Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
WILDER
What I know about Scottie, my brother’s best friend, is very limited to what I learned in the car and what Mika has told me.
I know that she moved to the city and Mika was really excited about it.
I know that she likes Mika’s heavy-handed drinks at the bar.
I know that her other best friend is Denise, who is my best friend’s girlfriend.
I know that she’s obsessed with Nerds Clusters, like me.
And I know that she doesn’t care for what she edits, but she likes editing.
That’s the extent of it.
So listening to her is fascinating, because the way she speaks is different from the way she presents herself. She’s slightly jaded, a little rough around the edges, has a good sense of humor, but doesn’t show it often. She’s a bit grumpy most of the time but also lighthearted when she’s excited about something…like a black eye.
She’s observant, constantly watching the people around us, processing their body language. She’s serious but also comical. She can let loose but also holds herself together almost all the time.
She’s captivating, full of depth, and someone I want to ask a ton of questions to, because I want to get inside her brain. Unfortunately for me, I’m stuck answering dumb questions that mean nothing.
“What are your thoughts on rocky road ice cream? Too much, too little? If you had to add one more ingredient, what would it be?” I ask. What a fucking stupid question.
She shakes her head and cuts another piece of her eggplant parm. “These questions really are ridiculous. Like the Cheetos one. If they weren’t orange, what color would you want them to be?”
“I still think my answer was a good one,” I say.
“Black was not a good answer. Do you know how much food dye would go into those? Your innards would turn black.”
“My thoughts exactly,” I say. “Seems like a fun science experiment.”
She plops another bite of eggplant in her mouth while I reach for a piece of garlic bread. I’ve almost devoured the entire basket. Not sure what recipe they used, but the ratio of butter to garlic and the broil time in the oven is absolute perfection. Crispy, buttery, so much goodness.
“Now come on, answer the question. Sanders is going to be starting soon, and these are our last two.”
“Fine,” she says on a sigh. “Um, I’ve never been a huge fan of rocky road ice cream, so I would say there is too much going on, but if I had to add something…probably graham cracker. Make it a bit like a s’mores treat.”
“Solid addition. I was thinking another nut.”
She shakes her head. “That’s too much chewing. Ice cream should be sucked on, not chewed.”
“Reasoning you could use on other things you put in your mouth,” I say, causing her eyes to widen, which makes me smile.
Did I mention she’s a bit of a prude?
And I don’t know why I like that.
When she was taking in every last dildo and cock ring in the cabin, I could see her clutching her proverbial pearls. And when her eyes landed on that shower dick, I thought she was going to faint. Honestly, I can’t wait to give it a solid poke when I take my shower later.
“Oh my God, Wilder, don’t be a pervert.”
“That’s not being a pervert. That’s called making a joke.” I nod toward her. “Lighten up, Pips.”
She dabs at her mouth and sits back in her chair. “Hand me the paper.”
I hand it over to her, knowing exactly what the last question is. Holding back my smile, I wait for her to read it, only for her to peek up at me, her head cast down, offering me her pretty irises.
“I’m not asking this.”
“You have to,” I say. “And if you notice, there is a B next to the number, meaning it’s a question we both have to answer.”
She sets the paper down. “I’m not asking.”
I pick it up and smirk while I say, “Fine, I’ll ask, and then we can both answer.” Clearing my throat, I ask, “What’s the best oral your partner has ever given you?”
She picks up her water and takes a sip, clearly avoiding the answer, so I step in.
“It was our fourth date.”
She snorts. “God, you wish.” She then leans forward and whispers, “I’d never give oral on a fourth date.”
“Really?”
“Would you?”
I grin. “Given it on the first.” And that was one of my finest dates, I might add. Not that there were too many first dates during college.
Her mouth falls open, and then she quickly closes it. “That’s…that’s?—”
“You can unclench, darling. It’s going to be okay,” I say. “Now, back to our fourth date. It was when we went out to the pumpkin farm.”
She sits back, looking far too annoyed, but I keep going.
