29
ELOISE WAS THEfirst to reach us, enthusiastically waving a can of hard seltzer in the air as she approached in a bright yellow floppy sunhat, a sequined, silver vest hanging off her shoulders. “That was amazing,” she said. “And very ridiculous to watch.”
“I can’t believe no one broke a leg in that fucking sack race,” Sam muttered as she wrapped an arm gingerly around me. “You are a badass.”
Trey appeared next to her with a Bloody Mary in hand, complete with a giant celery stalk. “I have never seen two adults work so hard for something so wonderfully meaningless.”
“What are you talking about?” I recoiled, giving him my best offended look. “Camp games mean everything.”
And they had, once, all those years ago. Competitions that felt like battles, where the heartache of loss was learned alongside the magic of winning. But now I could see them for what they really were: life lessons with training wheels, practice for the real ups and downs to come.
“It was glorious.” Trey raised his glass in my honor. “You two are fun to watch together.”
“That’s because Mack’s fun to torture.” I did my best villain laugh as I grabbed the water bottle Sam passed me and threw back a gulp.
“It sure doesn’t look like he finds it torturous,” Eloise chirped, lighting up as Linus and Nick approached.
“Should we take the pontoon boat out?” Trey asked the group. “Cocktails on the water?”
“I’m not drinking, so I can drive,” Mack volunteered, standing next to him. His shirt dangled from his hand, and my eyes couldn’t focus on anything else but him; the slope of his shoulders, that light sprinkling of chest hair, his taut stomach. I blinked hard, trying to reboot my brain by concentrating on something else.
My gaze landed on three figures standing up on the sloped grass, in front of the dining hall. Marla and Steve I recognized immediately, and I waved them over, still riding the high of my win, wanting to celebrate.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Mack’s face growing cloudy as they approached, a glare focused solely on the man next to them, a stocky, silver-haired white guy who walked with a purpose. His tidy button-down and fitted slacks felt way too formal for the place, even though he’d paired them with some retro-style hiking boots.
Suddenly I knew exactly who this guy was. And judging from the hint of a scowl lurking just below Mack’s forced, pleasant smile, so did he.
“Who won?” Marla asked, our circle opening to include them.
“Clara, obviously.” Mack pressed his hand ever so lightly against the curve of my back.
“Congrats,” Steve said, tipping a salute at me.
Marla, always so soft and easygoing, stood with her hands crossed in front of her chest, stiff and formal.
“Well.” She cleared her throat. “Everyone, this is Brad Bradford. He’s the chief financial officer of Glamp Camp.”
My stomach sank as we muttered polite greetings back.
“These guys are all former campers and counselors who still come up to visit,” Steve said, palming Trey’s shoulder affectionately before gesturing toward Mack.
“Brad, Mack’s run our waterfront for a decade. He knows more about this place than we do,” he said kindly as Mack gave a shake of his head.
“He’s just being nice,” Mack said, reaching his hand forward.
“Very cool, man,” Brad Bradford said, and I could tell from his intense, toothy smile that his handshake was a death grip. “I’d love a tour of the lake sometime.”
“We were about to go out—” Trey started, but Mack cut him off.
“We’re all heading off to grab lunch,” he said, flashing Brad that charming, easygoing grin that I could see right through as a front. “But yeah, anytime before I leave for Los Angeles, I’d be happy to do it.”
“Why don’t we go grab the golf cart, and I can show you the perimeter of the property,” Steve said, steering Brad back toward the Village.
“Great to meet you all,” Pine Lake’s new owner said with a stiff jerk of his hand.
We watched them go in somber silence, until Nick piped up once they were no longer in hearing distance.
“Brad Bradford?” he said with a horrified laugh. “What evil parents would do that to their kid?”
“The same ones who name their kids Linus, I bet,” Linus said in his perfectly clipped, serious staccato.
There was a pause, and then an explosion of laughter, but it wasn’t the joyful, celebratory kind. That mood had disappeared the second Brad arrived. This was pure relief, the kind of cacophony that defused a tense situation.
Brad was here. Pine Lake was ending, for real.
“So I guess no lake time now?” Trey said. “Unless we want Brad to tag along.”
“I think I need a shower,” Mack said, sounding sullen. “Maybe we regroup in a few hours? Sunset cruise?”
After a few more minutes of chitchat, people dispersed. Sam headed off to take a nap, and the rest followed her back up to Sunrise to figure out lunch.
“Come on, Millen,” Mack said once we were alone. “Let’s go clean off. I haven’t even shown you the outdoor shower I built last year. I think I might even have some soap, if you’re lucky.”
He tilted his chin as if to say, “Shall we?”
As if he even had to ask.
