Chapter 18
NOVA
“Are we close?” I ask, glancing toward Clay crammed into the passenger seat.
Even with the seat pushed back as far as it can go, the car still feels too small for us both.
When I mentioned I wanted to meet with Robin, Clay offered to bring me. Tomorrow, he’s flying to Atlanta for a preseason game, but until then, he’s free. I said yes without hesitation, although with the condition that I could drive.
We pass rolling hills sprinkled with the odd house, and the tension builds in me.
“How much farther?” I ask.
“Turn here.”
I follow his directions. “You do this all without a GPS?”
“Spent a lot of time here while I was rehabbing.”
A lane appears from nowhere, rising out of a grove of trees. Suddenly, the camp is spread out before us—green hills, flags and banners, log structures. The bright blue of a lake sparkles beyond, racks of colorful canoes and kayaks lining the beach.
It’s a dream only half an hour from Denver.
The tension in my chest relaxes as I take in our surroundings.
“This is amazing!” I gush.
We’re barely out of the car when a smiling woman with an athletic build and graying hair comes to greet us.
“You must be Nova. I’m Robin, director of the camp.” She shakes my hand before turning to the man at my side. “Hello, you.”
Robin embraces Clay, and I’m surprised to see he lets her.
“I’ll keep myself busy. I’ll catch you back here in an hour or so.” Clay shoves both hands in his pockets and heads toward another set of buildings.
“Thank you for your time, especially on short notice,” I say.
I expand on what I told her on the phone, explain what Harlan’s trying to do and that I’d like to ask a few questions to improve the plan.
“Why don’t we start with a quick tour?”
“I’d love that.”
We take the lane up to the main building, a huge log cabin. Inside, we walk the perimeter of the building while she answers one question after another. I take a few notes on my phone, but mostly I know I’ll remember.
“It’s a beautiful facility.”
She points along the lake. “There are the campers' cabins. They’re full in the summer, but at the moment, we have weekend and after-school programming.” She gestures around us. “We’re in the administration building now. We’re working on a new art room.”
I straighten. “Could I see it?”
“Of course.”
Robin shows me into the next building, a stunning A-frame with windows everywhere. The end of the building is dedicated to a sprawling, vaulted room with huge tables and easels and paints. Sunshine spills into every corner.
“The light is so cool here. What kind of art do the kids do?”
“All kinds. Their latest thing is making bear masks.” She shows me a collection of papier-maché laid out along a table to dry. “You into art?”
“I was,” I admit. “I got admitted to art school, but I never graduated.”
“You can always return to it. I was working as a lawyer before I found myself here. I don’t regret my time practicing, but running this program? It’s a dream come true.
“I used to believe that we’re supposed to find our path. It took time to realize life is full of paths, like a tree branching out with thousands of possibilities. Unlike a tree, we can go back and choose another path. Life is full of second chances.”
Her philosophy is energizing.
I ask her some more questions about things to keep in mind when setting up a program from scratch, what she’d do differently, and make notes for Harlan.
As we finish our conversation, I glance out the window at where the kids are gathered around a basketball court.
The pavement is freshly painted, the court surrounded by chain link fence. It looks new except for the net that hangs haphazardly off the hoop.
“Nothing stays picture perfect around here. We replaced it last week, but the kids have been swinging on it,” Robin says. She’s amused, not upset that the perfect image is tarnished.
Clay is at the center of the crowd, standing head and shoulders above the rest.
His shirt is tucked into the back of his shorts, his body muscled and glistening in the warm fall day.
He’s good with them. For all that he makes himself out to be a bad mentor, a bad teammate, I can see him listening to those kids.
“Let’s go watch before you break your neck,” Robin says dryly.
I flush, caught out.
She grins, and we head outside together.
“He said he came here when he was injured?” I ask.
She nods. “But he doesn’t advertise it. A lot of people would like to use this to build their brand, but he prefers to connect with the kids without media attention. Clay gets a lot of attention, good and bad. It’s hard to live under that much pressure.”