“You were high off apple cider doughnuts and fresh country air. You just got off the hayride, so your hair was tousled, and your cheeks were bright pink. You were irresistible.”
“Oh my God,” she mutters.
“You pulled me in close and whispered in my ear that you wanted to get lost in the corn maze. Then you gave me that little wiggle of your eyebrow that told me you wanted to play with my corn on the cob.”
“For the love of God.”
I smirk. “So hand in hand, we went into the depths of the corn maze, and when we found a spot that no one was going to traipse through, you dropped to your knees, pulled my jeans down, and went to town. I don’t know if it was because your mouth felt like a fall festival, all cinnamon and cidery, but I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard while being blown.”
She runs her tongue over her teeth and says, “First of all, your dick doesn’t have taste buds; there’s no way you’d have been able to know that my mouth was a fall festival. Second of all, I’d never do anything like that in public.”
My brow shoots up. “Wait, you’ve never had sex in public?”
“Uh, do I look like a heathen?”
“I mean…the black eye is giving you a certain vibe.”
She rolls her eyes, and I push her with my foot under the table.
“Your turn,” I say. “When was your favorite time I went down on you?”
“Never.”
“Ouch,” I say, clutching my chest. “Pips, now that’s hurtful. I’ve spent five years on the assumption that I’ve been licking you the right way. Is that why we’re really here? Because I haven’t been pleasuring you correctly?”
“You realize there’s something seriously wrong with you, right?” she says, leaning forward on a whisper.
“Babe, just tell me. Is it my tongue? Is that what the problem is? Because I can get it pierced again.”
Her expression morphs into interest. “You had your tongue pierced?”
“Yeah, for a while, but when I was trying to sell off Soda Tracker, my advisors thought it would be best if I got rid of it.”
“Did you have your lip piercing then as well?”
“No, got that after I sold Soda Tracker.”
“Why not the tongue again?”
“Why so interested?” I ask with a large smile.
Flustered, she says, “I’m not… I’m just… Seems like the typical thing to do would be to get the piercing again that you had to get rid of.”
“I’m not the typical kind of guy,” I say.
“Clearly.” She wets her lips casually and asks, “Do you have any other piercings?”
“Does it look like I have any others?” I ask.
She looks around my ears and then shakes her head. “No, I guess not.”
Wiggling my eyebrows, I say, “Didn’t look hard enough, Pips.”
She offers me a confused look, but I don’t get to elaborate, because Sanders gets on stage with a mic, and the room falls silent as they start clapping for him. I join in because you have to hand it to the man. If he’s going to stand up there in front of a room of people while sporting a cutoff suit jacket, then he deserves some praise.
“Thank you,” he says, offering the room a quick wave. “I hope everyone enjoyed their dinner. We’re going to have plates cleared off soon, and then some gelato will be brought around, but in the meantime, let’s give a warm welcome to you and the staff.”
We all clap, and honestly, this whole thing is so fascinating to me. Clearly, I’ve never been married before, but what I can tell you from being here so far and from watching my parents’ marriage is that people work at it. Coming to this camp, this is work, and look at them, they’re excited about it. Makes you wonder how many people are like this out in the world.
The consensus I hear about a troubled marriage is that it ends in divorce. There isn’t enough light shed on couples actually working through their troubles and rifts.
This situation might be weird with the moose antlers and lit-up golf cart, but at least there’s a healthy commitment to connecting with your spouse.
“To those of you who have been here before, welcome back. And to our new couples, we welcome you with high fives and butt slaps.”
The crowd laughs, and I find far too much joy in this, as opposed to Scottie, who, I see with one glance in her direction, is clearly trying her hardest to put on a smile and be happy about the fact that she’s stuck in a room with a bunch of married couples. Makes me wonder, is there something she hasn’t filled me in on? Is there a reason why being around all these married couples makes her stiff and uncomfortable?
