Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
SCOTTIE
“How do you feel?” Wilder asks as I slip on my shoes.
We’re about to head out for the welcome dinner, and frankly, after being in this cabin, I’m now terrified as to what to expect. Is this an orgy thing? I don’t think I can handle it if it is. I can’t afford to quit my job, but the image of Finky walking up to me wearing only an embroidered vest, looking to see if I’m ready to have a good time? I’d have no other choice but to quit.
Is that why they like coming here so much, because it’s their one time a year to let loose and have fun?
I really hope not.
“Okay,” I answer as I stand.
“Just okay? Do you have a headache?” Wilder asks, looking really concerned.
I have to hand it to him: he might have forgotten to roll when we fell, but he sure knows how to make up for it. He’s a really caring guy, has looked out for me consistently, and has made sure I’m taken care of.
Matt was never like that.
I’m pretty sure if I was attending this camp with Matt, he would have laughed at me, probably pointed, and made fun of me later for smashing my head on a rock.
There would be no apology.
Most likely, he would have blamed me for making us fall rather than taking responsibility.
Wilder—not that I’m comparing them, because Wilder and I aren’t actually together—you can see the remorse in his face. Makes me think, if I ever decide to put myself out there in the dating world again, this is an attribute that I would be looking for.
Doesn’t laugh when girlfriend gets her face smashed by a rock.
“No headache,” I say. “Pretty excited by the bruising though.”
He chuckles and presses his hands into his pockets. “I’m happy for you. I hope it looks even worse tomorrow morning.”
I press my hand to my chest. “That’s so sweet. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He nods toward the door. “Ready to go? We don’t want to be late. Sanders was adamant about that.”
“Yeah, I’m ready. Let’s go.”
Wilder opens the cabin door for us and then locks up. He turns toward me and says, “Can’t have the other campers sneaking into our room, knowing the kind of free goods we have in there.”
“Oh, smart. You know, I wonder if it’s something we could trade.”
“What do you mean?” Wilder asks as we walk down the ramp together.
“Well, you know how they trade in jail, like a cinnamon bun for a cigarette? What if we can use our prized condoms and dildo for trading fodder? Who knows what the other prizes are going to be? We have to be smart about this. There could be an opportunity for us to trade up.”
Wilder pauses and turns toward me. “Is it weird that your suggestion just made my nipples hard?”
“Yes.”
“Fair.” He nods, making me laugh. He points at me and says, “Hey, no laughing. We’re supposed to not like each other at the moment.”
“That’s not that hard to fake,” I say. “Given that you didn’t roll when we started falling.” I lift a brow at him.
“I apologized. I asked you how I can help. I have offered you all the things, like meds, an ice pack, and a drink. What else do you want from me?” he replies in a teasing tone.
“To live with the regret that you nearly cracked your fake wife’s head open on a rock.”
“Listen, I gave you an amazing gift. Without me, you might never have experienced your first-ever black eye. And now that I’m saying that out loud, it doesn’t sound great.”
“Not really, but I know what you mean. So what you’re saying is that I should feel honored to be in your presence.”
“Exactly,” he says as we walk down the path toward the food hall. “Anything I need to be aware of when we get in there?”
“Not really,” I say.
“What if people ask us if we liked our prize for the mini golf? What do you want me to say?”
“Um, I don’t know. What would a couple who is on the rocks right now say to that?”
“Hmm, maybe that we found it interesting.”
“Interesting…that could work. Doesn’t give commitment either way whether we like it.”
“Yeah, a solid answer that keeps our private life private.”
“Very diplomatic of you.”
“See.” He bumps his shoulder with mine. “I’m not that bad.”
“I never said you were bad, just…a loose cannon. I don’t know what you’re going to say or do.”
“That’s the fun of improv,” he says. “It’s all fly by the seat of your pants.”
“Yeah, well, less pantsing please and more plotting.”
When we reach the dining hall, Wilder opens the door for me and leads me in with his hand on my lower back. The spacious hall is set up with individual tables, each decorated with a fake, flickering candle in the middle and a rosebud in a milk glass vase. The tables are draped in red-and-white checkered tablecloths, and the lights are dimmed to create an intimate experience.
“Why did I think we’d be sitting at picnic tables with the rest of the couples?” he whispers.
“Because that’s what summer camp is.”
“Right,” he says.
“Scottie, how is your eye?” Sanders says, coming out of nowhere. He’s now changed into a pair of black basketball shorts, a white button-up shirt with a bow tie, and a suit jacket but with the sleeves cut off.
Nothing but class, class, class.
“Um, a little sore, but it’s doing okay.”