Clay pulls aside a kid who’s on the sidelines and asks him a question. The boy answers, and Clay nods, then motions him closer. They practice a minute, and the boy breaks into a grin.
“They adore him,” Robin murmurs.
And he adores them. He’d probably give me hell if I accused him of it though.
Robin steps forward, clapping her hands and making everyone look over. “Okay, we should let Clayton get back to his activities.”
The kids groan, and Clay catches my eye. I swear his expression brightens a little.
I’ve been thinking of him nonstop since the barbeque. His words have been echoing through my mind.
“Wear mine. The next time you wear a jersey, you fucking wear mine.”
Nothing has happened between us, not really, but I can’t stop thinking about it.
Every second we’re close, my skin is on fire. Every time I get a text from him, I bite my lip. I’m in a constant state of arousal, ready to explode at a gruff innuendo or an accidental touch.
Clay heads for me and Robin. “How’re the new cabins?”
“Nearly finished,” she says. “You’re welcome to check them out.”
Robin excuses herself to head back to the administration building.
“You’re sweating,” I tease when it’s the two of us.
“You’ve never had a workout until you’ve chased around a bunch of ten-year-olds,” he says wryly. “That’s why we’re going swimming.”
He doesn’t look gross—he looks sexy.
“Will it be refreshingly cold or skin-numbingly cold?” I ask.
Clay grins. “You can take it.”
I’m not ready to back down from a challenge.
He takes me to the changerooms by the lake, where I put on the swimsuit he told me to bring.
It’s a white two-piece with pink hearts on it that hugs my breasts and hips tighter than I remember. I threw it in my bag to come to Denver on a whim, and it’s not especially lake worthy.
When I leave the building, his gaze skims over me from toes to lips.
A little shiver of anticipation runs through me. I’m suddenly glad I brought these utterly insufficient scraps of fabric.
“Something wrong?” I ask.
“Not even a little,” he says, his mouth curving at the corner.
The water is cold, but his closeness helps.
“You were amazing with them,” I say once we’re in.
We wade out to a wooden float a dozen or so yards out, where it’s deep enough for me to barely touch. The water hits Clay in the chest.
“It’s easy with kids. Adults have damage. I went to camp for the first time when I was twelve. It’d been a rough couple years, but I found somewhere I fit in. I was awkward. Always too big. Suddenly, I was celebrated for it.”
I lift my knees, treading water.
“The kids are so full of joy. I’d love to draw out here sometime.”
“Thought you only drew me,” he huffs.
I roll my eyes. “I draw you plenty.”
We share a half smile.
“Camp was the best time of my life. Sometime later when the stress gets to you, it stops being a game.” He swims closer, water dripping off his lips. “I need to be right this year. I only have so many chances.”
“At what? Your life?” My feet brush the sandy bottom of the lake.
“My life is on the court.”
“Then who did I meet on the plane? Because I didn’t know he played basketball. Or had messed up his knee. Or any of the other baggage. And I liked him.”
His eyes glint.
He loops an arm around my waist under the water and pulls me closer.
Clay’s thumbs stroke down my sides, slow and intentional, and my breath sticks in my throat.
“You cold?” he asks.
I shake my head and wrap my arms around his neck, vaguely aware there could be kids nearby.
He runs a hand up my arm, making me shiver from anticipation instead of chill. The entire time, his eyes don’t leave mine.
He palms my back, his touch feeling so damn good.
“You believe in people,” he murmurs.
I smile, my head lilting to one side. “You could try it sometime.”
“It didn’t work out.”
My fingers trace the lines on his chest.
“Then try again,” I whisper.
I didn’t mean he should try with me.
Except… I want that. I want him to trust me, to let me in, even if he’s not looking for someone to share his life with and I’m not sticking around.
His eyes darken. They’re deeper than the lake, than the entire ocean. He smells like salt and the forest that surrounds the camp, sharp and male and real.
I’m adrift in the water and his arms, living for the places his skin brushes mine.
We’re not close enough.