“As we speak, staff are placing itineraries in your mailboxes that are just outside your cabins. You will receive one of these every day, the night before. Sometimes, they will just be a letter. Other times, they’ll be a package with a challenge. It’s our responsibility as your guides to give you the best experience with your spouse and to cater to the level of your commitment and comfort with each other. Some of you are coming back for a recharge. Some of you are here to have fun, generate a spark you might be missing. And some of you might be going through a more troubling time. Whatever brought you to Camp Haven, we want you to know we hope you find what you’re looking for.”
Inspiring.
If I was truly here to fix my marriage, I’d be ready to tackle the hard stuff.
Pumped.
Frothing to take charge and make up with my girl.
Possibly test out those cock rings…
“Your itinerary must be followed. I understand that you might feel like you want to be pulled in different directions while being here, but we have crafted these itineraries specifically to your situation. There isn’t any wiggle room. We have a process. Please join us in that process so we can give you the best experience. And I hate to bring negativity into this welcome speech, but it must be announced that failure to follow the itinerary will result in a consequence.”
Consequence, huh? Wonder what that could be. Maybe a spanking from our spouse? If that’s the case, catch me being naughty on day one.
“As for your luggage, we did find some contraband in your bags. You received a note if something was taken. At the end of camp, you may receive your contraband back, but at a cost.”
Seriously? Jesus.
Talk about a money grab.
Although Sanders must be doing something right, because all these couples are back here. Maybe they don’t mind being price gouged. Personally, I feel slightly violated that my luggage was pawed through and my Nerds Clusters were confiscated.
Sigh. RIP, Nerds Clusters. RIP.
“Okay, enough with housekeeping, on to our welcome. As tradition, we like to welcome our couples to the stage to introduce themselves. I’ll start with myself and my wife, Ellison. Sweetie, can you please come to the stage?”
The lights dim, and a faint sound of music plays in the background.
What is happening?
I glance over at Scottie, who looks positively horrified, her eyes searching for what’s going to happen next.
The music grows louder and louder until I recognize it as the Bulls intro song, “Sirius.” A smile parts my lips, and I lean back in my chair, ready for whatever they have planned, because this is good.
*Fingers crossed.* Please let it be a choreographed dance.
Lights flash onstage while two staffers walk up to Sanders, who is holding his arms out, and then at the same time, they tug on his clothes, pulling his outfit apart and revealing a black Bulls jersey. And then from the ground, a basketball appears, and he starts dribbling while a voice-over plays over the music.
“There is no I in team.”
Scottie covers her mouth on a snort.
“There is no Michael without his Scottie.”
I don’t think I’ve ever smiled this large before.
“And there’s no dynasty without teamwork.”
The lights flash on, and out of nowhere, Ellison appears at Sanders’s side, wearing a pair of black booty shorts and a cropped Bulls tank top. Both of them are wearing Air Jordans, both of them decked out in sweatbands. Honestly, this has got to be one of the best things I’ve ever seen.
I couldn’t be happier about saying yes to this experience, because this is what I’m talking about. This is the kind of life I want to see with my own eyes—a couple dressed up as the ’90s Bulls, acting like they’re part of one of the greatest dynasties in sports history.
Someone tosses Sanders a mic. He catches it and then spins a basketball on his finger with the other hand while Ellison squats down and holds on to his leg.
“We are the Martins. Well into our fifties, married for thirty years, and still very much sexually thriving.”
Yikes.
He hands Ellison the mic while he continues to spin his basketball.
“If our marriage has taught us one thing,” she says, “it’s that without effective communication or a game plan, we’re not going to win the trophy.”
Terrible sports analogy, but I’ll let it pass because the lights and fog machines are doing it for me. Hell, when they first came out to the music, I got goose bumps.
“And without a trophy,” she continues as she stands and butts her back up against Sanders’s back, “how can we be the dynasty you look up to?”
Then at the same time, they both shoot their fists up to the sky and bow their heads, and the music and lights shut off.
Cheers erupt from the other couples as the lights start to illuminate the stage again. That’s when I notice everyone standing, cheering them on.
