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“I know. Your Friday shift starts at seven. You work from eight to five on Tuesdays and Thursdays, seven to four on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Ten to four on Saturdays.” He glances over, an unamused smile appearing as he registers my obvious shock that he memorized my schedule. “Years of history aren’t that easy to erase, Cassia.”
“I’m not erasing anything.”
“Then what are you doing? Why did you bother coming if you weren’t going to even talk to me?”
“You haven’t talked to me!” I exclaim, well aware it’s the most childish response I could have come up with.
In my defense, I’m drunk. And Holden has always affected me in a way no one else does.
Holden just shakes his head. “You got all your shit?”
I huff and straighten, my small bag of toiletries fisted in one hand. “Yes.”
He nods, then starts toward the parking area. I trail behind him, grateful he keeps the pace slow across the uneven ground.
It takes about two minutes for me to realize Holden was completely right about me going alone being a bad idea, but he doesn’t utter atold you so. Admitting he was right would be a decent olive branch, but I’m in no mood for building a bridge at the moment. More in the mindset of lighting a match.
We walk silently along the path, which is lined with spotlights every dozen or so feet. They’re too dim to cast more than a subtle flicker, barely providing enough illumination to keep me from tripping repeatedly.
It takes us a few minutes to reach the brighter lights that glow up ahead. A small building appears. It reminds me of the structures you see off the highway at rest areas, a long, low building with multiple entrances and exits.
“I’ll be waiting out here,” Holden tells me, then heads inside one door.
I nod in acknowledgment, then follow a middle-aged woman inside another.
The fluorescent lights sting my eyes, reflecting off the glass mirror and shiny counters. The interior looks exactly like the girls’ locker room at Pembrooke High did, with one section for changing and another for stalls.
I use the bathroom first, then carry my toiletries to an open sink to wash my face and brush my teeth. I study my reflection in the mirror as I get ready for bed, noticing the dark circles under my eyes and the permanent wrinkles in my forehead.
I feel older than twenty-one. And I look it too.
After stowing my toiletries and washing my hands, I head back outside. The scent of artificial cleaner is replaced by pine needles and fresh air. The buzzing lights fade, the ones out here swarmed by bugs.
Holden is waiting right where he said he’d be.
Neither of us speak as we retrace our steps back to the campsite, the entire trek taking about fifteen minutes. Everyone else is still gathered at the campfire, shouts and exclamations carrying easily across the clearing.
Part of me expects Holden to head for the fire after all. It’s barely past eleven, much earlier than parties with his friends usually end. But he ducks inside after me, zipping the tent flap closed behind us.
Despite barely muffling the noise outside, it’s enough to make me feel like we’re completely alone.
Holden turns on the small lamp on the floor and shuts off the flashlight on his phone. The lamp flickers a couple of times, the orange glow brighter than I was expecting.
I toss my toiletries back into my bag, deciding to sleep in the shirt I’m already wearing. I unclasp the back of my bra and slip it off with a maneuver I perfected back in middle school, then step out of my denim shorts.
My eyes avoid his as I kick off my sneakers and then slip into my sleeping bag, the laundry detergent-scent of the flannel a comforting reminder of home.
I roll onto my side, staring at the flimsy material that makes up the side of the tent and trying not to imagine a bear’s paw swiping through it. I might love animals, but I have no interest in encountering any wild ones on this trip.
I study the navy material, trying and failing not to listen for the rustle of fabric as Holden changes. Keeping my eyes open so I don’t accidentally picture how he looks in his boxer briefs. Resenting the traitorous pulse between my thighs that reminds me how long it’s been since I saw him naked in person.
The light turns off with a soft click, leaving us in darkness.
Ever since I arrived, I’ve vacillated on whether coming here was a smart move or not. And I’m still conflicted now, listening to his steady, even breathing a couple of feet away. Considering how easy it would be to roll over and kiss him, to lose myself in the way I’ve only ever felt around Holden.
But I don’t move.
I’m scared to cave. Worried what might happen if I stop ignoring him.
