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I slip on my sandals and slip out, being sure to close the tent door behind me. No way do I want to wake up as one giant mosquito bite.
It happened to one girl I went to camp with—she got so obliterated by mosquitoes that her face was swollen and unrecognizable and she had to go home.
I give myself a shake. Enough putting it off—time to go.
Outside, the air is crisp and the kind of cool that I love. No mosquitoes, at least that I can see or hear. Who knows, maybe they’re having a giant feeding frenzy right this second.
I zip up my hoodie all the way to the top, wander over to the fire.
Someone else is there already, though.
“Can’t sleep?” Greyson asks softly, although his gaze is on the fire.
“Nope,” I say.
Now he swings a gaze over, an assessing, intense gaze that would have goose bumps erupting up and down my arms if they weren’t there already. “Glad you didn’t decide to wander much further.”
As he squares his shoulders in a protective stance, something rebellious and irritated twists in me. “I still can, you know.”
“Harley—”
“You can’t babysit me the whole time I’m here.”
Silence, only not really. The fire crackles, a far-off animal hoots.
Then, finally, “Is that what you think I’ve been doing?”
“A bit,” I admit.
And I actually kinda like it, I don’t admit.
“Sorry,” he says, rising. “If you want me to leave you alone…”
“I don’t,” I say.
He pauses. “What do you want, then?”
I pause. I know full well, but I don’t want to say it, let alone admit it to myself.
Though I do: “Stay. Sit beside me.”
He doesn’t move.
“Greyson—” I begin.
He sits beside me, agonizingly close enough to touch, but not touching.
“This whole trip has been a shitshow,” he admits. “Thanks for being cool with it.”
I chuckle. “Honestly, I think it’s gone fine. We got a few great shots today, even with Russel leading us God-knows-where.”
Greyson chuckles too. “He’s an odd guy, Russel.”
“Yeah,” is all I can think to say to that.
I yawn, then lean my head on his shoulder. It feels good, sturdy, familiar.
His shoulder tenses. “Harley—”
“You’re not going to let me sleep?” I tease.
“It’s not that.”
And suddenly, I’m mad, stupidly pointlessly mad. I snap my head up and, inches away, glare at him. “What is it, then?”
“I…” The rest of his words melt away as his gaze catches mine. It’s strained and angry and, more than anything else, full of want.
“Do it,” I breathe.
He doesn’t ask what. We both know what.
He waits a half-beat too long. I rise.
I don’t want men who don’t know what they want. He’s my boss anyway. This was stupid. I’ve been stupid.
“Fine. Night Greyson.”
“Harley.”
I start walking.
“Harley, wait, I—”
His hand catches my arm.
“What?” I say, too loud and too angry, probably. But my heart is slamming in my chest, and I’m tired of all this almost, this back and forth, this pretending to be normal, when what happened last night was anything but.
“This,” he says simply.
Our lips meet, and then suddenly, overwhelmingly, everything is OK again.
**
Light, too much…
“Ugh…” I groan, although there’s no one to hear it, or care.
I’m back in my own tent, still sleepily trying to make sense of this awake thing. My body feels nice, buzzy.
I remember.
“This,” Greyson said, as his lips finally met mine.
And then, with the fire watching, and The Dark Side of the Moon playing, around a corner to be out of sight of the others, against a tree, we did it again. The best stress releaser imaginable. Although it was so much more than that.
Or was it?
I rise and start getting on my clothes. Probably not the smartest thing, sleeping naked in the rainforest, even if I do have a damn good double-lined sleeping bag.
I check my phone and find a barrage of worried messages from Hannah. After texting her late last night, I completely forgot to check or respond after.
My first message was a bit foreboding, I’ll admit: Major problem here.
After, Hannah’s messages got progressively more worried:
Oh damn, what??
Harley, you can NOT send a message like that and not explain!
Harley?
HARLEY FRANCIS DAVIS RESPOND NOW
Harley, I’m serious, I’m super worried about you and now you go and send that message, what is going on? Do you need me to come get you?
And, finally: I hate you. Just so you know.
I have to smile as I read. That’s Han for you, worrywart to the extreme. After her first date with the Most Handsome Man Alive, she spent a good four hours agonizing over what outfit to wear for the second one, then finally chose one ten minutes before rushing out of the house.
Sorry Han, I text her back. Fell asleep.
Her text comes back almost instantaneously. God bless modern technology.
—Oh, so you are alive, then?
Just about, I respond. The trekking is hard and apparently there are lethal snakes around. But there’s something else.
