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“Oh my God,” I groaned, removing my hand and wiping it on her shorts.
She cackled from underneath me.
“Okay, that’s it,” I growled, ignoring the pain still lancing through my dick, and stood, taking her with me.
She stayed curled over my arm and picked up her feet in an attempt to drag me down.
I pulled her up against me hard, knocking the wind out of her. She coughed, and I dragged us both backwards, pausing at the door to grab two towels from a wicker basket and my duffel bag. I shoved my feet in my hiking shoes, grateful they were well used and loose, and then hauled the wriggling woman on my arm over to my nightstand so I could swipe up my phone from the bedside table. I turned off the bedside light, hoping Andrews would assume I had fallen asleep again.
June literally dug her heels in. “What—are—you—doing?” she gritted out, fighting my hold.
She was so pathetically weak, it was almost amusing.
Almost.
I shifted my grip on her, taking hold of her left wrist, and then twirled her around, bending at the waist as I did so I could hitch my shoulder against her ribs and fold her over my back. I wrapped my arm around her butt, ignoring her protesting kicks, and bundled her out of the cabin before she could wake anyone else.
“Amos,” she hissed. “Put me down. Where are we going?”
“Shower.”
She bucked, fighting me in earnest. Apparently, puking most of the alcohol out of her system had sobered her enough to fight back. “Amos, I swear to God, I’ll scream.”
“You do that,” I said, my voice low and as threatening as I could make it at that volume, “and I’ll make sure everyone knows we’ve been sleeping together.”
“We aren’t sleeping together,” she shot back acidly.
“Prove it.”
“Prove…? Goddamn it, Brady.”
I swatted her rear end. “Language.”
She kicked at me, but I was prepared this time. I pinned her legs against my belly as I headed to the communal showers a good ways away from the main cabins. Each one of our cabins had its own shared bathroom, but I didn’t dare try to keep her quiet while I hosed us both off in mine. The communal showers away from the main camp had two logical benefits: They were out of hearing distance of everyone else, and there was no risk of anyone using them when they had their own bathrooms.
Gravel crunched under my shoes, and the cool night air prickled at the moisture on my skin as I navigated the darkness with the flashlight on my phone. Eerie shadows danced at my feet as the flashlight hit leaves and branches.
“Brady, get your hands off me. This is assault.” She paused, as if thinking about her words. “I think.”
“You sneaked into my cabin and then covered me in honey, puke, and snot,” I countered. “We’re well past professional boundaries, Matthews. At most, we’ve entered domestic dispute territory.”
“I willneverbe a domesticanythingwith you, you moldering, reeking heap of dog shi—” She squeaked as I slapped her cheeks again. “Will you stop that?”
“You’ll learn eventually,” I grinned.
“I’m reporting you to the…” she paused, and I could practically hear the drunken confusion clouding her thoughts. “BBB,” she said finally.
“The Better Business Bureau?” I asked with incredulous amusement. The dim exterior light of the shower building came into view then, so I turned off my phone light, slipped it into the pocket of my soiled pajama pants, and adjusted my hold on June, juggling the duffel bag draped with towels while trying to keep her inebriated self from slumping off my shoulder.
“You watch, I’ll do it,” she grumbled, slapping my bare back. I winced. That was going to leave a mark. “I’ll send a whole fucking manifesto about your crimes.”
I slapped her ass. Hard. She growled like a mountain cat. Laughing caustically, I bent slightly and angled my body to reach the door to the showers. “I would love to read that report. ‘Dear sirs, my boss drizzled me in honey and spanked me for my filthy mouth.’”
“Brady, you d—” she paused, reconsidering. “Doody head.”
I smirked. With my heel, I eased the thick, wooden door open, and as it creaked in the silence, I reached over with my left hand to switch on the lights. Flickering fluorescent bulbs crackled and illuminated the space with blinding light. Blinking against the glare, I carried June into the long, generously sized building slatted with waxed planks made of knotty pine and faded blue tile. There were two sides to the communal showers, and I’d taken her into the men’s side where four shower stalls, all made with cheap plastic and thick vinyl shower curtains, lined the left wall. Behind us, three sinks below reflective metal panels rounded out the utilities available in the older building.
Hardly anyone used these anymore unless they were a substantially large group like a student body or youth camp. But lately, Wild School made most of its money from corporate retreats like ours anyway—a far cry from the adventure camp I’d attended here every summer from sixth grade through tenth.
