Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 20192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 101(@200wpm)___ 81(@250wpm)___ 67(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 20192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 101(@200wpm)___ 81(@250wpm)___ 67(@300wpm)
Sure, he’d probably refer to our acquaintance as a roller coaster, but we’ve bonded too. During the summer between eighth and ninth grade, Dean and I got stuck in a thunderstorm and had to huddle together under the outcropping of a cliff for an hour. I was so irrationally worried my braces would attract a bolt of lightning; he wrapped my head in his arms and kept me huddled into his body the whole time. I can still feel the steady, reassuring beat of his heart against my ear.
There was also that recent summer after his mother passed away, where I sat next to him in the dining hall every day for three weeks, giving him the marshmallows from my box of Lucky Charms. Lining them up on the wooden table and ranking them from worst to best, just to take his mind off the loss that was visibly wearing him thin. Maybe he thought that was annoying or he just wanted to be left alone, but I was helping the only way I know how, by being silly, and he didn’t ask me to leave.
Up ahead, I see Dean’s silhouette moving in the camp laundry facility, one of the only no-campers-allowed spots on the grounds. Many a counselor crying jag has taken place within those walls, not to mention passionate counselor hookups—not that I’ve had the honor of being part of one yet. Some laundry gets done in there, too, on occasion, which appears to be what Dean is doing now. This is my chance.
I tighten the straps of the sexiest shirt in my possession—a black halter top—and tuck a rogue strand of hair into my braid, then loosen my shoulders with a jumpy wiggle before striding up the slope toward the laundry hut. I gulp a deep breath for courage before opening the door and slipping inside, closing it behind me. It’s an overcast day outside, so the inside of the laundry hut is dim and hazy, but Dean’s gaze cuts right through it, landing on me where I’ve pressed my back against the door.
Neither one of us moves for five long seconds.
Say something.
Quickly, I register the sheets he’s transferring from the washer to the dryer. “Bed wetter?”
“No.”
I wince. “Puker?”
He shakes his head.
“Someone went to bed with a s’more stuck to their clothes and woke up in bunch of smeared chocolate and goo?”
His lips twitch at one end. “Yup.”
“Camp is officially in session.”
Dean finished his task of stuffing wet sheets into the dryer and hitting the on button, causing the ancient machine to lurch into action, filling the hut with white noise. “How is your cabin this year? Saw you had one homesick girl.”
Of course he noticed that. “She’s all good now. I handled it.”
“How?”
“I snuck a half gallon of chocolate ice cream and fifteen spoons from the dining hall, and I let her take credit for it. She’s a cabin legend now and basking in the glory.”
After a moment, he laughs under his breath. “That’s some kind of sneaky genius.”
“I’ll replace the ice cream.” He gives me a look that says give me a break, and my stomach flutters so intensely, I have no choice but to push off the door, trying not to fidget as I draw closer to Dean. “You might have bested us in the battle for Firefly Hill, Ingram, but we’re going to dominate at the end-of-camp talent show. I’ve got two gymnasts and a beatboxer.” I’m standing toe-to-toe with him now, making it necessary to tip my head back to keep eye contact. “You should just hand over the trophy now.”
He makes a low sound in his throat. “Not without a fight.”
Let me tell you, it’s hard to give a flirtatious smile when my pulse is pounding in a staccato rhythm, thanks to the evening beard growth on his jaw. Salt water and pine trees surround me in a cloud, leaving me tongue tied. “Maybe the counselors should have a little side bet. Riding on the outcome of the talent show.”
“Betting on a children’s talent show? College has corrupted you, Berry.”
“No, but . . .” I eliminate any hint of space between us, slowly flattening my breasts against his chest. “Maybe you could. Corrupt me.”
I’m so grateful that I’m staring into his eyes; otherwise I’d have missed the quick pulse of his pupils, the sudden weight of his lids. The sound of his swallow. “You never did know when to let a failed prank go.” His gaze drops to my mouth, his chest rising and deflating against me. “I’m not falling for it.”
“There’s nothing to fall for.”
“Right. Nothing besides you.” I grab that muttered statement like a lifeline, hurrying to dissect it from all angles, but he keeps talking and I’m forced to set those four words aside until later. “I’m just supposed to believe you suddenly like me. Lipstick like me? You’ve never shown any interest in me before.”