Really, an ovation for that? I mean, it’s not a Meryl Streep performance, but sure, why not stand? I rise with the rest of them and clap, causing Scottie to nearly fall out of her chair as she stands as well.
And I swear to you, as we stand there, clapping and clapping and fucking clapping, I realize one thing: this is seriously going to be the most interesting eight days of my entire life.
The sound of our shoes crunching against the dirt path is the only noise between the two of us as we make our way back to our cabin.
We left the dining hall in a state of shock. Can you blame us though? My mind is still reeling from the performance, and after they were done with the intro, they made us introduce ourselves—which made Scottie nearly dissolve onstage. Then they slid in a giant whiteboard, and like Phil Jackson in the early nineties, they mapped out the keys to a successful marriage.
It was entertaining.
Confusing.
Slightly inappropriate when Sanders made the X keep humping the O over and over again.
And then at the end, they made us all stand, put our hands in, and then shout “Camp Haven” together as a dismissal.
Now that we’re walking back to our cabin, only the pathway lights illuminating the way, I can’t quite get a gauge on how Scottie feels.
When we reach our cabin, I ask, “Should we check the mailbox?”
“Oh right, I almost forgot about that,” she says, looking like she’s in a daze. “Yeah, go ahead.”
I open the mailbox and find a red envelope. Intrigued, I pull it out and study the front.
“Mr. and Mrs. Price.” I smile at her. “I took your last name.”
She rolls her eyes and snags the envelope from me. “Just open the cabin door.”
Chuckling, I unlock the door, switch on the light, and walk in, only to come to a complete stop.
Scottie runs right into me, and I feel her bounce back as she says, “What are you doing?”
“Uh, someone’s been in our room.”
“What do you mean?”
I move to the side, and she steps in as well. I watch her take it in, eyes wide, mouth slightly ajar.
This is not how we left it.
The dresser is once again stocked full of lube, dildos, and cock rings. The erotic pictures that we took down are again hanging on the wall, and the handcuffs on the bed have been put back in place.
Holy shit.
I start laughing while Scottie scours the room with a look of disgust. “They can’t be serious with this.”
I shut the door behind me and take off my shoes.
“I mean, do they really think this is a relaxing aesthetic?” She gestures to a vibrator on the dresser. “This is intimidating.”
“You say that as if you’ve never played around with toys.”
She purses her lips and turns away.
“Wait,” I say, walking up to her. “Is that true? Have you never played around with toys?”
“You know, it’s getting late. I think we need to get to bed if we have any chance of being on top of our game tomorrow.”
“Oh no, you don’t,” I say, tugging on her arm to turn her toward me. “You can’t change the subject like that.”
“I’m not changing the subject. I’m stating facts. We’ve had a long, confusing day full of erotic toys, face-planting, basketball analogies, and unnecessary twerking. I think it’s best that we get some sleep so we’re refreshed for the morning.”
I run my hand over my jaw. “The twerking was weird.”
“All of it was weird, Wilder,” she says. “Every last bit of this is weird.” She gestures around the room. “This room is weird. The people are weird. The theme of this entire camp is weird. It feels like we’ve dipped into a seventh circle of couples’ hell on the verge of a basketball-themed orgy, and I’m just trying to keep my head afloat.”
“Why?” I ask as I wiggle my eyebrows. “You don’t want to become one of them?”
“I don’t even know what that means, but no, I don’t.”
“Shame, as it seems like they have fun,” I say as I pick up a vibrator, still in its packaging. “These are a real good time.”
She lifts her chin. “Well, good for them.” She clears her throat. “I’m going to take a shower, and then I plan on sleeping on the right side of the bed if that’s okay with you.”
“That’s fine,” I say. “Want me to put up a wall of pillows, you know, for your own personal space?”
She nods. “That would be appreciated.”
Then she grabs some clothes and heads into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.
I grin to myself while I grab some clothes of my own. I wish I had my phone, because I would be texting Derek all kinds of things right now. Instead, I sit down on the bed, lean back on my hands, and stare at the nipple picture on the wall.
