Текст книги "Sweet Obsession "

Автор книги: J. Daniels

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

Our fingers slide together as she reaches for it. I feel a jolt of energy pulse under my skin.

Brooke’s eyes widen, lowering to my mouth.

With a quick jerk, she leans forward and hovers an inch from my face, her lungs straining for breath. The movement is so abrupt and clearly so startling for her, given her staggered expression, it’s as if she is being pushed into me and held there.

“Brooke,” I murmur, looking all over her face. I bring my arm behind her and rest it on the bench, angling us together.

She blinks up at me. “Mm?”

“Do you want to kiss me?”

She doesn’t answer, but her eyes, those beautiful fucking eyes drop to my mouth and stay there, flickering open a little wider when I wet my lips.

A heaviness gathers in my limbs as I wait, and wait, and fuck, wait for her to make a move. A decision.

This is a first.

Every kiss, every sort of affection we’ve shared has been instigated and carried out by me. Sure, she’s been an active participant, minus a few of the times I’ve tried to hold her hand, but she’s never reached for me. She’s never forced the seal of our mouths together and shocked the hell out of me.

I inch closer, just the smallest shift, enough to feel her breath on my face. It’s warm and smells like fruit, something berry.

“Come on,” I whisper.

It sounds like I’m begging. I feel like I am.

Her pink tongue darts out and slides across her lips.

I can see the wild hammering of her pulse beneath her ear. I can practically hear her thoughts and the argument she wages with herself over this monumental affirmation.

Come on, Brooke.

I keep reminding myself to breathe and to not move and to just fucking wait another second. Then another. Time becomes a double-edged sword. The longer she considers this, the more shattering or satisfying the end result will become.

I’ll look back on this moment and think it was torture and damaging in the end. She wasn’t ready. She might not ever be. Or, I’ll only remember the feel of her lips and the taste of her warm breath and I’ll think, ‘I would’ve waited hours for that’.

A hand touches my thigh. My blood turns to lava, scorching and slow-moving.

Then with a gasping breath she leans in and presses the softest kiss to my mouth.

FUCK.

I’ve shared a lot of kisses with Brooke. Hot, hungry ones where it feels like I’ve captured her after a long-winded chase. Ones that seem imperative and essential to my survival. But this kiss, even though it’s fleeting and painstakingly faint, feels superior to every other kiss she has or will ever give me.

And in that moment, my life becomes profoundly simple, consisting of only one person.

Brooke.

With a quiet laugh, she pulls away and opens her cutlery. She lifts a brow when our eyes lock. “You are crazy. Did you promise to rock Rosie’s world? Is that why she made this for you?”

It takes me a minute to process her question. I’m still reeling from the ghost of a kiss that just knocked me on my arse.

I run a quick hand through my hair, gathering my wits about me. “No. I never saw Rosie, although I’m sure she’s lovely and a minx in the sack.”

Brooke laughs, reaching up and tucking some hair behind her ear.

“I asked a waitress if they could make an exception and help a poor bloke out. There was some gentle begging. I may have mentioned how badly I fucked up this morning and that I was declaring my adoration for this one particular woman through the weekly meals she’s giving me, which I’m hoping will soon convert to days.” I take a bite of my sandwich, shrugging when she turns her head. “If you think about it, I’m already creeping in on lunches. Next it will be routine dinners. Minutes in between. I’ll claim a day from you soon enough.”

“Are you talking about once a week? Like every Tuesday is Brooke and Mason day?”

I smile. “Yeah.”

“Oh, okay. In this fantasy world, do either one of us have jobs? Because I need to work.” She licks some powdered sugar off her lip. “How am I supposed to give you a day if I’m working?”

“Weekends, obviously. Or I’ll forgo your time in between meals and have you after work.” I lower my voice, leaning closer as I set my sandwich on the paper wrapping. “Although, fair warning. I might not be so willing to give you up after the sun goes down. I’ve imagined how perfect you are waking up to and if I have a chance to entertain that idea, I’m taking it.”

