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“Delila was our camp supervisor and is sixty-five. Somehow, I don’t think she’s falling for his charm, and besides . . .” Turning more, I look him dead in the eye. “No,” I say sternly. “There, now he has,” I tell Amy.
The car pulls to the right.
Oh, thank God.
Laura turns into the parking lot of a gas station, stopping next to one of only two gas pumps.
“Go, go. Babe, out.” Jason ushers Amy out of the car before it can even come to a complete stop.
“Hey!” Laura yells after them. “Watch the damn door! It nearly hit the pump.”
“I’m sure your daddy would just buy you a new one,” Jason calls back over his shoulder, not caring about the door they left gaping open.
“Not the point,” she mumbles from the driver’s seat.
When they reach the door beneath theLadiessign, he turns back. “Charlie, find somewhere else to pee! This is occupied.” He winks.
Confused, I watch how he grabs his crotch before smacking Amy on the ass and following her into the toilets.
My eyes widen in realization.No!
They can go get nasty in the woods. It’s not like a thick forest doesn’t surround us. I will not pee behind a tree!
Not for that asshole.
Shuffling forward in my seat, I dig my hand into the pocket of my jeans and fish out ten dollars. Reaching my arm over, I tap Laura on the shoulder before dropping the money into her lap. “I know we said twenty dollars each, but my purse is in my bag, and I’ve really, really got to pee, like now. I’ll give you the rest after.” Getting out, I close the door before shutting the one behind mine with my hip.
Laura’s laughter is drowned out behind the metal as it closes.
As I jog past the gas pumps to get across the parking lot, the blare of a horn startles me, ripping a loud scream from my chest.
My body reacts on its own. My right leg bends up as my hip turns away, and my right arm moves to shield my face.
I stand there like that for a second before I realize . . . I’m not dead.
No pain, no impact.
Lowering my arm, I peek over my hand and stare wide-eyed at the large pick-up and the huge man driving it.
Air whooshes out of me at the same time I realize just how close the truck is.
Millimeters.
I almost died.
Because of Jason.
What. A. Dick.
Trying to steady my heart, I straighten up before rushing around to the driver.
“I’m really sorry, sir. Are you okay?” My breath catches in my throat when I see the two men in the truck’s cab more clearly.
The driver says something—just one word—but I can’t see him properly to tell. He’s probably cursing me out, but then he turns, only to glare at me through the closed window. I do what I always do when I’m nervous . . . I ramble. “Please don’t be mad. I really am sorry. They’re having sex, and I really need to pee.”
He gazes toward the end of the building where I pointed before returning the same pissed-off eyes back to me. My soul shrivels at how much of a moron I sound. “I just need to pee,” I say again, the words barely loud enough to be heard.
I hold my breath as he lowers his window. My gaze flicks to the passenger, who I think is angry, too, if his flushed face is anything to go by, before I look back at the furious driver. I track his movement as his tanned arm extends to wave me closer.