It’s a great nipple.
“Are you comfortable?” I ask Scottie as she shifts on the bed, tugging on the blankets.
“Yes, sorry. I think… I think the pillow barricade is a little much?”
I lift up so I can look over the stack of three pillows. “Really? I thought it was fortress-like. Would take a lot for one of us to cross the moat.”
“Yes, very well built,” she says. “But it’s pulling on the blankets, and I don’t want to be cold at night.”
“Yeah, that makes sense. So do you want me to take down the pillows?”
“I think so, unless you want to keep them up.”
“I’m chill. Whatever you want.”
“I say we get rid of them.”
“Okay.” I start tearing down the wall until there is one left, a soft one that could easily be rolled over, but I keep it there so she at least feels safe. After all, she’s sharing a bed with a stranger. I can’t imagine that being comfortable for her. “That better?”
“I think so, as long as you’re comfortable.”
“I’m fine,” I say and then lift up the red envelope that was in our mailbox. “Shall we read it?”
“God, I completely forgot about that. I was so distracted by the flesh poker in the shower that I bypassed the thought of us having a task tomorrow.”
“The flesh poker?” I ask. “Is that what the youths are calling it?”
“Uh, you are the youth, so you tell me.”
“So are you,” I counter. “You’re still under thirty.”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t feel like it,” she says on a sigh. “Either way, I tried removing the flesh poker, because I couldn’t stand it being so close to me when I was showering, but all I ended up doing was sliding my hands over the shaft, and, well…I swear it got harder.”
I let out a whopper of a laugh, because I was not expecting her to say that at all.
“Stop it,” she says, poking my arm. “It’s not funny. I think it’s real.”
Tears come to my eyes as I keep laughing.
“Wilder, I’m serious.”
I wipe at my eyes and shake my head. Once my laughter is under control, I say, “It’s not real.”
“How do you know? Did you touch it?”
“I mean, I swatted at it to see what kind of material they made it from, but if it was real, it wouldn’t have enjoyed the swat. Also, it’s not coming out of a wall. It’s suction-cupped to tile. There’s a difference.”
“You say this as if you have experience.”
I roll my eyes. “If it was real, it would be coming out of a hole, and someone would be standing on the other side. There was nothing real about it.”
“It felt real, and to my dying day, I will swear that it grew in my hands.”
“How long did you hold on to it?”
“Not that long.”
“Seems like a decent amount of time. I mean, your shower was longer than expected.”
“Stop that,” she says while snagging the envelope from me. “You know I want nothing to do with all the erotica in here.”
“Shame. You could have a lot of fun.”
“We are not here for fun, Wilder. We are here to get a job done.” She tears open the envelope and then pulls out the letter. Clearing her throat, she starts reading out loud. “‘Mr. and Mrs. Price, you are expected in cabin ten, green square, tomorrow morning at eight. Breakfast will be provided to you via room service at seven thirty, so do not be late.’”
“That’s it?” I ask.
She flips the paper over and confirms with a nod. “That’s it.”
“Hmm, I wonder what it’s going to be.”
Her lips twist to the side while she starts to think. It’s kind of cute, the way that she gets lost deep in thought, as if no one else is around.
“Oh God.” Her eyes widen.
“What?”
She turns toward me. “What if…what if all this sex stuff is a prelude to the activities we have to do? What if we have to perform our sex live?”
Expressionless, I say, “Do you really think that would happen?”
“I don’t know, Wilder. Did you expect Sanders and Ellison to come out onstage and do what I can only describe as a terrible rendition of one of the choreographed songs from High School Musical ?”
I snap my finger at her. “That’s why it felt familiar. You know, I couldn’t quite place it, but yes, it had a Vanessa Hudgens, Zac Efron spark to it.”
“Seriously though, what if we have to have sex?”
“One, that’s not going to happen. Two, it’s illegal. Three, consent is a real thing. They can’t force us to do anything.”