She stares at me for a moment, her mouth slowly lifting into a mischievous grin. “And what exactly have you imagined? Anything particularly tight and wet?”

My cock stirs beneath my shorts.

I lower my eyes to the white lace peeking out of her blouse. “Mm. And soft. I wake up with my face buried between your spectacular tits and we go from there.”

She lowers the box to her lap and shifts closer, her chest pressing against my side. “Tell me,” she murmurs.

I lift my gaze to hers.

She wants me to go into detail about what I’ve imagined more times than I can count? Now? Here?

With heavy eyes, she slowly nods as if she’s heard my internal thoughts. Her hand moves back to my thigh.

I swallow, my heart pounding in my chest, my cock quickly lengthening as pornographic thoughts run rampant in my mind. I turn my body more and hold the sandwich bag strategically in my lap, concealing my unwelcome erection.

This is a crowded park. There’s bloody kids running around. I can’t will my prick not to react to this woman, but I can at least keep it hidden.

“Dirty girl,” I whisper against her ear. “You want to know what I think about?”

“Yes,” she replies breathlessly. Her hand squeezes my leg.

“I lick and suck your tits until they’re wet enough for me to slide between. Will you let me fuck them, Brooke? I want to. God, I’ve thought about it. Your hot little mouth opening for me, lapping at my head. Your gorgeous eyes going round while I milk my cum onto your nipples.”

“Oh, God,” she gasps.

“I dream about your tits, Brooke. And your arse.”

She blinks rapidly. “My ass?”

“Fuck yeah, your arse. Are you kidding? I want to come on that too.”

Her hand moves closer to my cock. “What else? Just . . . keep going. I won’t touch you. I just want to drive you a little crazy.”

I groan when her fingers brush against my length. “Brooke . . .”

“Oops. Sorry,” she says through a giggle, jerking her hand back. “I forgot how much room you take up down there. That was an accident.” Her hand tightens on my leg. “Go on. What happens before you come on my ass?”

I bend to kiss her mouth. I can’t fucking help it. Sugar coats my tongue, and again, I’m reminded of the way her skin tasted the other night.

My hand forms to her neck and she tilts her head. “I get you face-down on my bed. You ask me to spank you, and I make you beg for it. I bite and lick your skin. I straddle your legs and hold your ass so I can slide my cock between your cheeks. And then,” I pause, kissing along her jaw, smiling against her cheek when she lets out a shuddering breath.

“And then?” she asks.

“I found a quarter!” a tiny voice yells, way too fucking close to whatever the hell is happening on this bench.

With a muffled curse, I frantically move the sandwich bag further up my lap.

Brooke yanks her hand away and falls against my side, laughing unashamedly with a hand to her chest.

“Having a good time?” I ask her before addressing this little mood killer.

I pull back and stare between the round face in front of me and the coin that’s being held out for me to notice.

“Look!” The young boy turns the quarter in the air. “There’s only ever pennies in there. Sometimes nickels. I found an actual quarter!”

“Brilliant. Why don’t you run along now?”

“Aw, let me see.” Brooke holds her hand out and takes the coin. She studies it for a moment, smiles coyly at me when our eyes meet, then places it back in the boy’s hand. “That’s so cool. What’s your name?”

I gape at her.

Is she bloody serious? Does she not know how uncomfortable this is for me? What’s next? Asking the little bugger if he’d like to join us for lunch?

“Willie!” A woman yells, waving her hands in the air and running at me.

Jesus fuck! Can she see my cock from there?

Heart racing, I look down into my adequately concealed lap.

No. Everything’s good here. Nothing hanging out.

My pulse steadies. I suddenly remember how to breathe.

When the woman stops beside the boy and places a hand on his shoulder, I realize she was calling out for him, not announcing to everyone here that I was giving shows.

She gives me an apologetic look, then glares at the kid. “What have I told you about walking up to strangers? Come on. It’s time to go.” She tugs on his hand and leads him down the footpath.

