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“No. It doesn’t make me happy; it makes me feel like shit. That was a group shot with counselors at the camp. Not a party. There was nothing illicit happening.”
“I know that.”
“Do you? It sounds to me like you think as soon as the camera was gone, me and that chick got naked—people standing around, spider bite, and all.”
Her gaze is fixed on the log. She’s fidgeting with her hair. “She looks like me.”
“She was a counselor at the camp. She’s not you.”
I shift closer until my knees are on either side of hers and I’m inside her personal space bubble. “How are we ever going to make this work if you can’t trust me to do the right thing?”
“I’m scared,” she whispers.
I tip her chin up until her eyes meet mine. “Of what, baby?”
Her chin trembles. “Of how I feel about you.”
Her vulnerability is exactly what I need. I might not know what I’m supposed to do here, but I’ve seen enough of those chick flicks, thanks to Skye and Violet, to have an idea of what could work. Besides, I like those movies. I’ll never tell anyone, though.
I place my palm on her cheek. Then I do what they do in movies. I brush away her tears with my thumb. It’s not that effective. Mostly it’s just spreading the wetness around. I do the same thing with the other hand, but the tears are already sliding down her cheeks, so now my palm and her entire face are damp. Also, it’s not making the tears stop. In fact she starts crying harder.
“Why do you have to be so sweet? Why can’t you be an asshole?”
“You want me to be an asshole?” Women are confusing when there’s more than sex involved.
She makes a noise somewhere between frustration and maybe a snifflish laugh. Then she moves closer and buries her face against my neck so I can’t wipe away her tears anymore.
I wrap my arms around her, not too tight because I don’t want to crush her, but enough that she has to know I don’t want to let her go. I press my nose into her hair. She smells more like the outdoors than her shampoo, and there are few pine needles stuck in there, so I rest my chin on top of her head and hold her.
I get why she’s scared. I feel the same way. It’s not horror-movies scared, or spider-bite-on-my-balls terrifying, but an inside kind of fear. This is what it’s like to really care about another person, I realize.
“I’m sorry I’ve been making you jealous. It wasn’t intentional, but I get it now. Seeing all those pictures of you with Bush—Kale this week drove me nuts. And not being able to talk to you, not knowing what was going on made it even worse. I didn’t like the way I felt, and I don’t want to make you feel that way.”
I feel the warmth of her breath on my neck as she exhales and snuggles in closer. She slides her hands up my arms. I’m acutely aware of how little clothing she’s wearing and how much I want to touch her, all over her mostly naked body.
I drop my head as she lifts hers. Her fingers dance across my lips.
“Are we done talking?” I ask.
She nods.
“Are we okay now?”
“I think so.”
She leans in, clearly waiting for me to kiss her. I have a couple more questions first.
“Are you going to put some trust in me from now on?”
“Yes.”
“No more using Kale to make me jealous?”
“No more.”
I put my palm on the side of her neck, feeling the rapid thud of her pulse. Her heart is beating almost as hard as mine, and my dick is swelling at the same rate. When our lips meet, it’s like fireworks going off in my pants.
Her tongue is soft and warm, like all the other parts of her body I love. And it’s wet, which is like my very favorite part of her body. I have to remind myself this is just a kiss, and we’re in the middle of the woods, right by the edge of the lake. While I find the whole idea of doing it out here in nature highly appealing, she might not.
Sunny answers that unasked question when she scrambles into my lap and wraps herself around me. “I hate how jealous those pictures make me.”
“Same here.”
“I’m so sorry, Miller. Things got intense between us so fast. I didn’t know how to deal with it.”
“I know, baby. I’m sorry, too. I can make it up to you, however you want.”
She swivels her hips, grinding on me. Everything is hypersensitive in my shorts. It’s a combination of my still-sore balls, the lack of opportunity to whack it this week, and all of Sunny’s bare, sun-kissed skin touching mine.