“Ooo,” he says, examining me. “That black eye is coming in good.”
I lightly dab my fingers around the affected area, trying not to show how pleased I am about the black eye. “Yeah, so I’ve been told.”
“Well, we’ll be sure to keep you safe moving forward, no more tying up…at least on our end.” He wiggles his brows, and I feel my insides turn.
When we signed up for this, I wasn’t aware there was going to be such a large emphasis on sex. Nor did I think there was going to be a minibar of lovemaking. The entire situation is granting me a new perspective on all my coworkers.
Sanders leads us through the dining hall, and as I pass each and every one of them, my mind drifts to different scenarios.
Does Chad tie up his wife? Or use toys on her? He seemed really adamant about winning the basket.
What about Duncan? He’s such a klutz, I couldn’t imagine him being able to locate any of his husband’s erogenous zones.
And Finky, he’s so involved with his fantasy sports teams that I’m not sure he’s even aware what sex is.
Not to mention Brad. He’s such a weasel, there’s no way he’s hitting up the minibar, thinking, What can we do tonight? Or heaven forbid…gulp…drop the soap.
I can’t imagine any of them engaging in this kind of camp. Then again, here they are, willing and ready to keep the spark alive in their relationships.
Wonder what that’s like—to have two equal parties invested in a relationship.
God, I sound like such a bitter divorcée.
“Here we are,” Sanders says, gesturing to a table. “We have you sitting right up front.”
I pull out of my reverie and find our table smack-dab in the front of the stage. A table so centered, so singled out, that it almost seems like it’s going to be dinner and a show.
“This will be your permanent table for the remainder of the camp. We like to create a sense of comfort by offering our attendees routine. The menu is on the table, my staff will be by shortly to collect your order, and then we’ll get started with the welcome.”
“Great,” Wilder says in that cheery voice of his. “Thank you.”
Sanders nods and then takes off.
I’m about to take a seat when, to my surprise, Wilder pulls out my chair for me.
“What are you doing?” I whisper through clenched teeth. “This is a nice gesture. We don’t do nice gestures for each other.”
“Oh shit,” he whispers back. “Sorry, uh, just habit.”
Not wanting to make a scene, I take a seat, but I let his words settle in. Pulling out a chair for someone is habit for him? Pulling out a woman’s chair? Well, that’s a really nice habit to have.
It’s sweet.
Thoughtful.
Not necessary but thoughtful, something you don’t see too often anymore.
Once he sits down, he picks up his cloth napkin and spreads it on his lap. Talking softly, he says, “I mean, I don’t think it’s that big a deal that I pulled out your chair. We might not be getting along, but I don’t have to be an asshole and not pull out my wife’s chair for her.”
“True,” I say and then pick up my menu. “For a twenty-seven-year-old though, that habit surprises me.”
“Are twenty-seven-year-olds supposed to be assholes?” he asks.
I shrug. “I don’t know, but with my experience, I’d say they’re more self-absorbed than anything.”
“Your experience, huh?” he asks. “Care to elaborate?”
“Not really,” I say, taking in the three Italian options for dinner. Chicken parmesan, eggplant parmesan, and lasagna. “But seriously, when did you start pulling out chairs, opening doors, things like that?”
“Ever since I was young,” he answers and sets his menu down. “My mom was adamant about me and Mika being gentlemen. We took turns opening doors for her and pulling out her chair. She said she didn’t want to be the reason her sons didn’t treat their partners well later in life.”
“You have a good mom.”
“I do,” he says softly.
I know a little bit about Wilder’s family situation to know what that look on his face means.
Mika and Wilder’s mom is an absolute rock. She worked as a paralegal, took care of the boys, made sure to get them to all their events, and took care of their dad, who was in a terrible car accident when they were teenagers. It left him a quadriplegic, which led to some darker moments in the family. And then when Mika was in college, their dad passed away. It was tough on all of them, including their mom.
Clearing his throat, Wilder asks, “What, uh, what do you think you’re going to get?”
Seeing he wants to change the subject, I study my menu again, even though I know the three choices already.
“I think maybe the eggplant parm.”
“That’s what I was thinking as well.” He smiles up at me. “Look at us twinning.”
“Dear God,” I say with a shake of my head, causing him to chuckle. “Hey, stop that. No laughing. You need to look irritated around me.”
“Then don’t make me laugh.”
“Don’t say dumb things, like ‘twinning.’”
“That’s not dumb,” he replies. “That’s stating the facts.”
Just then, our waitress steps up to our table and says, “Welcome to Camp Haven. My name is Meghan, and I’ll be your personal server during the duration of your stay. Can I interest you in some sparkling water?”