“You don’t know that,” she says, looking panicked now, her eyes going wild. “We could have joined a commune and not realized it. I just signed the papers to attend. I didn’t read the fine print. Did you read the fine print?”
“I had my lawyers read the fine print,” I say as I toss the pillow that’s between us and scoot closer so I can comfort her. I place my hand on the top of hers and rub her knuckles with my thumb. “I never sign anything without them looking at it. You have nothing to worry about.”
“It didn’t say anything about sex in there? Like…live sex or sex shows?”
“No.” I chuckle. “There was nothing in there about sex.”
“Okay.” She blows out a heavy breath. “And you’re sure? You’re so sure that you would bet your life on it?”
“Yes,” I answer. “Trust me when I say there are no sex shows at this?—”
Ding .
“What was that?” she asks.
“I don’t know,” I say, glancing around.
Whispering, she says, “Do you think it’s a camera? Maybe they have this place miked up. I don’t think mics can pick up a lower register in the voice.” She starts talking in a deep, husky tone. “We need to come up with our own language to bypass the spying.”
“For the love of God,” I say, getting out of bed. “They do not have the cabin miked up.”
“You don’t know that,” she says, still in a deep voice. “This could be how they choose what we do every day. It could be how they knew we’d taken all the erotica merch down too. Quick, come over here, and act like we’re doing it. Maybe they’ll release us from this hellhole early because all our problems are solved.” She slaps the wall but then shakes her hand and says, “Ouch.”
“What are you doing?”
She picks up a Kama Sutra book that is on her nightstand and starts tapping it against the wall. “Oh…oh, Wilder,” she says in a girly voice. “You big, big man. Look at that…at that slayer of yours. Enormous.” She continues to tap the wall, replicating the sound of a steady headboard hitting the wall. “You’re so…full of girth and ready to explode.”
A cringe takes over my expression. “Jesus Christ, is that how you talk while having sex?”
She doesn’t listen to me though. She keeps pounding. “Oh yes, right there. You’re hitting the spot made by the gods.”
“What does that even mean?”
“Look at my nipples. They’re hard for your penis.”
“That’s a first.”
“And oh wow, yeah, shimmy again for me.”
I point at her. “I don’t shimmy during sex. Only when I’m singing ‘Luck Be a Lady.’”
“Yes, you wear those nipple tassels. Shake them, baby.”
Okay, that’s enough. I walk up to her, take the Kama Sutra, and toss it to the side. “Stop that. They don’t have mics in here.”
“Then what was that sound?” she asks. “We don’t have cellular devices. They took them from us. There are electronics in here, and we need to sniff them out.”
She flies out of bed and starts sniffing the air.
I rub my hand over my forehead and say, “What the fuck are you sniffing for?”
“Warmth.”
Okay, seriously, Mika did not warn me about this. I know I said life experiences wanted, but having to calm down a paranoid woman because she’s sniffing for “warmth” while looking for electronics—that’s not what I had in mind.
Ding .
The sound fills the room, causing Scottie to stand upright in her matching pink pajama set. “Did you hear that?” She walks up to me and shows her arm. “Look, goose bumps. Someone is in here.” She hurries over to the dresser, picks up the longest dildo from the minibar, and wields it like a sword before walking up behind me and gripping my shirt, using me as a human shield.
And then, in the creepiest voice I think I’ve ever heard, a voice that will haunt me in my dreams until the day I die, she says, “Come out, come out wherever you are. We’re ready to play with you.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I shout and then shake her off me. “Jesus Christ, Scottie, it’s probably just a smoke detector needing a new battery.”
She lets that process for a second and then stands taller. “Huh, you know, I never thought about that.”
“No, instead, you go right to trying to beat someone with a ten-pound dildo.”
She crosses her arms at her chest and juts her hip out. “You know, must be nice walking around as a man, not a worry or care that something bad is going to happen to you.” She jostles the dildo at me as she speaks. “We women have to be on guard at all times, so excuse me for covering all bases.”