Brooke laughs unapologetically as she settles back against the bench, then stares down at the bag covering my now flaccid cock. “How are things down there? Anything turning a shade of blue yet?”

“You’re the devil.” I move the bag and pick up my neglected roast beef sandwich. “Let’s spend the rest of your lunch-hour eating, shall we? Hands where I can see them.”

She picks up her fork and shoves a massive bite into her mouth. Her lips strain to close. “So good,” she says, although it sounds more like the noise a dying animal might make.

We laugh and eat under the midday sun, and I slip a little bit further under Brooke’s spell.

BROOKE

Camping . . .

Am I completely insane?

Not only do I have absolutely no idea why I agreed to this absurdity, I also have no clue how to pack for a weekend in the wilderness.

Outdoors. Zero climate control. According to my weather app, I’m looking at temperatures anywhere between forty and eighty-five degrees this weekend.

Say what? That’s basically my entire closet. Random Packing 101 right here.

I have jammed my oversized Victoria’s Secret duffle bag full of the oddest combination of clothing. Shorts, sweatshirt, bathing suit, a pair of snow pants just in case. I refuse to be unprepared for this. I even break another shopping rule and run out to the local sporting goods store to grab a few camping essentials, or at least what I classify as camping essentials.

Is there such a thing as too much bug-spray? Are road flares frowned upon at campsites? The answer is no and I don’t really give a fuck.

I have never been camping. I never wanted to be a girl scout. I have absolutely no desire to spend any time outside unless I’m lounging by a pool with a fruity umbrella drink.

There are outdoorsy people, and then there’s me.

So, why am I lugging this duffle out of my car and surrendering myself to Mother Nature for two days? Simple.

Orgasms. Mason’s mouth in general. That accent? Jesus. I can listen to him talk for hours. And . . . okay, if I’m being honest, it’s not terrible hanging out with him and doing things that don’t involve safe words.

He makes me laugh. A lot. The only other time men I’ve been interested in have made me laugh in the past is when they’ve dropped their pants.

That didn’t happen with Mason. That will never happen with Mason. I will take his cock very seriously.

And soon, if I have any say in the matter.

After locking up my car and making sure I have everything I think I’ll need, I adjust the strap on my shoulder and wait for a break in traffic.

It’s nearly six-thirty and the sky is beginning to warm with the approaching sunset. Reds and deep oranges color the clouds. The air is slowly dropping in temperature.

Thank God for the sweatshirt I packed. I may need it before we get to the campsite.

Across the street, Mason carries a large cooler around to the back of his car. He’s been loading up for the past ten minutes, not that I’ve been watching from the bakery window or anything.

Okay, I have. He’s excited, and it’s kind of cute to watch him step back and evaluate his packing job. Move things around. Scratch his head when the back door won’t latch shut and then pull everything out and start over.

Frustrated Mason King is surprisingly sexy, and I’m guessing not something people get to see very often, being Mr. Zen.

Traffic finally slows and I step off the curb. I get halfway across the street before Mason turns his head and notices me.

He looks fucking edible in dark gray warmups and a yellow graphic tee.

Fucking. Edible.

His hair is a blonde wavy mess, messier when he pushes a hand through it as he watches me. Both of us are in sneakers, which I had to run home for after he sent me a text this afternoon.

Mason: Your arse looks amazing in those heels. It also looks amazing in runners. That’s what you should be wearing this weekend. Lots of walking, gorgeous.

How did I forget about shoes? I remember floss and a nail file, but comfortable shoes? Not a priority.

After setting the cooler down on the back of the car, Mason jogs over and takes my duffle.

“Here. I’ll take that.” He slides the bag off my shoulder and lifts it with one hand, gauging the weight. His brows pull together as we move to the car. “A bit heavy, yeah? You pack for both of us?”

I hook a thumb behind me. “Oh, that’s just my lube. My clothes are in my other bag. Can you grab it?”