“Do you have wine?” I ask.
Meghan, with the long ponytail and freckles dotting her nose, shakes her head. “No, this is an alcohol-free camp. Sanders only allows alcohol two nights during your stay, and tonight is not one of them.”
Should have figured since the minibar was replaced with condoms and lube.
Although, some of the toys they’re upcharging for, I’d suspect I’d need some alcohol to even think about using. Especially the one in the shower. The girth on that thing is terrifying.
“Sparkling water will be fine,” I say, disappointed that I can’t lean on my good friend merlot to get me through the next eight days.
“And for you?” she asks Wilder.
“Sparkling water as well. The wife and I are twinning.”
Dear God in heaven.
“We’d also like the eggplant parm.” He sniffs the air. “And is that garlic bread I smell?”
“It is,” Meghan says with a smile. “I’ll bring you out a basket in a few.”
“That would be great, thank you,” Wilder says.
“Certainly. Is there anything else I can get you?”
“We’re good,” I say.
“Wonderful.” Then she reaches into her apron pocket and pulls out a sheet of paper. “Here are your questions for tonight.”
“Questions?” I ask. “What are these for?”
“Every evening, you’ll be given a set of questions that you must ask each other. Sanders requires it. If you need anything else, just flag me down.”
“Thank you,” Wilder says while taking the questions from Meghan.
She takes off, and I lean forward, trying to take a gander at what’s on the piece of paper.
“What kind of questions are we talking about over there?” I ask. “Because if it’s ‘Will I pay fifteen dollars for a pack of three condoms,’ the answer is no.”
He shakes his head. “No, they’re regular, thought-provoking questions.”
“Really?” I ask. “Like what?”
“Well, they’re listed out by the questions I need to ask you and the questions you need to ask me.”
“Do you think we have to do them?” I ask.
Wilder looks up and glances around the food hall. “I mean, it seems like everyone is doing them. It would be odd if we didn’t.”
I look around as well and notice how deep in conversation each couple is. Hell, okay, maybe we do have to do the questions.
“Okay, do you want to go first?”
“Sure, we can go back and forth,” he answers. He studies the first question and then looks up at me. “Why are superheroes portrayed as heroes who wear their underwear outside their pants?”
“What?” I ask. “That’s the question?”
He nods. “Yup.”
Leaning more forward, I whisper, “This place is weird. Between the cabin sex-a-thons, the owner with the moose antlers, and the superhero question, like what are we really doing here? I mean, it’s weird, right?”
“It could be perceived that way,” Wilder says. “But that’s not an answer to the question.”
“My answer to the question is it’s a weird question.”
“Everything okay over here?” Sanders asks as he walks up, straightening his bow tie.
“Yup,” I nearly shout because he startled me. “Everything is great.” I offer him a thumbs-up.
“Any problems with the questions?”
“Nope.” I shake my head. “They’re great. Very thought-provoking.”
“Wonderful. Let us know if you need anything, and we’ll take care of it.” And then he takes off.
When he’s out of earshot, I ask, “Does he just come out of nowhere all the time?”
“Nah, I saw him walking up.” Wilder smirks.
“And you didn’t bother to give me a warning?”
Wilder shrugs. “We never talked about a warning sign. Is that something you’re interested in?”
“If he’s going to keep popping up like that, then yes.”
“What do you want the warning sign to be?” he asks, still holding the list of questions.
“Maybe bulge your eyes out.”
He presses his hand to his chest and asks, “I’m sorry, were you under the impression that I’m a cartoon character with eye-bulging capabilities?”
“I mean, like widen them and shift them side to side.” I offer him an example of what I’m talking about, and he snorts. “What?” I ask.
“Pips, going to tell you right now, that’s not going to work. There’s nothing discreet about that expression.”
“Fine.” I cross my arms at my chest. “Then what is your solution?”
“I can say ‘colonel.’”
“Colonel?” I ask. “Why on earth would you say that?”
“Because,” Wilder says simply with a light shrug of his shoulder. “Colonel Sanders.”
Huh.
That is actually pretty good.
“You like it, don’t you?” he asks, knocking his foot against my leg under the table. “Admit it. Admit that I’m clever.”
“You’re annoying,” I reply as Meghan sets down our drinks and a basket of bread. When she’s gone, I add, “And for the record, I think the underwear is worn on the outside of the superhero costume because it’s an extra layer of protection from the greedy eyes of people trying to catch a glimpse of the bulge and all the defined parts that go along with it.”
Wilder nearly spits out his sparkling water, clearly not ready for my answer.
He dries his mouth with his napkin and then says, “Jesus. I think you might be right.”
“I know I am.”