Trusting You and Other Lies

  My legs squeezed together. Did that mean he was suggesting he be my first? Volunteering for the position? “And I’d be your fourth or fifth,” I counted out on my fingers. “Special.”

  “Hey, that didn’t mean anything.” He scooted his chair closer so it was just at the end of the desk.

  “Says every guy in history, but it had to mean something.” I slid up on his bed. I hadn’t realized how far I’d let myself recline. “Or else you wouldn’t have done it. Again. And again.”

  Callum exhaled as a frustrated look settled on his face. He was quiet for a minute, staring out the window at the rain still pummeling down. His face cleared suddenly. “Have you ever eaten a porterhouse steak?”

  I wasn’t sure I’d heard him right. We’d just been talking about sex, and now he was bringing up steak? “Not following.”

  He stared at the window a little longer before looking at me. “A porterhouse steak is like the best damn thing in the whole world. There is nothing better in this galaxy or the next one over. Nothing.”

  I wasn’t a big red-meat eater, so I shrugged. “Okay, I believe you.”

  “Have you ever eaten packing popcorn?”

  My nose curled. “Now, that I definitely have not eaten.”

  “Yeah, well, I have.” He must have seen the question on my face. “Don’t ask. Big brothers and dares—that’s all I’m going to say. Anyway, it tastes like chemical air and goes down like sandpaper. The worst stuff ever.”

  “In this galaxy and the next one over?”

  He smiled at me. “Exactly.”

  “I feel like you’re trying to make a point, but the packing popcorn is throwing me.” My eyes narrowed as I tried to figure out what had gotten us from sex to comparing substances of a questionably edible quality.

  Callum looked at me, like the answer should have been obvious. Then he pointed at me. “You are the porterhouse. The best. All those other girls, any other girl, they’re packing popcorn.” He shook his head, never breaking eye contact. “They hold no appeal, and yeah, sure, I might have tried a bite, but I sure as hell am not doing it again.”

  My chest hurt right then. I experienced that tightness I’d heard described before but never actually felt. I thought I knew the name for the feeling, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to say it out loud yet.

  “So I’m a big slab of meat?”

  He chuckled. “I think my point more had to do with them being packing popcorn, but yeah”—one shoulder lifted and stayed there—“you’re the best damn porterhouse steak in this galaxy and beyond.”

  “You really love your analogies, dove boy.”

  He grumbled and shook his head, giving me a look that told me he knew I was giving him a hard time. “Fine. Still not convinced?” He suddenly shot from his chair, lunged across the room, and sprang up onto the top bunk above me, and in one smooth motion, he leaped from the bunk to the rafters.

  With one hand clamped around one of the beams, his other arm and the rest of his body stretched out beneath, he smiled down at me, still swinging from his insane leap. “There,” he said, pointing at the floor below him. “That’s where those other girls are, and here”—he smacked the beam with one hand, now swinging from just one arm—“is where you are, way up here.” Instead of grabbing onto the rafter again, he let his arm fall at his side. Show-off. “But we’re talking each inch from there to here is like a mile. Or a thousand. The point is, they’re down there and you’re up here.” His gaze dipped from the floor to the roof before landing on me. “Now, can we just stop talking about it? Before I run out of analogies and superhuman feats, and quite possibly break my neck?”

  I couldn’t stop smiling up at him, swinging above me like a monkey to make a point. When I’d asked Keats to tell me how he felt about me, he’d lowered my hand to his crotch to “show” me what I did to him. Yeah, I’d take Callum’s version any day.

  “You’ve made your point,” I shouted up at him. “Come down before you hurt the cabin.”

  He waggled his brows, and instead of swinging to the top bunk the way he’d come, he dropped to the floor. It wasn’t exactly a kiddie-size drop, either. When his feet hit the floor, a sharp grunt followed.

  “Are you okay?” I scrambled up, tossing the books from my lap. “What did you break, sprain, or damage?”