His face right now? Priceless.

Mouth falling open. Alarmed eyes shifting between the bag in his hand and my face. His lips pinch together after a few seconds of utter shock, and he fights a smile through a shake of his head. “Your lube? Jesus, Brooke. A bit of a wasted purchase, don’t you think?”

We stop at the back of the car. Mason moves a few things around to make room for my bag.

“Wasted? How is stocking up on lube a wasted purchase? You should always have some handy, just in case. And they last a while. I don’t think they expire for like two years or something.”

“Do you have any idea how wet I make you? You don’t need lube, sweetheart. Not with me.”

I cross my arms, leaning against the side of the car. “Are you sure about that? What about anal?”

He freezes, keeping his hands on the duffle after he stuffs it beside the cooler.

His head is down. Profile tense and body deathly rigid.

There is something extremely satisfying about supplying Mason with another spank-bank image. I like the high it gives me, knowing he’ll get off on that later. Picturing my body to seek out his release.

Enjoy that.

Laughing at my own cleverness, I start to move to the sidewalk, but he reaches out and grabs me, pinning my body between him and the bumper. My breath hitches when his hand connects sharply with my ass and stays there, his other roughly roaming over my curves.

His touch is possessive. Indecent.

I mold to his front like warm putty. I suddenly feel drugged.

So much for having the upper hand.

“Don’t give me any ideas about this perfect fucking arse, Brooke. Unless you want me to show you why we wouldn’t need lube for that either.” He sucks on the skin beneath my ear, then drops his hands, moving away as suddenly as this delicious assault came on. “You ready to get going? I want to set up camp before dark,” he says, completely casually, grabbing a rolled up sleeping bag off the sidewalk and sliding it next to my duffle.

I blink him into focus, reaching up and wiping my chin. I’m surprised it’s not wet with drool.

“Y-Yeah, sure. Just let me use the bathroom first.”

Jesus. Pull yourself together, Brooke.

I rush inside the studio before I see or hear his reaction to my obvious discomposure.

Lord, the man’s hands are wicked. Paired with that voice? I’m completely defenseless.

“You started it,” I mumble to myself as I tie my hair up off my heated neck. I guess it serves me right for trying to get a rise out of Mason.

He got one. I definitely felt it. And now I can very easily confirm his statement about not needing lube.

I push the door open at the top of the stairs and step out into the loft.

The room is exactly how I remember it from my first embarrassing experience up here. Lots of grays and blues. Massive wood-panel bed. A small kitchen table that looks to also be serving as a desk. It’s covered in membership forms and signed contracts. A laptop. A book about franchising.

I walk over to the accent chair in the corner and pick up the stuffed koala. I crush it to my chest.

“Hey, mate,” I whisper.

He kept it.

After using the bathroom and washing my hands, I stop at the refrigerator to hopefully grab a bottle of water. Something to hold in the car when my hands become restless. I swing the door open and startle at the contents littering the shelves.

Boxes. Bakery boxes. A lot of them.

Why are there so many?

“What the hell?” I grab the closest one in reach and open the lid. Four cupcakes fill the container. Four cupcakes I made. Completely untouched. I set the box down and reach for another. And another. Each one still exactly how I delivered it. No bites taken. None of the icing sampled. I find the first box I gave to Mason on the sidewalk the morning we met. The only cupcake that has been disturbed is the dolce and banana I tasted for him.

He isn’t eating anything I give him. He’s not even tasting them.

Why? Does he not like cupcakes? Fuck, if that’s the case, why is he allowing me to make it rain desserts every time we see each other?

I put the boxes back on the shelf and grab some water. I can’t get back outside fast enough. When I push the studio door open, I charge at Mason with my bottle pointed at his chest.

“Why is your fridge filled with cupcakes? What is going on?”

The smile on his face diminishes the second I get those words out.

I lower the bottle. I almost tell him to forget what I just said.

