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Crawling off the mattress on the floor, I swipe my sweaty hair off my sticky forehead and look over my shoulder. Bishop looks at me from his position, sprawled out on the bed, his body on full display for me. Every muscle beneath his beautiful olive skin defined, but not so he’s bulky. “Are you going to go all weird on me?” I ask, our eyes entranced together, locked in some epic stare-down, and the only thing going to lose are the butterflies entrapped in my gut. He continues to stare at me with a blank expression, while his index finger works his upper lip. His eyes are dark and brooding, just like him. Intimidating yet captivating. When our eyes connect, it’s like he’s shoved me through the gates of hell and locked them behind himself. I’m so totally screwed with him. I’ve never been able to separate sex from feelings, so why did I think I could do it with the one guy who evoked feelings in me the first time I saw him?
He shakes his head slowly. “I don’t go weird.”
I quirk my eyebrow. “Sure about that? Mr. Went All Weird On Me After the First Time?”
His jaw tics, his eyes remaining as cold as stone. Sensing the tense silence, I get to my feet, fully naked, and drop down, picking up a new dress. I shimmy into it, not needing a bra or panties, or maybe just wanting to get out of this room, because it’s claustrophobic. Fluffing my hair up, I pull my Keds on.
“Where are you going?” he asks through a raspy voice.
“To get drunk.” And then I pull open the tent flap and march toward the bonfire and all the drunk screams. Regardless if I know I haven’t been able to separate sex from attachment, I still want to try. And considering that when it comes to Bishop, I’m stubborn, I’m hoping that will win out and I won’t let my pride get hurt by showing him I have feelings for him. Which I don’t right now, unless you count hate as a feeling, but I know the possibility is there. It’s always there with me.
Just as I approach the keg, Tillie walks up to me—or stumbles, rather. “I’m too drunk.” Her eyes are crossed, her words slurred.
I laugh. “I see that. Do I need to take you to bed?”
She shakes her head. “No.” Burp. “No. But I made a mistake.”
Filling up my cup, I watch as the foam wraps around the rim of my red cup.
“Okay, what have you done?” I smirk around my cup, lifting the disgusting beer to my mouth. Nate walks toward us and wraps his arm around Tillie’s waist.
“Tada!” she announces, stretching her arm wide toward Nate. “Introducing: my mistake.” Oh no.
My smile falls instantly. “Nate!” I hiss. “She’s drunk!”
He shrugs. “Needed something to take my mind off my stabby stepsister, you know, since you don’t give it up.”
“Give what up?” My eyes slant. He pushes Tillie away and stalks toward me. “Nate? What the fuck are you doing?”
Caging me against a tree, he tilts his head, studying me. “There’s so much you don’t know, sis,” he snaps. “You’re fucking deluded if you think you can make it out of this with your life.” He bends down, running his lips over the crook of my neck. “You’re going to die.”
It feels as though a knife launched into my throat, and I swallow past it before shoving him away. “Leave me alone.”
“Naw,” he murmurs lazily, coming back to me and wrapping his hands around the backs of my thighs, lifting me up. He slams me against the tree trunk again, and I mentally slap myself for wearing no panties. “You and I both know you don’t mean that.” He lips skim over mine, but I move my face away from him.
“No, I mean it. Let me down, Nate. You’re obviously high. Let me go.” I can see it in how dilated his pupils are that he’s on some heavy shit.
“Nate!” Bishop barks from behind us.
Nate grins at me but slowly rubs my body down his abs as he drops me back to the ground. “I warned you,” he whispers, before bending down to my ear. “This is all a game, kitty. Bishop, me, the Kings—it’s a game, but it’s a death match.”
I watch his retreating back before looking at Bishop. “I think it’s time I start asking questions.”
Bishop walks toward me slowly. “Pretty sure asking questions is out of your jurisdiction.”
“I WAS SO DRUNK LAST night.” Tillie massages her temples as I strip down to my bikini.
Tatum scoffs, ripping off her clothes so she’s in hers as well. “No shit.” She rolls her eyes and steps into the cold lake. I woke up this morning needing a bath or shower, so I woke up Tillie and Tatum and dragged their asses with me to try to find a lake, which we did. Buried in the middle of nowhere, about a forty-minute walk north from the camp. Tonight is our last night here before going home tomorrow, thank God. I don’t want anyone to find out about Bishop and me sleeping together—again—so when—not if, when—something happens, no one can tell me they told me so.