  With a grimace of pain on his face, he half stumbled, half fell closer, until he’d fallen right over me. I shrieked, worried he really had hurt himself, then one arm found my waist, pulling me close; the other moved to the headboard, shoving on it until he’d lowered us into a more horizontal than upright position.

  My thighs squeezed together feeling him on top of me. All of him on top of me.

  “That worked better than I’d planned.” His arm lowered from the headboard to my ponytail. He wound it around his fingers, burying his hand in the base of it.

  “Are you okay?” I managed. His hips shifted above mine, and instead of moving to the side like they typically did, he fitted them over mine. The blankets were still between us and everything, but it wasn’t like they provided that much of a buffer. I could still feel him.

  “I’m very okay.” His hand tightened in my hair, and just when I thought he was going to kiss me, he stopped. His eyes cleared a little. “Listen, if there’s anything I do, anywhere I touch, that doesn’t feel right, let me know, okay? I’ll stop.” His lips brushed mine gently. “You set the pace.”

  I bobbed my head and wiggled my arms free from beneath him. He was touching me in all the right places, and I wanted a turn. “Okay.” Wow. I did not have that sultry bedroom voice I’d imagined or hoped I would.

  “You can trust me. You know that, right?”

  I bit my lip when he shifted again. He was just trying to find a comfortable position, but every time his hips moved against mine, “comfort” wasn’t on my mind.

  “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t trust you.” I moved my hand behind his head. “It’s okay,” I whispered before his lips dropped to mine.

  I froze for a second, like I always did when he kissed me, but he knew how to unthaw me. His tongue traced the seam of my lips, parting my mouth before touching mine.

  I kissed him back, moving my other hand down his side. I’d passed the frozen stage and moved on to the unable-to-breathe one. It didn’t matter what we did or how long we did it—I never moved past this stage. A rumble vibrated in his throat when my kissing moved past the slow-and-sweet category. His hand stayed buried in my hair, the other one snug around my waist, but I wasn’t as content to keep my hands glued in place.

  The one sliding down his side stopped at the waist of his jeans. Slipping my pinkie just inside, I skimmed it across his stomach, slowing when it got to the middle. His chest started falling against mine harder, faster. When I traced the line a bit lower on the return trip, he trembled.

  Just one little pinkie. Barely skimming his skin. If that could make him tremble, I wondered what doing other things would do to him. It made me want to find out.

  I didn’t stop kissing him as I flattened my palm against his stomach, and this time I slid it up the canyon of his abs, stopping on his chest. My fingers curled into him, trying to pull him closer.

  His kisses deepened, like he was trying to pull me closer, too.

  I didn’t remember reaching for the bottom of his shirt, but I did remember pulling it over his head and arms. I didn’t remember where I threw it, but I did remember the way he looked hovering above me without a shirt, his mouth parted from breathing hard, his chest moving like something was trying to escape from it.

  He sat up, straddling me, as he started unbuttoning the flannel I was wearing. He hesitated after the first button, looking at me like he was checking to see if this was okay. I’d barely nodded, and the next button was free. The rest followed in what felt like no time at all. At first he kind of froze, looking down at me with that conflicted look I’d seen on him before. I didn’t want him to stop. I didn’t want to go all the way yet, but that didn?
??t mean I wanted him to stop.

  Shoving up from the mattress, I let the flannel slide off my shoulders and pulled the sleeves free from each arm.

  We were at eye level, and I could tell he was trying to keep his eyes on mine, but it was so hard I could almost make out the beads of sweat forming at his hairline. Harry would have said he had the self-control of a Jedi Master…but it felt wrong thinking about my little brother when I was deep into make-out territory.

  Just as I started to move toward him, his eyes captured mine. I couldn’t remember a time I’d ever seen them so alive, not even that time on the river. “God, Phoenix. I can’t breathe when I’m with you.”

  When his hand reached for mine, I reached for his. “When I’m in your bed and just removed my shirt?”

  His fingers slid through mine and he smiled. “Anytime I’m with you.”

  He was just pulling me closer—or was that me pulling him closer?—when the cabin door fired open and someone strutted inside. Callum moved quickly, throwing the covers over me.