He looks uncomfortable, maybe a bit anxious. His eyes are shifting about the sidewalk while he rubs the back of his neck.

But damn it, I want to know. I’m too curious to drop this. And I’m not going anywhere until he explains what I’ve just discovered.

With a sigh, he pushes away from the car and steps forward, lifting his shoulders. “Because you made them,” he quietly states, stopping a foot away. “I don’t eat stuff like that, Brooke. I haven’t in a long time.”

“So tell me and I won’t push them on you. Jesus. I can’t believe you never said anything.”

“I don’t eat them. I didn’t say I don’t like getting them. You’re so proud of what you make. I am too.”

What . . . did he just say?

I stare at him as something warm bursts open in my chest, spreading from my neck to my navel. My shoulders sag. I chew nervously on the inside of my cheek.

He keeps them because he’s proud of me?

How can someone be so straight-up filthy one minute and this sweet the next? He’s like this beautiful balance of dark and light, dirty and decent, and he seems to know exactly when to be one and when to give me the other.

Keeping one cupcake because I make it is surprising enough. He keeps them all.

Every single one.

Mason watches my reaction, and what does he do? He waits. He waits while I absorb what he’s just disclosed. This completely insane, yet incredibly affectionate gesture. He doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t move closer and kiss my cheek, or tell me I look pretty while I struggle to comprehend this.

He just simply waits, and it’s so him, and so what I need him to do right now.

I lower my gaze to his arms, the same arms that just had me pinned roughly to that hard body without giving me much of a choice about it.

Funny. Now I’m tempted to willingly throw myself into them.

I don’t fight it.

“God, Mason.” I reach for his shirt and pull us together. My head hits his chest. I barely move but my heart is pounding. “What are you doing?” I whisper, allowing my eyes to close.

He wraps his strong arms around my body, squeezing me. “I don’t know. I couldn’t throw them out.”

I smile against the soft cotton.

We stand there for several minutes. My head never moves. His arms never leave me. It’s soothing, the constant pressure of his hold, and somehow it feels strangely familiar. Like he’s held me like this for years. Like I’ve known him my entire life, and in the moments when I’ve needed someone to be with me like this, it’s always been him.

No one else.

Sighing, I snuggle the tiniest bit closer, clutching my water bottle between us. “You’re crazy.”

“Yeah.”

“Promise me you’ll toss them when they start to grow mold.”

“All right.”

I crane my neck and kiss his jaw. “Now, take me camping before I realize I’m just as crazy as you are.”

He smiles, kissing my temple. Tipping up my chin to steal my mouth.

Or maybe I just give it to him.

“This is where we’re camping? Really?” I unbuckle my seat belt and lean forward, looking out the window at our surroundings.

Dirt covered parking lot. One single lamp post lighting the area.

I turn to Mason, smiling. “You fingered me here.”

With a sly grin, he winks at me before exiting the car.

Mm. Ready to build on that stellar experience, Mr. King?

I take a sip of my water and meet him around the back to help unload.

Mason insists on carrying the bulk of our stuff as he leads the way down a small narrow path toward the campsites. I follow behind, clutching the sleeping bag against my chest. Tall trees surround us. I can barely see the darkening sky through the branches.

I move closer until I’m practically climbing onto his back.

He talks the entire time, as if he can sense my apprehension behind him. He talks about camping with his dad back in Australia. How his sisters never had any interest in going until his friends started tagging along. He tells me he came by here the other day to stake out the grounds for our weekend. There’s a lake, and a few hiking trails he thinks I’ll enjoy checking out. He smiles over his shoulder when I let out a doubtful chuckle, which I play up. I like lakes. I might like hiking.

It’s as if the fresh air is drugging me.

When we reach a large clearing in the woods, I watch Mason set everything down by two logs. Tent. Cooler. My bag and his. He kicks some rocks and branches out of the way and immediately goes about setting up the tent.

I drop the sleeping bag and look around.

