp proper to get an early dinner and then head back to his tent when he heard the unmistakable sound of Jane’s laughter. He turned in the direction where it came from and saw her walking with no less than four men, two on either side of her, like Dorothy Gale with one extra friend.

He suddenly decided all of this was a shitty idea after all. What was he thinking? It had all seemed kind of romantic up until reality slapped him in the face. Damn Alex and his grand gesture suggestion.

Filled with self-reproach and regret, he turned to go back to his tent. He would spend the night and then pack up all his shit, meet Shelby at the pick-up point and go home where he belonged.

Then a woman yelled, “It’s Mac! Oh my God, it’s Booth MacDonald!”

Shit.

Everyone in the immediate vicinity looked toward a woman who was fast-walking toward Booth, her jazz hands waving about her head like birds on crack. Obviously, she was a hockey fan. He should have expected he might be recognized. He also should have expected this to happen at the most inopportune time—when he was trying to escape without anyone having noticed he was here.

Mentally putting on his pro-athlete hat, he greeted the eager woman warmly. It wasn’t her fault her timing stunk. As he chatted with her, a couple more hockey fans came over. They sympathized with the Barracudas getting knocked out of the playoffs again. He spouted the usual crap about reassessing and coming back stronger next season, shook hands, posed for pictures. All the while, he was intensely aware that Jane was slowly approaching behind him. He couldn’t see her, but he could feel it. The closer she got, the more his spine prickled.

When the fans finally dispersed—after he declined an invitation to join them for dinner, because he was getting the hell out of Dodge—he turned to face her.

They smiled at each other.

“Booth, what are you doing here?” she asked. “I didn’t know you were a Grease fan.”

Booth’s eyes widened. Jane had inadvertently given him the perfect excuse for being here and even though he’d resolved not to lie to her, the lies fell from his lips like bird droppings.

“Oh, hey, how could I not be? It’s such a classic. Probably on some lists as one of the top hundred movies of all time, right? Yeah. Grease!” He flashed a double thumbs-up and grinned.

Okay. Overkill, dummy.

Crossing her arms, she looked skeptical but didn’t question him further.

Nodding toward the fans who seemed to still be chattering about meeting him, she said, “You were really gracious with them. Does that happen often?”

He shrugged. “It’s sporadic. During hockey season, it happens more often, probably because I’m in cities where there are hockey teams. During the off-season, not as much. I don’t feel I’m as recognizable as players who don’t have cages over their faces for sixty minutes, which is fine with me.”

“It’s…weird for me to see you as a celebrity.”

“Believe me, sometimes it’s weird for me too.”

“So, are you here with friends? Any other Grease-loving hockey hunks wandering around?” She shaded her eyes with her hand and made a show of looking.

He laughed. “No. It’s just me.”

Just then her four companions approached, looking none too friendly. For a crazy moment, he wondered if they were her bodyguards. A couple of them could have passed for bodyguards.

“Hey, Jane,” one of them said with a nod. “Who’s this?”

“It’s not Dylan is it?” the tattoo guy asked.

“No, this is Booth MacDonald…an old friend.”

Jane made introductions.

“Booth MacDonald…” Everett said. “Do you play hockey?”

“I do. For the San Diego Barracudas.”

Everett nodded. “Are you the same guy who got called out on yelling a gay slur at a ref?”

Shit. Just when he thought that idiotic, backward remark was behind him, it came back up again like a noxious burp long after the meal had finished.

“Yeah. Thought so,” Everett said when Booth winced.

The atmosphere got chilly real fast.

“What did he say?” Harley asked.

“He called a ref…what was it?” Everett asked Booth.

Booth winced again. “A gay piece of shit.”

The men’s expressions turned downright icy. He didn’t even dare look at Jane.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Booth said. “You probably won’t believe me, but that was the last time I ever said anything like that. You can ask Hart Griffin. You know him, right? First openly gay player in the NHL,” he explained. “He’s a good friend and it’s because of him that…anyway, I did my best to make up for it. He’ll vouch for me, honestly.”

Booth wondered if all these guys were gay. It was fairly likely, considering the camp theme for the week.

“When you say, ‘make up for it,’ what do you mean?” asked Everett. “Because if all you did was write a check…”

Booth really didn’t enjoy talking about the charitable things he did off the ice. It felt too much like boasting, but he preferred that to being thought of as a homophobic asshole who did nothing but throw money at a PR problem to make it go away. He’d still gotten flack for a while afterward. Because the Pride Parade was only a week after he’d gotten nailed for the slur, people claimed he only marched because he got caught and it was an empty gesture, which wasn’t true. Up until that point, he had treated gay bashing language as no big deal, but when Hart joined the team, his thinking began to turn around. It hadn’t quite made a complete three-sixty before “gay piece of shit” flew out of his mouth after a blatantly shitty call.