The sun tailed us through the trees as we followed a mossy path that wrapped around behind the boathouse. Sure enough, there was a square wooden platform jutting off the back wall of the building, tucked behind a giant boulder and shadowed by a canopy of trees. A smooth slab of granite served as a step, leading up to a tiny deck that jutted out around the shower.
“How the hell have you not even mentioned this to me?” I asked, pausing to admire the tidy row of wooden hooks along the wall, dry towels dangling at the ready.
“What did you want me to say, ‘Come let me strip you down and show you my shower’?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said, marveling as he swung the door open, guiding me inside. “Obviously.”
He laughed. “Well, I was just waiting for the perfect time. Which is clearly today.”
A showerhead loomed above, one of those wide, round, rainy types, connected to the boathouse by exposed pipes that traveled down the siding toward the planks of wood below. We were completely hidden by walls, but above us, tree branches danced against the sky.
It was private and secluded, but also exposed enough to the outside world that a thrill rushed through me, head to toe. I’d never had sex with anyone outside before; Charles had tried once, on an empty beach in Cape Cod, but it had felt vulnerable in a way that had turned me off.
But the thought of it spun me now, twirled my insides like cotton candy, knowing I was here, with Mack, safe and protected in our own little bubble.
“You okay?” I asked as I reached for him, holding his face in my hands, studying the angles of his eyebrow to detect any hints of sadness.
“Not really.” He shook his head slowly, tilting his chin to kiss my palm. “But I really don’t want to think about Brad Bradford right now.”
I understood. Mack didn’t need to talk. He needed a distraction.
I slid my hands down to his chest and pushed him back against the wall, tugging his damp shirt over his head and flinging it toward the door as I grabbed his face, pulling him toward me. His lips were urgent and needy, and he anchored his hands on my hips, holding me closer as I slid my fingers along his cheekbones and into his hair, tightening my grip on that beautiful mess on his head.
He dragged his mouth down to just under my ear, grazing his teeth along my neck.
“You look so hot in those dirty clothes,” he said in a low voice, and I let out a laugh. I was still fully dressed in my sweaty relay outfit, which was—by any sort of sexy metric—the opposite of “hot.”
“I smell like the love child of an onion and an ashtray,” I said, pulse thumping under his touch.
“I’m not kidding,” he said, his hands moving up to cup my breasts through the damp cotton of my old Chatham 5K Road Race tank top. “I like you like this, all messy.”
“You have some strange fetishes,” I teased, eyes fluttering half closed as I pressed my entire body into his touch.
“Nah,” he said, his voice deep and rumbling, the beginning of an avalanche. “I just like you. So much.”
Mack pulled away for a moment to fiddle with the faucet, and suddenly a steady stream of cool water rained down on us from above. The icy shock of it made me gasp, much to his amusement. But then the temperature quickly shifted warmer, and my focus went back to the touch of his fingers on my skin, the press of his lips against mine, and the water rushing over us.
“Millen,” he murmured in my ear, the sound of my name curling inside me like a deep kiss.
“Mmm-hmm?” I said, distracted by the feeling of his chest gently rumbling underneath my palms.
He wasn’t just a lover, despite what I’d checked off on that silly list. He wasn’t someone to be collected and tossed when I was done with him. Mack was someone I wanted to keep.
“Why did we ever think we shouldn’t do this?” He pulled away for a moment, and the look on his face, so steady and sure, told me that this wasn’t a question at all. It was a rebuttal, a declaration of our own stupidity, of letting our hardheadedness get in the way.
“Probably because we knew if we did, we wouldn’t want to stop,” I admitted. I took a step back, yanking at the buttons of my jean shorts, dragging them down, and kicking them to the ground.
Mack bent closer and ran his fingertips slowly down the length of my bare thighs, and then back up to my waist, where he pressed his thumbs gently into my hips. Then, with the weight of his hands guiding me, he shifted me around until my back was flush against his chest.
I settled in against his body, closing my eyes as I let my other senses lead. There was the electric shock of cool air any time the hot water missed my skin, the gentle melody of the drops hitting the wooden planks below us in a steady rhythm, and now the heady smell of coconut as Mack pressed his fingertips to my scalp, dragging them through my hair in slow, luxurious circles.
Then the light scent of cucumber and eucalyptus, soapy and clean, as Mack’s hands traveled down the stretch of my arms, to the dimples of my lower back, lingering on parts of my body that I almost always forgot existed, caressing me with reverence and care.
The thoughts in my head were half-formed, a swirling mix of thrill and caution, as an eager, impatient moan slipped out between my lips.
Mack’s laugh was as sensuous as his touch. “Patience, Millen. We’ve got time.”
And even though we both knew it was a lie, I let myself believe it, just for a little bit longer.