It’s a wide-open space, room enough for at least a handful of other tents, but we’re alone. There’s a fire pit contained by an ill-defined rock formation. It resembles somewhat of a circle. The wood in the center looks recently burned. A metal grill that seems to be a courtesy for campers to use is located next to a large rectangular picnic table.

Nice. At least we won’t have to eat with our asses in the dirt.

Stepping to the edge of the clearing, I stand on my toes and peer through a break in the trees.

“Hey. We’re right by the lake,” I tell Mason, looking over my shoulder. “Did you know that?”

Literally, right by it. It can’t be more than fifty feet away.

His smiling face appears from around the back of the tent. “Yeah. That’s one of the reasons why I picked this campsite. The other two are pretty secluded and nowhere near the toilets. Figured you’d do better out here if I kept us in walking distance of those.”

“Good thinking. I’d hate you for life if you told me I had to go pee in a bucket or something.”

His chuckle is broken up by the sound of my ringtone. I pull my phone out of my back pocket and look at the screen.

“Hey, Juls,” I answer, watching Mason disappear again behind the tent.

“Hey, stranger. I feel like I haven’t talked to you in forever. Where are you?”

“Camping.”

My nephew Jacob yells something in the background. I hear Ian’s voice, then the sound of a door closing. “Say that again? It sounded like you said camping.” She laughs. “Jesus. Can you imagine? You? Camping? I think there’s a better chance of Ian carrying our next child.”

I roll my eyes. “I did say camping. And Ian probably could carry a baby if he wanted to. He’s hormonal as shit.”

“What?”

“I said he’s hormonal . . .”

“Not that,” she brusquely cuts me off. “You’re camping right now? With who?”

Mason moves on to the next post, securing it down with a spike. I spin around and face the trees.

“Mason,” I murmur, playing with the hem of my shirt.

Juls inhales a sharp breath. “Oh, really? The hot Australian from the bar,” she states, her voice lifting with her obvious approval of this development. “Mm. He was really nice. Are you still seeing him? I figured that would be done by now.”

I move as far away from the tent as I can get without stepping into the woods. I lower my voice to a stern whisper. “I’m not seeing him like that. We’re just hanging out, okay? It’s not a big deal.”

“Just hanging out doing what, Brooke? Dating? Being in a relationship?”

“Shut up,” I snap. “And stop grinning like an idiot. I can totally hear it in your voice.”

“Look at you,” she laughs. “First sign of being in love is denial. Welcome to the club, sis.”

“Oh, my God,” I groan, rubbing my forehead. “I’m hanging up.”

“Wait! Are we still on for dinner next week?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, good. Jake and Izzy miss their favorite aunt. You need to come over more.”

“Fine. I gotta go.”

My shoulders ache with tension. Why did I even answer this call? Juls is always giving me grief.

“All right. But Brooke? Just remember . . .”

There is a long pause. I drum my fingers on my jeans and sigh exhaustively. Her breathy laugh pushes through the line.

“You’re my sister. I love you, and I will totally give you a discount when it’s time to plan the wedding. Don’t think . . .”

I disconnect the call and power off my phone.

God, she is completely insane. How are we even related?

Stepping over a log, I drop the phone onto my bag. I begin to pace in front of our gear, kicking up dirt and cracking my knuckles. I try and sit down on the cooler, but my ass barely touches it before I’m springing to my feet again.

I should’ve let that call go to voicemail. Now I’m restless and ready to chew my nails off.

I risk a glance at Mason. He’s staring at me like I’m in the middle of a psychotic break.

Talking. Talking might settle me. I can talk. I’m fucking awesome at talking.

“So, possible showers tomorrow night. Did you see? Like a ten percent chance. Not much, but still.”

He positions a stake in the ground. “I think it’ll hold off.”

“It was fifteen percent earlier, then they dropped it to ten.”

“Yeah.”

“If I got naked right now and jumped into the lake, what would you do?”

I look over to where Mason is crouched down beside the tent. His hammer is suspended in the air.