He was about to tell them about how he’d tried to make retributions when to his immense surprise, Jane did instead.

“He did a lot more than write a check, I’ll have you know,” she said. “First of all, he paid his fine to the NHL and donated the same amount to an LGBT community center. How much was that again?” she asked Booth.

Still in shock that she knew about all that stuff, he said woodenly, “Ten thousand.”

“Yeah, ten thousand dollars, which isn’t exactly chump change,” she went on. “He’s also marched in the San Diego Pride Parades and gone around to high schools and colleges to speak about acceptance and hate speech and how the two cannot coexist. If you ask me, that proves he’s changed his ways.”

Jane glanced at him uneasily then away.

“Is that true?” Everett asked.

Booth nodded.

The four men exchanged glances and then Everett said, “Good to meet you then,” and held out his hand. The other three followed suit.

They ended up dining together, a party of six. Luckily, Jane’s entourage seemed to easily set aside his previous transgressions against their brethren. But he was even happier to be spending time with Jane. He’d forgotten how much he enjoyed watching her eat. She was one of those people who really savored her meals. You could see it on her face, hear it as she moaned when something tasted especially good. It was kind of a turn-on.

He was mindful of the fact it was getting dark though. He wasn’t completely sure he could find his tent again in the dark, so even though he wanted to hang with Jane as long as possible, he laid his napkin on the table after everyone was finished eating.

“Okay, it’s been fun, but I’m going to hit the hay.”

“What about the movie?” Jane asked. “It’s an outdoor screening of an old Elvis movie. They’re serving hot chocolate with homemade marshmallows.”

Octavio nodded. “King Creole. It was Elvis’ favorite of all the movies he made, and the last one he acted in before being inducted into the army.”

“Leave it to the Elvis fan,” Harley said.

“Yeah, I’m gonna pass,” Booth said, patting his pocket to make sure his flashlight was there. He’d be shit out of luck if he didn’t have a light source to find his way back to his tent with. “I’m a little jet-lagged. Nice to meet you guys. I hope I see you tomorrow, Jane,” he said.

She smiled at him as he bent and kissed her cheek. It took a lot of effort for him to pull away. He wanted nothing more than to keep his lips there, pressed against her soft skin, so he could take in her scent and savor the moment, but it was too much too soon. He reminded himself he had all week.

As Booth left the lodge, Jane watched his tight ass. Had his ass been that tight and sexy when they were teenagers? She didn’t think so. And those thighs. They should be illegal.

“Out with the old, in with the new,” Frasier said.

“I’m sorry, what?” Jane said, dragging her attention back to the Gaydies.

“He’s not really new. He’s an ‘old friend,’” Everett said.

“What I want to know is just how friendly?” Octavio said.

“Okay, okay,” Jane said, “he’s an ex-boyfriend of mine.”

“Wrong,” Octavio said. “He’s a hottie ex-boyfriend of yours.”

“He’s a hottie ex-boyfriend of yours that you still carry a torch for,” Harley added. “As evidenced by how you came to his defense before when we were about to cut him to ribbons over that gay slur.”

“For the record, I’d play with his stick,” Harley said. “And I’d let him play with mine too.”

There was some general agreement, even from the married couple.

“He’s a goalie, too,” Everett said, “which means he’s very flexible.”

“Oh a bendable buddy!”

“Exactly.”

“Do you think he can suck his own—”

“And I’m outta here,” Jane exclaimed, standing up.

The Gaydies looked both surprised and chagrined.

“Oh, don’t go, sweetie,” Octavio said. “We forgot our manners. We’ll tone it down.”

“No, it’s okay,” she said. “I’ve got a little work to do on the blog and I wanted to go to Sunrise Yoga in the morning. I’ll see you guys at the makeup thing tomorrow, right?”

“Absolutely,” Everett said with a smile. Tavi blew her a kiss.

Once outside, Jane looked for Booth who was just handing an apparent fan his phone back and then continuing down the path.

She was walking after him before she had time to talk herself out of it, but she quickly saw she’d really have to pick up the pace if she wanted to catch up. The man had a long stride. Then she realized something strange. He’d said he was going to hit the hay but he’d already bypassed the outermost cabins. If she wasn’t mistaken, the path he was on lead to the hiking trails in the forest. Had he decided to go on a night hike? Alone? No. She couldn’t believe that. It was going to be pitch dark in about five minutes, maybe less. The lamps lighting the camp walkways, signs and buildings were already on.

That’s when he flicked on a small flashlight.

Curiouser and curiouser.

Not being in the best physical shape, she got a stitch in her side and had to slow down, which meant she’d never catch up, especially since he upped his pace to a jog. She stood there watching until his tiny light finally disappeared, wondering what was going on.