The sound of hollering enters my brain moments before a group of campers comes up over the rise, clad in colorful T-shirts.
“Clay…” I whisper, ready to point out the interruption.
“Take a breath.”
What…?
He drags me under the water, holding us both down. Pulls me closer, his hand threading into my hair at my nape.
His lips brush mine.
Just like that, he’s kissing me. He’s wild and insistent, hot and hard and nearly out of control.
He holds my head in place—he’s not trying to be gentle. His other hand grips my ass and makes me grind against his ridged abs.
The water buoys us up, transports us to another plane where there’s no up or down, where there’s only him.
I can’t breathe.
I don’t need oxygen.
All I need is his huge body surrounding me, the heat of his mouth, the urgency of his hands.
I’m shivering, but I’m not cold.
It’s so good. So much more than I imagined it could be.
My chest aches to fill with new air, my lungs burning with the want for him, for even more than just this.
The light splinters through the water, dancing on his tattoos, on the ink that envelopes him like a second skin and proves that he is everything I thought he was: hard and soft, dominant and gentle, powerful and vulnerable, beautiful and real…
He lets me break the surface.
“We better get out of here,” he says as he pants, “or I’m going to do something very inappropriate.”
I grin, and his eyes crinkle, too.
We get out and dry off, and it’s as if he’s lightened up since we took that swim.
“Robin said we could see one of the new cabins before we go.”
He’s up to something. “Okay.”
I barely have time to slip on my sandals before he grabs my hand and tugs me to one of the little log outbuildings.
I pause in the cabin doorway. The modest room is equipped to sleep four, with two dressers and a full-length mirror. I cross to the bunk beds. “I loved these things as a kid.”
These ones are a heavy wood, and fragrant. Oak maybe.
I climb up the ladder and drop onto the mattress, which is bare except for a fitted sheet.
Clay closes the door behind him, then pulls himself up next to me.
I gasp as the frame creaks from our combined weight. “We’re going to break these.”
“I’ll replace ‘em.” He shifts over me, his huge body blocking out most of the light from the square window opposite.
My shirt slides up my stomach, and he lifts a tiny stone from my belly button. “Souvenir.”
I laugh. “Trust me, I’m remembering today.”
I loved watching him with those kids.
“You’re a good teacher when you’re patient,” I add.
Clay’s brows pull together. “You’re saying I’m not normally.”
I squint at him. “Not so much.”
His lips curve up, and every time they do, I’m pulled in a little more by him.
I love seeing him like this. Playful and sexy. It’s out of character, and I could happily pass out under the attention of those eyes, that smile.
He brushes my stomach with his thumb, a slow stroke that lights up every part of me. I suck in a breath and arch my back.
“You like pushing my buttons, Pink,” he remarks, his eyes glinting with humor. “I’ll push back.”
The nickname makes me flush even before his fingertips trail along the side of my ribs and up to my shoulder.
Heat pools between my thighs, and the sensation of being touched in all the right places takes over.
“Is that what that was back there?” I nod toward the lake. “Pushing back?”
His fingers thread into my damp hair, twisting and reminding me how his mouth felt on mine.
“It was me doing what I’ve been thinking about for a long damned time.”
Hot, aching desire ripples through my stomach. I forgot how good it felt to have him touch me, to kiss me, the way everything in my body turns to liquid when he’s near.
I’m supposed to be making good life decisions. Responsible ones.
But in some ways, this month is an escape from that responsibility. I’m working towards it, will start in earnest when I get back.
I want him.
So much.
“Tell me what you’re thinking now,” I whisper.
His face hardens, his jaw clenching. “You. I’ve tried not to.
Since the barbeque, since the night in my car.
But every time I think I can get your sweetness out of my head, there you are.
I want to shake you until you see the world isn’t as good as you pretend.
I want to crawl inside you until I believe what you believe. ”
My breath catches.
“But right now,” he goes on, “I want to strip you out of this poor excuse for a bikini and make you so thoroughly mine you’d rather burn Miles’ jersey than wear it because you can’t imagine anyone else’s name on your skin.”