“You’re not covering bases. You’re going straight to insanity.”
Ding .
She stiffens and then crouches around me again, holding out the dildo. Whispering in her lower register, she says, “That is not a smoke detector. That is an electronic device. I can sense it.”
“Yeah, and I can sense that you’re losing it.”
“Can we please just look around?”
“Fine,” I say, exasperated. Then together, we walk the perimeter of the cabin, her hiding behind me, holding the dildo out. What is she going to do? Penetrate someone to death with that thing?
We check under the bed, inside the closet, in the bathroom even though we already both took showers. She sneers at the flesh poker, and then we arrive back at the bed just as another ding goes off. This time, I hear it come from her nightstand.
“I think it’s in your nightstand,” I say.
“Really?” she asks, clawing at my shirt. “Well, go…go look.”
I’m about to reach for the handle to pull it open, but she stops me.
“Wait, use this,” she says, holding the dildo out to me.
“No.”
“I’m serious,” she says, stopping me from opening the drawer. “You might need to bludgeon something to death, whatever it is.”
“I’m not going to bludgeon whatever is inside. Jesus.”
I lean forward, grip the drawer pull, and feel her tense behind me as her free hand claws at my shirt. When I pull the drawer open, whatever is inside dings one more time.
Scottie screams bloody murder, scaring the ever-loving shit out of me while she tosses the dildo into the drawer and then takes off into the bathroom, where the door shuts and the lock clicks.
“You’re on your own,” she yells through the crack.
Wow.
What a wife.
Taking a calming breath in an effort to get my shit together, I look inside the drawer, where I find a tablet, plugged into an outlet in the drawer.
Jesus.
“Wh-what is it? Are you still alive? Did it eat you? Have you been stung? Do you need antivenom? If it’s a snake, I’m crawling out of this small bathroom window, and I’m using the emergency phone to call Denise to rescue me.” She pauses for a moment as I pull the tablet out. “Hello? You dead?”
The door clicks open, and I glance over my shoulder to see her peek her head out.
“Why aren’t you answering me?”
“Because you’re acting like a numbskull,” I say. “It was a tablet beeping. It’s a message to the both of us.”
“A message?” She comes out of the bathroom and walks up next to me. “What is it?”
“I don’t know.” I tap on the button that says Read message . It blacks out for a moment, and then a screen pops up of a naked woman straddling a man on a bed.
“Dear God in heaven,” she shouts and covers her eyes. “Is that porn?”
“Yeah, looks like it.” I read the top of the screen. “Welcome to Camp Haven. Your Nightly Show is waiting for you.”
She peeks from between her fingers. “You have to be kidding me. They send everyone porn at night?”
“Yup.”
“Why on earth would they do that?”
“I don’t know. Probably to upsell the minibar,” I say while slipping the tablet back in the nightstand.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, if they are running their business the way I think they’re running it, they probably send a video to couples every night, couples are curious and watch, the video probably has one of the toys or products on the dresser, the couple gets more curious, and before you know it, they’re reenacting what they saw in the video. Great way to sell the lovemaking minibar.”
“Wow.” She shakes her head. “Is there not any decency in this world? Whatever happened to helping couples find love again? Now it’s all about product consumption. And the couples are falling for it. Just fools.”
“Yeah, real fools. Pretty sure they’re not the ones wielding a dildo out of fear that a beeping snake might attack them when they open their nightstand.”
She stares at me, running her tongue over her teeth. “You know, your sarcasm is tiresome.”
“Already?” I ask. “This is day one. We have a long way to go, Pips. Better get used to it.” I flip the cover down on the bed and climb back in. “Now, hop in. We have a video to watch.”
She scoffs. “If you think we’re watching that together, you are sadly mistaken.”
“Okay, if you want to watch it first, I can go hang out in the bathroom, and then we can rotate.”
Her nostrils flare, and she turns away from me. “Good night, Wilder.”
Smirking, I turn off the light and say, “Night, Pips.”