Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Hunter on how to make camping awkward
Armed with extra camping gear from Izzy’s garage, we drove fifty miles outside of Philly to a KOA campground and set up camp.
Appointing himself in charge of food, Regge brought potatoes, steaks, and a six-pack of my favorite beer. I sat in one of the camp chairs and cracked open a beer while Regge turned the potatoes on the coals and seasoned the steaks. I had to admit, the guy knew his way around a fire.
“This is great. Why haven’t we done this before?”
“I cannot fathom why you folk wish to cook over a fire and sleep on the ground when you have perfectly good ovens and beds at home.”
“It’s a novelty, I guess. Us folk, as you say, don’t get to spend a lot of time outdoors in nature.” I slapped at a bug. “Damn, I forgot bug spray.”
Regge laughed. It was a sound that echoed through the trees and straight into my psyche.
He put the metal grill over the coals and stood up, dusting off his jeans.
“This is luxury—a stone pit for the fire, a grate to cook over, meat from the shop, seasonings at our whim—it’s far different from skinning a critter and skewering him over a fire.
” He sat in the camp chair next to mine.
I handed him a beer. “A street rat like me never got out in the country.” He gestured to the woods around us.
“Nature and fresh air and all that was never part of my world until I met Theo. He literally made me go out and kill a rabbit, dress it out, and cook it.”
“Ew.” I grimaced.
Regge shrugged. “He wanted to make sure I knew how to take care of myself no matter where life took me.”
“He did a credible job, I suppose, considering what he had to work with.”
“Hey.” Regge slapped the back of his hand on my leg. His grin was contagious.
I rubbed my thigh. “Here you are, five hundred years in the future, cooking store-bought steaks over a campfire started with a Bic and some lighter fluid.” We sat companionably for a few moments, looking into the flames.
I thought back to Derek’s strange ability. Conjuring a memory so strong it felt like yesterday instead of months ago. And the feelings with it. I was certain I felt Regge’s emotions and my own. Had he panicked? In the club, with that guy?
“Can we talk about what happened? When Derek tapped our memories?”
Regge shrugged. “What about it?”
“I felt your panic. It was so real. I mean, I knew you had a touch of claustrophobia. But was it something else?”
“I felt you too. I’m sorry I hurt you, Hunter.”
“It was just— Look, we’d been building up to something, right? It wasn’t just me, was it?”
Regge shook his head. “No, it wasn’t just you.”
“And outside the club you said that you weren’t ready for anything. Because of Charlie. I got that. I really got that, Reg. But then inside, you’re a second away from letting some asshole blow you while I’m fetching the next goddamn round.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“Looked like it.”
“Sod it all. You left me. In a club full of handsy men and I had never been in such clamor. I looked for you.”
“Where? Inside his mouth?”
“I said I was sorry.” Regge sighed and finished his beer. “I’m going to put the steaks on.”
I watched him bustle around our tiny campsite. Well, this was going well so far. Neither of us had talked much about the instructions on Nigel’s list. It wasn’t a big deal. We were both adults, could keep it casual and remain friends. Right?
I pressed on. “I’m saying I’m here if you want to talk—”
“I don’t. It’s in the past, and there’s no point.” He focused on his task. “Let me know when six minutes are up, okay? I’ll turn them.”
I hummed and checked my internal clock. The clock was always running, ticking down events and items I needed to remember.
Today it was the number of days I had until I went back to work: three.
The hours until moonrise: four. The time we had until renovations could be started on the hotel: unknown, but I guessed two months.
Steak: six, no, five minutes now. I rose and got another beer. We should have brought a twelve pack.
Turns out, Regge had that covered. After dinner, which was perfectly cooked steaks and baked potatoes with both sour cream and butter, he brought out dessert.
A box of vanilla wafers and a fifth of good whiskey.
I was not a whiskey drinker usually, but a full belly and the warmth of the whiskey had helped ease the previous tension.
I glanced at his profile in the firelight. The slightly up-turned nose, full lips that were so expressive. I had no qualms about my desire, but I’d jumped in with both feet before. Regge had been new to the club scene—to modern gay relationships altogether.
Derek’s little spell reminded us of how we felt. Regge felt lost, confused, and then panicked as the guy pressed him against the wall. I saw that now.
But this was now. And it would change things.
At least for me. No stranger to casual sex, I could hook up with a random guy off Grindr and go on about my day.
