17. Kyle
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
KYLE
E ven though we’re cruising on one of the most scenic bypasses in the entire country—with the Colorado River flowing by and miles of red rock surrounding us—my mind won’t stop replaying what just happened.
Ren’s touch was so different from a woman’s; firmer and stronger than what I’m used to.
And I like it.
The memory of his velvety hard shaft sliding against my own has me nearly coming in my pants just thinking about it.
I glance over at him as he drives the RV like a seasoned pro. His hair is down again, and his baseball hat is back on. I fight the urge to reach out and run my fingers through the glossy, raven-colored strands.
I know I should probably be freaking out about this a little more, but Ren has a way of making me feel comfortable.
Always has.
He glances at me with a soft smile, catching me staring and likely knowing dirty thoughts are running through my mind.
How could they not after what we just did?
I blush before gazing out of the front window once again, admiring the view.
“Look!” Ren suddenly shouts, pointing at a small green sign up ahead.
Dinosaur Tracks. Two Miles Away.
“Let’s stop,” he insists, and I’m down to see some fossilized footprints, so I agree.
We pull over into a small lot off the side of the bypass and park in the shade.
The path is a little steep and rocky, but not too bad.
At the top are two giant slabs of rock with three-toed tracks on them.
“Almost looks like giant bird feet, huh?” Ren says, tilting his head to the side.
“The sign says it’s a three-toed, meat-eating dinosaur, and this place was once a lake between sand dunes.”
“Pretty cool,” Ren murmurs, ghosting his fingers along the tracks and tracing their imprint without actually touching them.
I stare at him, remembering the feel of his fingers gripping our cocks.
“Can you take a pic of me?” Ren digs out his Polaroid, handing it over and distracting me from my unending perverted thoughts.
“Sure.” I peer through the hole while he poses like a Velociraptor next to the fossilized dinosaur tracks.
I snort, snapping the picture. “You can be such a dork sometimes, and no one even knows it.” The picture prints out, and I tuck it into my back pocket to add to our collection later.
“No one but you, and yet, you still love me,” he says with a charmingly confident grin.
“Yeah. Yeah,” I brush him off with a silly smile of my own.
“The trail continues over here!” Ren hollers, and we follow an arrow down a skinny path until it widens again, revealing stunning petroglyphs and pictographs.
“ Whoa, ” we both say, our eyes tracing the incredible rock art and imagining the ancient stories it tells.
We stare in silence, reading the placard and paying our respects to the Archaic-era Natives who lived here some four thousand years ago.
It’s truly amazing.
We follow the petroglyph wall, and it leads us back to the parking lot.
“That was really fucking cool,” Ren says with a pleased smile on his face as we climb into the RV.
“It was,” I agree, clipping the photo of him posing as a Velociraptor onto our string lights and chuckling.
I think it adds a certain charm to the collection.
That detour was a good distraction from the frottage that just occurred, but now we’re back to the semi-awkward silence.
We buckle up and continue along the scenic bypass, stopping at a few more overlooks to admire the spectacular red rock formations.
Ren keeps one hand on the wheel and takes his hat off, dropping it into his lap. “They have campsites along the bypass. We should pick one and get the bikes out. Settle down for however many days we want.” He runs his fingers through his hair a few times, letting it flow freely.
I gaze around at the sheer beauty surrounding us, letting it distract me from him . The thought of camping here for a couple of days sounds amazing.
“I’m down. Your choice where.”
Warren drives a little farther before turning onto a long, dusty road.
We pull into the nicely maintained campground entrance and start to scope out the place.
The plots are a little close together, but there are connections for electricity, water, and sewer, which is great. And the views of the tabletop mesas around us are breathtaking. Certainly making up for the lack of privacy.
We choose a plot as far away from the half dozen other campers here, and Ren takes care of the maintenance tasks that come with running a motor home. Like hooking up to the dump station.
Gross.
I wander into the kitchen, intent on making him a snack for when he’s done. Scanning the freezer, I grab a bag of pizza rolls and preheat the oven.
They don’t take long, and by the time they’re done, so is Warren.
I set his plate on the table—twelve pizza rolls arranged in a circle with a large squirt of mayo in the center.
“Thought you might be hungry,” I offer, placing an ice-cold bottle of root beer on the table next.
“ Sweet. Thanks, man. This is perfect.” Ren grabs a few paper towels and wipes his sweaty forehead, washing and drying his hands next.
He slides into the booth seat, and I grab my own plate, sitting across from him.
“So, everything’s hooked up, and we can stay here for up to two weeks,” Warren says, chuckling when he sees the look on my face. “Not that we have that much time, but you know what I mean.” He dips a pizza roll into the mayo, popping the whole thing into his mouth before speaking with it full. “We’re good to go.”
I smile, eating one of my own pizza bites with a fork and no mayo. “Thanks for doing all that, Ren.”
I don’t know shit about engines or RV connections. Ask about sports or the judicial system, and I’m your guy.
“No worries,” Ren mumbles around a mouthful, guzzling his soda before letting out a loud burp.
My nose crinkles, making him smile as he continues to inhale his food.
He sits back, dusting his hands off when he’s done. “Ahh. That was good. Thanks.”
I hum my acknowledgement, finishing my own and tossing our paper plates into the trash can.
We move to the lumpy couch, continuing our Final Destination marathon, and I add tanning beds to the list of things I’m afraid of, right after logging trucks .
I must doze off because the next thing I know, Warren’s soft words wake me. “Hey, Kyle? Wanna go for a bike ride?”
Cracking one eye open, I peer at him as golden streaks of sunlight seep through the blinds, highlighting all of his sharp angles.
My stomach grumbles, and I glance down at my watch, realizing we must have napped through dinner.
When I look back up, there’s too much excitement and a hint of impatience shimmering in his bright eyes, and I realize there’s no time for dinner.
So, I grab my portable lunch bag and toss in an ice pack, then some small containers of carrots, ranch, cheese, and crackers. I throw in a pack of salami, and at the very last second I decide to clean some strawberries and slip in a bottle of whipped cream.
Then we’re out the door with our helmets and backpacks, unlocking the bikes from the back of the RV.
We’re off, dust and dirt stirring behind us as the sun starts its descent across the mesa.
“We gotta hurry,” Ren urges, even though I’m sure we have plenty of time to get somewhere nice to see the sunset.
Regardless, I pedal harder and follow him into a thicket before we burst out the other side, appearing right in front of the Colorado River. The stunning mesas tower behind it, reflecting in shades of gold and orange as the sun sets.
“ Wow, ” Ren says, folding his kickstand out with his foot.
I do the same, and we unbuckle our helmets, leaving them behind.
“Let’s get closer to the river,” he insists, grabbing his backpack.
“Okay,” I agree, lifting everything else and following him down to the rocky bank.
We find the smoothest area we can and quickly lay out our towels, followed by a thick blanket.
We settle on top, barely feeling the pebbles underneath trying to poke us in the ass.
The sun sets further, morphing into shades of pink and magenta and splashing its vibrant colors against the tall tables of red rock.
“It’s so vibrant,” Ren whispers, staring at the world in complete awe.
I slip the Polaroid out of his bag and snap a photo, needing to capture this moment and the quiet wonder on his face.
He ignores me, continuing to get lost in the view. “So beautiful. So free .”
“It is,” I concur, but I’m no longer staring at the sunset, I’m staring at him.