Page 12 of Grumpy Bear

“Yeah. Sure. My dad took us camping a lot when we were kids.” I noticed his lip curled in a dubious sneer. Maybe it was just because of the bright sunshine in his eyes, but his reaction compelled me to start rambling again. “When I was eight, we went on this church camping trip near Myrtle Beach. The campground itself was a stand of pine trees with a bathhouse in the center, but the beach was right there. You could see the water and hear the waves. It was like maybe a hundred yards to the sand.” I don’t know if I hoped to charm him or disarm him, anything to change his expression to something friendlier. I couldn’t bear for him to think I was unintelligent or incapable. I had no idea how anecdotes from my childhood were supposed to make him think I could take care of myself, but I panicked. I wasn’t used to being so obviously disliked by someone I’d just met.

Shockingly, his sneer quirked into a polite grin. “Nice.” He probably wasn’t sure how to respond.

“It was nice.” I nodded several times before I realized I hadn’t answered his question. “Yeah, so. The point is, I’ve set up tents before, and I’m sure I can figure this one out. Tent design can’t have evolved that much in the last decade, right?”

He raised a doubtful eyebrow. “So, you haven’t actually set up this tent before?”

“First time.” I was going for upbeat, and I soldiered on. “Worst-case scenario, Austin said he’d come find me after he put his stuff away. I’m sure he’s done by now.”

“Here.” Sawyer dug deep in his front pocket. For a split second I thought he was adjusting himself. “Take this.”

The multitool was warm from the heat of his body. It had basically been in his crotch. I felt my ears flush as I slid the tool into my pocket.

He stared at me again for another heartbeat, then he cleared his head with a shake. He took a deep breath. “Okay. Well. That’s the bunkhouse. And that’s Bathhouse One.”

“There’s more than one?”

He grunted but answered in that matter-of-fact tone managers always used with new employees. “Yes. There are three bathhouses. Bathhouse Two is down by the pool where we picked up the gear. That one has a dry sauna and a steam room. Bathhouse Three is near the guest cabins. It’s connected to a small gym. This one up here’s just sinks and toilets and showers, and mostly used by employees. Us.” He stood with his hands on his hips, biting his lip. “Supper’s in the lodge at six thirty.”

“Thank you, sir.” I intended for my response to be more sincere and respectful than it came out.

He grimaced and shook his head. “Just call me by my name.”

“Okay. Thanks, Coleman.” It was the first time I’d said his name out loud.

His head whipped up. His name on my lips must have sounded as surprising and awkward to him as it did to me. But he looked… fearful. Like I scared him instead of the other way around. How in the hell could that be? Maybe he was afraid for me. He had to know I was a fish out of water here.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he mumbled and immediately stalked off. He disappeared around the side of the bathhouse like he couldn’t wait to get away from me.

6

Sawyer

I had a bad feeling Surfer Cowboy—Luke Cody—wasn’t going to be able to put that tent up on his own.

But he was a grown-ass man, and he could figure it out. If he were any other guy on staff, I would’ve dumped him off with that gear without a second thought.

I don’t know why I had such a strong compulsion to help him, but I was on the verge of offering.

So I had to walk away.

Quickly.

He smelled like clean hay, like chamomile tea or some shit. He had this dense fuzz on his legs that turned into gold fur where the sun hit it.

I’d popped a boner the minute his calf had touched mine.

I was so hard the whole time we were in the UTV I could barely talk. Thank God he didn’t ask me any more questions on the way back.

I ducked into my cabin, relieved to be alone behind a closed door. But what the fuck was I doing? Hiding from him? He was going to be here all weekend, assuming he could handle it. He was the only brand-new guy this year, so he didn’t know shit about how things worked, which meant I’d probably have to expend thirty percent more energy explaining everything to him.

I wasn’t going to be able to get a damned thing done with this guy around.

I knew I was lacking in the social-skills department. My resting bitch face was more a get-off-my-lawn look. I did my best to come across differently with the guests, but almost all the workers on the property, even those who’d known me for years, were afraid to attempt small talk with me because I was so fucking bad at it. I made most people uncomfortable, and most tried to get away from me as fast as possible.

For some god-awful reason, Luke had responded to my lack of social grace by trying to get me to talk even more. He looked like he felt bad for me and wanted to draw me out. He had this unnerving way of looking right at me, and whenever I caught his eye, he never looked away.

He blushed, but he didn’t look away.