But this was Regge. And I didn’t know how he felt—about anything.
I needed to get drunk. Like right now. I found that paired with the sweet cookies, the whiskey went down pretty damn smooth.
The moon had risen, but neither of us moved from the fire.
We had all night, really. The cold air sent a shiver through my canvas jacket.
This time of year wasn’t ideal for camping, and we had the place pretty much to ourselves.
Eventually Regge doused the fire and stumbled into the tent.
I picked up the whiskey bottle and found only an inch sloshing around the bottom. I set it down.
Crawling into the tent, I switched on the tiny camp light. Regge was pulling a sweatshirt off.
I sat back on my heels. His pale skin gleamed under the lantern’s light. Suddenly my hand was reaching over—not far, the tent was cramped—and I ran a palm across his firm abs.
He stilled, his T-shirt rucked up over my hand. He breathed in, grabbed my lapels and pulled me close. Both of us were drunk, more than a little. Our lips crashed together.
It hurt, but it was a good hurt. Finally.
Did it happen the way I’d fantasized? Not at all, but his lips were on mine, he was in my arms. I groaned, sliding my hands around his back under the damp cling of his shirt.
The kiss melded from brutal to achingly soft.
Sensual. His breath in my mouth. His heart beating against mine.
I pressed in closer, feeling his desire between us.
We toppled against the tent wall, knocking over the battery lantern.
Light flickered over the orange ceiling as we fumbled with clothing.
Shrugging off my jacket, I yanked my shirt over my head and stared at him.
His bare torso gleamed, Michelangelo’s David would be jealous.
A slight smattering of golden hair over his breastbone beckoned my touch.
My hand slid lower, exploring the knob of scar tissue. Regge winced.
“Hurt?” I asked.
“Tickles.” His mouth found mine again. His hands worked at my zipper. We lowered onto sleeping bags, facing each other in the cramped space. I stopped his hands, unsure.
“Let me,” he said and went to work.
I gave in, but I couldn’t stop kissing him. His moan pulled me closer. The heat of his mouth cleared my head and intoxicated me at the same time. Soon he was down to his boxer briefs, the hot outline straining against the fabric. I groaned, leaning over him, rolling him to his back.
Then he went still. “Stop,” he said, pushing me up, his eyes wild.
I rolled away from him, stunned. “Reg? What’s the matter?”
Grabbing his jeans, he searched for the sweatshirt and pulled it on. He dove for the tent opening, fumbling and swearing at the zipper closure. Finally he unzipped it and left.
I pulled my jeans on and went after him.
He hadn’t gone far, across the camp to a tree, where he bent over, breathing hard. I didn’t say anything as I handed him his shoes.
He put them on, stomping his feet. “I needed some air.”
“Okay.” I waited until his breath evened out.
“Hey, wait here a sec. I got an idea.” I went back to the tent and rolled up the sleeping bag, tucking it under my arm.
“Let’s take a walk,” I said, holding out my hand.
After a moment, Regge took it. We slipped through the small grove until we found a clearing at the lake’s edge.
To the south, a small dock jutted out, but here, there wasn’t much except tall grass and open sky. The moon had edged its way over the treetops on the far side of the lake. I killed the light and spread the bag on the ground, lying back to face the stars.
Regge hesitated only a moment before joining me. We both snuggled together. For warmth.
“Sorry,” he whispered.
“I’m sorry. You know I would never hurt you, right?”
“Yes. Of course. I panicked, I guess.”
“Like at the club?” I remembered his wild eyes as he’d pushed the other man away.
“The tent is too small. Closing in. Then you were on top of me and—”
“Ssh. It’s okay.” I reached down and took his hand. “Is this okay? I was moving too fast. I should have known—”
“No, HB. It’s not you. I am fucked up, that’s all.” He let out a frustrated breath.
“Reg. Everybody has shit in their past or something that screwed them up.” We fell quiet, breathing in the night air, feeling the stars.
My voice was almost a whisper. “They don’t deal with half the crazy we do.
I mean, for them, life is normal, right?
They go to work, pay rent, get takeout ’cause they can’t afford the steakhouse, stream some crappy shows on TV, sleep if they’re lucky, get up and do it all over again. Normal.”
“It sounds quite boring,” Regge said, his voice low, matching mine. Neither of us wanted to disturb the night. “And also wonderful.”
I turned to look at him. “You want that? The everyday slog? Nothing to pursue or look forward to except more of the same.”