  “Holy…!” Ethan braked to a stop, his mouth dropping as far as his jaw would allow from the looks of it.

  “Turn around!” Callum hollered.

  Ethan kept doing everything but turning around while I started wiggling into Callum’s flannel again.

  “That meant now, asshole!” Callum popped off when he noticed Ethan still staring.

  Callum’s jaw set as he reached for something on his nightstand. He fired a pair of balled-up socks at Ethan and managed to whack him across the face.

  “Dude, you guys just made my summer.” I couldn’t see him thanks to the tensed chest barricade blocking me, but Ethan’s voice was the equivalent of high-fiving a packed room.

  Callum’s shoulder tensed so much his neck almost disappeared. “Shut the hell up, Ethan.”

  Fastening the last button, I slid from behind the human wall.

  Callum grabbed my hand and tugged on it, but when I stayed my ground, he let me go.

  Ethan’s grin stretched from ear to ear as I grabbed something off Evan’s nightstand. I didn’t figure he’d mind me borrowing it, especially when he found out what I’d used it for.

  “Someone told you to shut the hell up, right?” I plastered on a smile as I approached Ethan.

  “Maybe,” he said around a shrug. “Selective hearing.”

  I kept the smile in place as I rolled to a stop in front of him. It wasn’t until I’d started pulling on the item of Evan’s that Ethan’s face started to change. I heard Callum’s footsteps moving up behind me, but he didn’t force his way between us. He was letting me take care of this.

  When I figured I’d pulled enough free from the roll, I tore it off with my teeth. This stuff was tough.

  Ethan gave an overdone shiver. “Duct tape?” His smile pitched high on one side. “I didn’t take you for the kinky type, New Girl, but here you go. Do your worst.” Clasping his hands together, Ethan held his wrists up for me to bind.

  That wasn’t the body part I had in mind, though.

  Stepping a little to the side, I lifted the piece of tape higher, past his neck, and before he knew what was happening, I had it stretched tightly across his mouth.

  I gave it a few rubs, just to make sure it was good and stuck, and then I smiled up at him like I was the most innocent thing on this side of the planet. “There. How’s that for kinky?”

  Behind me, Callum barked out a laugh and followed me toward the door, but as he was passing Ethan, Callum clapped his hand over Ethan’s shoulder. “Warned you.”

  “You’ve got it wrong.”

  That was all I’d heard today, and this last one was the tipping point.

  “That’s never going to hold.”

  Across the table, Harry scooted down the bench a little, like he was worried that when I blew, he was in the worst possible location.

  “And how do you know that, Gretchen?” I twisted in my seat and looked at her. I was the counselor leading Lincoln Log Mania scheduled this afternoon in the dining hall, but she’d taken the reins from me on this like she had just about every other craft, project, and game I’d been in charge of the past few weeks.

  She was pretty much the queen of indoor recess.

  “The base you built.” She moved up behind me and waved her hand at the Lincoln Log house I’d spent the last three hours of my life building. “The foundation is all wrong. Everything you build on top of it is not going to hold if you don’t get the base right.” Gretchen gave my Lincoln Log shack another sad wave before shaking her head and moving down the line, barking suggestions and comments as if she was running the activity.

  Like I cared if she was.

  I was so sick of being trapped inside the dining hall day in and day out, cleaning dried glue from the tables and picking tiny beads up from the floor I was about to go Mount St. Helens all over this place.

  If it hadn’t been for my morning runs and evening “study” sessions with Callum, I would have been committed days ago. There was only so much crafting one person could take, and I’d hit my limit after the first day. Crafts just weren’t my thing. Creative expression was something I equated with medieval torture practices.

  I hadn’t been scheduled to lead anything even remotely outdoorsy. Although when I’d complained about that to Callum earlier in the week, he’d brought up that I’d gotten to forage for leaves and flowers with the “crafts bunch” before locking ourselves up in the dining hall to layer them into presses. That was not my idea of enjoying the great outdoors, but I knew he’d just been trying to cheer me up, so I let him…and then I really let him.

