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Talking about balls makes me think about balls, which makes me think specifically about Adam’s balls, which then makes me think about the hard bulge in his jeans that I was brushing up against all wantonly and desperately before the tent collapsed on us. It makes me feel buzzed and achy and a whole new kind of damp I don’t need because it is never going to happen again because we are who we are, and it just can’t. A few moments of forgetting ourselves because we got slightly drunk can be forgotten. It can be excused. We can not talk about it again. But what it can’t be is repeated because that’s not a chance, that’s not an accident. That would be intentional, and we just can’t go there.
I can’t think about this anymore. I don’t want to think about this anymore.
What I want is just to go to sleep. Everything will be better in the morning, and if not, at least it will be one more night down, one more night closer to getting home and calling the roofer to get my roof fixed before it pulls a tent action and collapses in on me.
Yeah, it’s that bad.
I sigh and crank back my seat. It goes back about half an inch. Of course, because even the car wants to thwart me. I then wriggle on the hard as a rock seat, trying to get comfortable. Adam leaves it running. I know he’ll shut it off once we dry out a little. I don’t have to worry about fumes or exhaust getting into the car and killing us, I hope.
I shut my eyes and try not to think about how wet and uncomfortable I am, about how I feel like crying for a thousand different reasons, and how my body aches, also for a thousand different reasons. I feel aggravated, frustrated, exhausted, anxious, spent, but also too exhilarated to sleep. My lips are still tingling from Adam’s kisses. His stubble scraped my chin raw, and it’s burning furiously, not in a bad way. My nipples are two hard and sharp points, and not just because I’m wet and cold.
“Steph?”
“I think we should just get some sleep. At least in the morning, if there’s no available cabin, there’s the beach and a warm, public shower waiting for us. That’ll fix everything, right?”
“I could drive us home in the morning.”
I can’t believe I don’t leap at the chance. Instead, I bite down hard on my tongue. Suddenly, a few days alone with Adam doesn’t seem so bad, and I’m not sure I really want to go home, which is crazy because all I should want is to go home. I was just thinking about having to endure more time and get through a few more days before getting back to the city.
“Let’s just see how we feel tomorrow.”
“Hungover as fuck, I’m going to bet.”
“Hmm.” I keep my eyes closed and pretend like it’s easy to fall asleep.
I just don’t want to talk anymore. What I want is to leap across the middle console. I want to straddle Adam and kiss him until we both nearly smother. I want to make these windows a little foggier than they already are. I want to touch him, taste him. I want to make him feel good. I want him to make me feel good.
And that is exactly why I need to pretend like I’m sleeping and hope I can fake it until I make it because the Christmas wish list is exactly that. A wish list. And unfortunately for me, there’s no sex Santa or magical elves that can ever make it okay for either of us.
CHAPTER 10
Adam
As soon as the sun comes up and I can unfurl my large frame from the car, I do so. I crack the door open and almost fall straight out onto my face. I catch myself with one hand on the car door while the aches and pains in my legs sort themselves out. I feel a little like something that death inspected, decided was too horrible for it to even eat, but it ate anyway, then pooped out, and left there to rot. Yup, that’s me. The death shit.
I’ve pretty much dried out from last night, and I can only hope a hot shower will sort out the shooting pains I have going on in every limb and muscle. My neck and back are wrecked, but my legs aren’t much better. There’s a low-key ache pounding my skull from the terrible lack of sleep. I think I did doze off a few times, but I was so uncomfortable even when I was sleeping that it was like I was still awake.
I could dig through the stuff in the back of the trunk to try and dry it all out, and find a change of clothes and my shower shit, but at the moment, just standing under a nice hot spray seems like a far more attractive option.
I stumble off to the public shower house, for once uncaring that it’s public, which is kind of gross, and also that I don’t have a towel, which I figure out after I stand under the spray until it runs cold. Lukewarm was fine, but I can’t do cold at the moment. I stand there behind the slightly disgusting, thick plastic yellow curtain that separates the stalls from the others and let myself drip dry before I put on the same t-shirt and shorts from yesterday. I don’t even turn my underwear inside out. I just put it on as is. Whatever. Camping is camping, right?
I feel marginally more human by the time I get back to the car, and Steph is up now. Maybe she was up the entire time and just didn’t feel like talking to me, so she didn’t let on that she was awake. Maybe I woke her up, or maybe she has a giant pain in her neck and a headache pounding through her temples and behind her eyes to match mine. Maybe sleeping in a sports car in rock-hard seats just isn’t comfortable for anyone, and she was damn glad to get out the second she could.
She’s all bright-eyed and bushy-taile
d. She has her hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun, and her eyes aren’t as bloodshot as mine. She even manages a smile. I manage one too, especially when I see she’s laid everything out all over the campsite to dry. The barbeque pit and picnic table are full of our sleeping bags, pillows, clothes, and packs. It’s not all of it because some of it obviously stayed dry. I imagine she put it all back in the trunk since I can’t see any of it.
I stare at the ruined state of the tent in dismay.
“As soon as the office opens, I’m going to get us a cabin. I promise.”
“Okay.” She’s cheerful. Too cheerful.
If I didn’t know Steph, I’d say it’s almost suspicious, but I do know how much she can put up with, and clearly, even this hasn’t triggered her breaking point.
After laying everything out while I stand there, feeling as useless as ever, she assembles a cold breakfast out of the cooler. I’m more than happy to accept the PB and J sandwich shoved my way. After I’m done with that and my attempt to sort out some things in the trunk, it’s late enough that I figure the park office will be open. I go for a walk while Steph gathers up her things and takes her turn in the shower.
Thankfully, the office is open. Just my luck that it opens at seven and not later. I didn’t even look at the sign last night. I just noted that it was all dark, and there was no way anyone was there to help me.
