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Two leaping steps and I tackle her, hoisting her onto my shoulder with barely any effort. She wails in affront, hollering obscenities and threatening to cut off my balls if I do what she thinks I’m going to do.
She’s right, of course.
Cold seeps through my sneakers first, then socks, up my calves, past my knees. When the water is thigh-level, I throw her into deeper water. Oh, she tries to hang on, but I’m motivated and I know all her tricks, peeling her fingers easily from my hair before I release.
The splash is impressive.
More impressive?
A soaking wet Celeste, sputtering and spitting as she surfaces, incandescent with rage.
31
Our sneakers squelch and squeak over pine needles as we trek back to the camp. My arms are crossed tightly over my chest for modesty’s sake. Not helping my nipples thaw is Lucas’s broad back, muscles flexing with each step, every dip and swell visible through his thin, soaked shirt.
Who knew watching someone walk could be so erotic? Definitely not me.
I shake away the thoughts, reminding myself that Saturday night was an anomaly that can’t happen again. As vehemently as my lady bits disagree.
“I’m appalled at your behavior, Lucas Adler. More than that, I’m disappointed.”
He merely glances back at me with a grin, despite being as wet and miserable as I am. I’d wrestled him into the water and dunked him twice before he’d stopped laughing long enough to escape my punishment.
“I thought you wanted to cheer me up?” he asks, blinking innocently. A droplet of water rolls down his tanned neck, disappearing into the sodden cotton of his shirt.
I look away. “With a walk, asshole.”
“I seem to remember you starting it.”
I grunt. “Yeah, well, unlike you, I don’t carry around spare clothes in my car.”
I regret the words as soon as I speak them. Since middle school, Lucas has always carried a backpack with a change of clothes and basic hygiene products—toothbrush, deodorant, et cetera—in case he needed to crash at Jeremy’s or in my parents’ spare room because his dad was on a bender.
Eventually, both of our families insisted he leave extra clothes at our houses, but it took a few years for Lucas to comply.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, shaking my head and unable to look at him. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Eh, you’re not wrong.” He doesn’t sound angry, and when I hazard a glance, he’s smirking. “The habit has served me well in life.”
His meaning is immediately clear—unexpected overnights—and I grimace to cover a pang of something uncomfortable in my chest.
“Gross, Adler.”
He shrugs.
We keep walking.
Squeak. Squelch.
Each step is like an added layer of paint on my inner canvas, only instead of color, it’s emotion. Primarily shades of orange irritation with a patina of green.
“You’ve, uh, gotten around since high school, huh?”
Lucas bursts out laughing, stopping in the middle of the path and facing me. “Mission successful, Peapod. You’ve officially cheered me up.”
Red-faced and wanting to kick myself—or him—I settle for staring fixedly at a nearby tree. “Whatever. Shut up.” I should take my own advice, but verbal vomit overflows my lips. “I was probably a lousy lay. I don’t—I mean I haven’t been with—” I finally pull my head out of my ass and fall silent.
When he doesn’t say anything immediately, to my utmost horror, my eyes prick with tears. A second later, he’s in front of me, his fingers pinching my chin lightly and lifting it. I blink hard, staring past his shoulder.