He looks startled. Confused maybe? I can elaborate.

“I mean, obviously, you’d look. Who wouldn’t? But would you take off your clothes and follow after me? Or would you continue pitching that tent and the one in your shorts?”

“Are you planning on getting naked and jumping into the lake?” he asks, lowering the hammer and resting his elbow on his knee.

I shrug, kicking a rock out of the way. “Maybe. I don’t know. I’ve never been skinny dipping before. Shocking, right? You would think I’ve done that, but no.” A nervous laugh bubbles in my throat. “I’m just wondering what you would do if I did it.”

“Probably follow you.”

“Would you get in?”

He hits the spike once, then looks back up at me. When he tries to answer, I cut him off.

“Have you ever done that before? Gone skinny dipping?”

“No.”

“Yeah, me either.” I step over the log and continue my pacing. “Mm. We’re both virgin skinny dippers. That’s cute.”

He hits the spike a few more times. The branches under my feet snap.

“How old were you when you lost your virginity?” I ask, chewing on my thumb nail.

“Brooke.” Mason catches my gaze and studies it. He slowly rises to his feet. “Are you okay?”

I stop behind the log.

Am I? Fuck. He’s looking at me like I’m definitely not okay. Like I’m some wild animal he’s just encountered out here and he’s trying his hardest not to startle me.

I exhale a quick breath. My hand falls away. “I’m fine,” I tell him, stepping over the log again. “Just killing time while you . . .” I pause, looking up at the large red and gray house Mason has pitched. “Oh, you’re finished. Nice.”

Holy fuck. This thing is enormous! Not at all what I pictured in my head when he suggested we do this.

Two-man tent. Close quarters. Little room for space between our sweaty naked bodies.

Mm. Maybe I can unpack and spread my clothes out on one side. That should help force the two of us together. This portable condominium is large enough to contain Joey and his personality. Not many things are.

Mason drops the small hammer by our bags and comes to stand next to me. His hand circles my back. “Are you cold?” he asks when a shiver chases up my spine. “I can build a fire.”

I look from the tent to our surroundings again, my arms hugging my body. Mysterious noises rustle the branches of the trees. Crickets sing into the night. It’ll be fully dark soon.

A knot forms in my stomach.

From being out here? From my conversation with Juls? I can’t seem to tell.

“Maybe we can just stay in tonight?” I softly suggest, turning back to Mason.

He cocks his head, trying to understand. I’m sure he thinks I mean stay in tonight, in the car.

I might. Give me an hour.

“We have all day tomorrow to be out in this . . . stuff. You know?” I gesture around us, then at the tent. “Honestly, I’m feeling a little anxious, if you didn’t notice. This is a lot for me, Mason. Being out here. Roughing it. Could we just stay in the tent the rest of the night? Would that be horrible?”

A gentle smile lifts the corner of his mouth. “You, all to myself in a tent? Nothing horrible about that.” He tugs on my pony. “You want a fire or no?”

I shake my head, spinning around to open my bag. “No. I’m really not that cold. Can we walk to the bathrooms though? I want to brush my teeth and stuff.”

“Yeah, sure.”

He grabs his toothbrush and a flashlight, leading me down another path after he stores our things inside the tent.

I’m one extremely happy girl when it takes us no more than a minute to get to the bath houses. I can easily find this on my own.

We separate and wash up. I scrub my face clean and fix my hair into a sleeker pony.

When we get back to the campsite, it’s nearly dark. Mason unzips the flap on the tent and holds it open for me to climb inside.

I toe my shoes off and step in.

“Wow. Swanky,” I say, admiring the large dome ceiling and mesh windows. He’s left them partially unzipped, allowing for a cool breeze and the moonlight to cut through.

Mason smiles as he ducks to enter and closes us inside. He sets the flashlight down and turns on a lantern, sitting it on top of the cooler. Soft light fills the tent. He kneels and unrolls the sleeping bag in the center of the space.