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In a slightly creepy manner, the hoard of counselors all simultaneously shake their heads. I take a quick sip of my coffee before I start calling roll. With every name I pass, I feel more and more confident that I’ve selected a good group of young adults to represent the camp. I have the returners I trust the most—Kendall, Patrick, Sheridan, Bryce—and a few promising newcomers that I picked out of dozens of applicants.
“Noah Scott?” When I don’t hear an immediate response, I glance up from my list and furrow my brows. “Noah?”
“I’m right here.”
I don’t think I’m entirely prepared when Noah steps out from behind the crowd of counselors to show himself.
Now, I’m not a judgmental man—the right is reserved solely for God—but Noah doesn’tlooklike our typical counselor. Where everyone else is very clean-cut, he’s all grunge with his shaggy black hair hidden under a metal band beanie and his black-ripped jeans that seem two holes close to tearing apart. His face is filled with piercings—his eyebrows, his bottom lip, and two on his nose—and as he shuffles from one foot to the other while picking at the black nail polish on his fingers, I’m left wondering if there’s been some mistake in the registration.
When he brushes his long bangs out of his face, I’m greeted by a pair of angry hazel eyes. There’s something resembling hatred in them, of what, I don’t know. But what I do know is that something stirs in my gut as I look into those hateful eyes.
Something that I long thought I had buried.
Something that I’ve spent years praying away.
Something shameful and blasphemous.
Lust.
Crap.
CHAPTER2
NOAH
I can’t believe I actually have to go to summer camp like I’m twelve.
Well, technically I’m a counselor, but still.
This is the exact opposite of what I planned on doing for the entire summer. I’m nineteen. I should be spending the summer dicking around with my friends and traveling. I should be going to parties and having a great time, but instead, I’m here.
Three months. I have to spend three months in this hellhole surrounded by people who look and act nothing like me.
Fuck my parents. They had freaked out when their clean-cut, perfectly pressed, Catholic son had come back during winter break with piercings, dyed black hair, and lime-green nail polish. It had been their idea and their demand that I work at Camp Trinity. Apparently, the University of North Carolina has been corrupting my good Catholic upbringing, and I needed to go to a place where I could be reminded of my connection with God.
What a fucking joke.
When they showed me the application they sent to Camp Trinity on my behalf, I was ready to tell them to fuck off. I wasn’t going to go to a Catholic summer camp in the middle of nowhere-North-Carolina. I wasn’t going to surround myself with hundreds of fucking kids or a bunch of religious zealots. But when they threatened to stop paying for my college, I caved. The deal is that I spend one summer at a Catholic camp, and they’ll continue to pay for my remaining three years at UNC.
As the rest of the counselors and I walk through the campgrounds to our bunks, I’m starting to think that this will be harder than I thought. I pull my cell phone out of my pocket and cringe when I see that there’s zero reception. That means I’m stuck here without any contact with the outside world. Thank fuck I brought enough weed to last me through the summer.
“Here they are!” Jarred booms, his loud voice echoing through the forest as he gestures at the four cabins in front of us. “Home sweet home for the next three months!”
Yeah, home sweetfuckinghome.
I curl my upper lip in disgust as he leads us into one of the cabins. This place is ancient. The wood is all damp and moldy, the ceilings cannot be structurally sound, and—
Are those fuckingbunk beds?
Jarred must see the look on my face, and I swear he fucking blushes as he scratches the back of his neck. The other campers are mulling around, wandering through each bunk to take a look inside when he approaches me. “I know it’s not much, but our fundraiser this year should get us enough money for a renovation in the winter.”
“It’s…” I trail off because I don’t want to lie, but I also don’t want to offend him within the first hour of meeting him. “Nice.”
His responding white smile is enough to knock me on my ass.
Jarred Walker is an attractive man. He’s got these mocha brown eyes that perfectly complement his salt-and-pepper blond hair. He’s not overtly muscular under that dad polo he’s sporting, but he fills it out nicely. I can also admit that I checked out his ass on the way here—by accident of course—and those cheeks are no joke.
It was two weeks into my freshman year at UNC that I realized I was bisexual. I was at my first-ever frat party, took some Molly for the first time ever, and made out with a random guy while we dry-humped in the backyard. Growing up a strict Catholic, I never imagined that I would enjoy having a guy shove his tongue down my throat but, that night, my cock wholeheartedly disagreed.