  Callum had been my saving grace lately, Harry had been my welcome distraction, Dad was still MIA, and Mom I’d just done everything I could to steer clear of. I wasn’t ready to talk yet after everything she’d told us. I wasn’t sure I ever would be, because what was there to talk about? It wasn’t like I could talk myself out of this. What was coming was coming.

  “You can build that as high as you want, but it’s just going to fall apart at the slightest wobble.” Gretchen had made her way around the table and was across from me now, shaking her head between my “house” and me. “You might as well start over and get it right this time.”

  My teeth ground together. Harry scooted farther down the bench, shoving his friends with him.

  “It’s fine. Thank you—so much—for your concern, but I built it just fine. How’s yours coming along?”

  Hint, hint.

  “Finished.” Gretchen waved down at the end of the table, where what looked like a Lincoln Log estate had been constructed. I checked the clock on the wall to see if I’d accidentally let seventy-two hours pass when I thought it had just been three. No can do. We hadn’t even reached the two-hour mark, and I was about to take a couple of the longer, narrower Lincoln Log pieces and jab my eyes out with them. “Kind of like how your house is going to be if the table does this.” Grabbing on the edge of the table, Gretchen gave it a shake. It wasn’t that much of one really, but it was enough.

  My house fell over.

  “See what I mean? If you don’t get the foundation right, you might as well just start from scratch.” She shrugged and managed to both give me a look of sympathy and pity, before moving down the line.

  Grabbing the base of what had been my house, I dropped it onto the floor after shoving off the bench. Heads whipped around as Lincoln Log building came to a standstill. “I’ll be right back,” I announced to the group, but no one made eye contact.

  I marched through the dining hall, stormed into the kitchen, and didn’t stop to give it a second thought before pounding on Ben’s office door. I couldn’t take it anymore. If this was how I was going to spend the last two weeks at camp, he could just fire me because I’d had it.

  Crafts paraphernalia would haunt my nightmares for the rest of my life after this summer.

  “Come in,” Ben hollered.

  I was already shoving open the door.

  “Phoenix?” I
t was like he was surprised to see me. “Aren’t you leading Lincoln Log Mania right now?”

  “That’s why I’m here.” I started pacing in front of his desk. “I can’t take it anymore.”

  Ben leaned back in his office chair and wrapped his arms behind his head like he was relaxing. At least one of us was. “You can’t take what anymore?”

  “Being the crafts activity bitch. Day in. Day out.”

  If Ben was surprised by my word choice, he didn’t show it. Instead, he did a slow spin in his chair. “I thought you were enjoying it.”

  My eyes widened into saucers. “Who did you hear that from? Masochist Illustrated?”

  Instead of answering, Ben did a couple more spins in his chair. “And am I to take it that the reason you’re sharing this with me is because you’d like me to do something about it?”

  I wiped my hands off on my shirt. I was so worked up I was actually hand sweating. Gross. “Yes, but if you can’t, then I’d like to know so I can give you my notice.”

  Ben smiled at his desk. “Your two-week notice?”

  I sighed. There were only two weeks left of summer. “So are you saying I’m wearing the crafts bitch crown the rest of summer? Because if you fire me, I don’t need to worry about the notice thing.”

  “Have you done something that would give me a reason to fire you?” Ben steepled his hands in front of him. “Because I guess these days an employer has to have a really good reason for firing someone. Lawyers and their red tape.”

  I thought about that. I didn’t have to think long. I’d probably done half a dozen things that were worthy of a firing. Leaving my Lincoln Log hell being the most recent offense.

  “Take your pick. If there’s a right way to do it, chances are I’ve done it wrong.”

  Ben made a face. “That’s how we learn. We can’t do it right the first time all the time.”

  “So does that mean you’ll take me off crafts duty?” I stopped in front of his desk. I couldn’t read his face. He could have been experiencing nirvana as easily as he could have been getting a cavity filled. With Ben, sometimes it was hard to tell. “Or does that mean you’re firing me?”