15 #3
Spencer wraps his arm around Bethany. “We’ll pass.”
Bethany’s eyes crinkle at the corners, mouthing a silent “sorry”.
“I’m sticking with my roommate tonight,” Hunter says, but I’m sure he’s just pissed that I broke the tent he’s had for over twenty years.
“We can’t let her sleep in the car,” Celia insists, but I immediately feel bad. Hunter and Celia’s relationship is brand new, and she so rarely gets a weekend without her daughter, I wouldn’t dream of letting her give up a free night with him.
“It’s okay. I get it. Don’t worry, the car will be fine,” I say with a pout.
Everyone’s gazes land on Mitch, who, after a few seconds of being silently judged, drops his shoulders.
“Ugh, fine. Take the tent.” He strolls off toward his tent that’s tucked away behind some trees in a tiny clearing.
I should be pleased, but something isn’t sitting right. I hurry after him and peek into his tent, seeing all his belongings neatly stacked in a corner. He’s already made up his bed with a pillow and a very fluffy, warm-looking sleeping bag.
Guilt churns in my stomach when I realize I’m being a child. Even though I shouldn’t have an issue with him sleeping in his car tonight, I don’t feel right hogging his tent.
“There’s space for two in here,” I say. “Why don’t you stay. I’ll bring my stuff.”
A deep frown overshadows his features. “No, really, it’s fine. I don’t mind taking the car.”
“Damn it, Mitch. We agreed we’d get along and I’m not usually this generous, so I suggest you accept it,” I snap, but make sure he sees my smile.
“Are you sure?” he asks and I can tell he’s thinking about the last time we shared a tent.
My cheeks flush at the unwelcome thought, and I tear my gaze away. “Yeah. Sure. It’s totally okay with me. Is it okay with you?”
His lips turn down at the corners. “Yep. Absolutely. Totally fine with me.” He runs a hand down his face, but it’s no use—I notice the twitch of his left eyebrow. “Cool. Great. So, we’re sharing a tent.”
“Looks like. I’ll go get my stuff.” With a nod, I quickly step out of the tent and remind myself not to overthink this.
We’re just sharing a tent. That’s it.
This is entirely about circumstance and generosity. It won’t turn into anything.
Nope. Nothing at all.
Once I’ve set my things up in Mitch’s tent, I go to leave, but notice that his inflatable mattress has deflated entirely. I check the plug, but it’s closed shut, which means there’s a hole somewhere.
“Crap,” I hiss, then step out.
I meet the group gathered by the fire, sitting in a circle of camp chairs. The only free seat is between Mitch and a cooler. I sit down, bumping my arm against his.
“Geez, why don’t you sit on me while you’re at it,” he teases.
“I’m sure you’d love that, wouldn’t you?” I tease right back, reflexively and then wince. “Bad news. Your mattress is flat.”
“Sure it is.” Mitch stares into the fire and doesn’t even lift his gaze to mine.
“No, I’m serious. I think it has a hole.”
He side-eyes me, then purses his lips. “You’re such a brat. Did you deflate it?”
“What? No! I didn’t even touch it!”
He scoffs. “Okay.”
I lean back in my seat, crossing my arms. “Go see for yourself if you don’t believe me. You probably put it on something pointy.”
He sighs, running his hands down his face, then slaps his thighs. “This day keeps getting better and better.”
“I’m sure there are patches in the box it came in.”
Annoyed, Mitch looks at me sideways, and I cringe.
“You don’t have the box,” I say.
“Nope. I guess you could give me your mattress, since I’m letting you share my tent.”
“Not happening. You’ll just have to sleep on the floor.”
He moves closer, making sure his hushed voice reaches only me. “Or we could always share your bed. I’m a human torch, remember? I’ll keep you nice and warm.”
I frown, but the heat in his tone sends traitorous shivers across my skin, and there’s no ignoring the spike in my blood pressure. “And in case you don’t remember, I love being cold. You’ll take the floor.”
He snickers into his beer. “We’ll see.”
“Is this yours?” I ask pointing to the untouched beer can sitting in my cup holder.
“Nah, I got it for you.”
I eye him suspiciously, wondering if he’s shaken it. I cautiously crack the top, relieved when it doesn’t explode in my face. “Thanks.”
“What are friends for, right?” A subtle smile hints at his lips, and I see a flicker of hope in his eyes that I long to cling to, but that I fear won’t last.
For a little while, frozen as if by fear, we don’t move.
Around us, the conversation continues, but it’s as if Mitch and I are on the periphery of a bubble, and our friends won’t dare pop it by speaking directly to us.
Or possibly, like me, deep down, they wish we’d forgive and forget.
That we’d move on from the past and go back to how things used to be.
Soon, my body cramps, and I bring my feet up, tucking them beneath me. Unintentionally, I lean toward Mitch.
Seconds later, I feel him relax, his body sinking into the chair and, also as if without intention, he seems to favor my side, his right shoulder dropping toward mine.
It’s like this instinctual dance we do. We get closer to each other, but neither of us admits that’s what we’re doing. As if body memory wants to tug us back together. But it’s only old habits dying hard. I hate it, but I’m unable to stop it.
Sweet laughter and the lull of low chatter, the flames dancing with heat and colors, all become so calming.
And before I even realize it, my eyes drift shut and my head falls onto Mitch’s shoulder, as if the last thirteen years never happened.
As if we’ve gone back in time and our bodies want to ignore what our hearts refuse to forget.