That’d be easier to do now that I wasn't trembling in fear and anxiety around the camp leader. Nope, now I just trembled with arousal. Dammit.
"Stop looking at me like that," I scolded him as I buttoned up my shirt the next morning.
He just smirked. "Like I wanna make you late for forest survival skills this morning?"
I glared. "Exactly like that." I turned back to the mirror to check my outfit, then groaned when I spotted the dark marks on my neck. "Dammit, Dylan!"
He just chuckled—the big fucker—and pulled on a pair of dark gray cargo pants. Damn, that was a good look when he had no shirt on. All military and shit.
I took my shirt off again and swapped it for a high-neck top, something to cover the damn hickeys he'd left like he was a damn teenager, not a twenty-three-year-old billionaire CEO.
Wow. That sounded so implausible when I put it like that. Then again, Delta didn't seem to operate in the "normal" world with the rest of us, so what the fuck did I know?
"Come on," he said, brushing my hair back to kiss me gently on the lips. "Let's get to breakfast. Today is a rough one, and there won't be any lunch. You'll need to fill up this morning."
I cringed. "Good to know." Now that he mentioned it, I wasreallyhungry. I guessed a whole shitload of fucking did tend to build a bit of an appetite.
He held my hand as we left the cabin but dropped it as we came closer to the dining hall. A flicker of hurt zapped through me, but I quickly shook it off. He wasn't trying to be a dick; he was trying to save me from the negative attention of other campers and guides. It was one thing to be accused of sleeping around; it was a whole different thing to present hard evidence.
This was exactly what I would have wanted him to do this morning, so these hurt feelings could just fuck right off. My emotions were all over the place lately, and it was going to be an issue. Escaping from Blake would require a level head, quick thinking, and no mess. Why had my life never felt messier?
Dylan steered me toward the buffet, giving me one of the larger plates in his not-so-subtle reminder that I wasn't eating enough for his satisfaction. Today I didn't mind though—I was fucking starving with my stomach rumbling every couple of seconds to remind me.
Everything looked fresh and delicious, so I wasted no time piling my plate with scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, grilled tomato, and lots of breakfast potatoes, because they were crispy and salty and... perfection.
Dylan, who had a body like a professional athlete, took almost as much food, but he'd gone heavier on the scrambled eggs and lighter on the bacon. I mean, the guy worked out a lot, clearly; he'd run every one of the obstacle courses without faltering. So he could probably eat what he wanted and never gain a pound. I, on the other hand, looked at doughnuts and they attached to my hips. Hence Blake keeping me on a diet since around the day I first discovered carbs.
Dylan stayed close to me, and I could have sworn I felt a light brush across the back of my neck as I walked to the table. But when I turned, he had both hands on his plate. There was a wicked grin on his face though, and I narrowed my eyes at the sight.
That perfect fucking smile.
When we reached the table, I sat and eagerly unrolled the cutlery and napkin provided. I couldn't remember the last time I'd been this hungry, and clearly, a night of fucking was exactly what I needed to stimulate an appetite. I didn’t know what to go with first, but the bacon just looked so good, so it had to be the right choice. I almost drooled at the thought of the salty goodness, and when I bit down, I closed my eyes so I could truly appreciate the full experience.
Dylan chuckled, and as my eyes opened, my mouth filled with saliva. And not in a good way. "Ugh," I said with a cough, before I launched for the napkin and spat the entire lot into it. "The bacon is terrible." I knocked some out of Matthew's hand—he was on the other side of me.
Everyone stared at me blankly for a beat, and I looked around. "Seriously. It tastes like off fish or something. Did someone check the expiration date?"
When I turned to Dylan, he was staring at me with eyebrows drawn. "Our meat is flown in fresh daily from the top slaughterhouse in the state. There's no way it's bad."
He reached for my plate, grabbing up the bacon I'd bitten into and had dropped in disgust. Jaws dropped around the table as he bit into it, and I swallowed down a gag as the memory of eating it hit me.
My appetite was gone, and now I just felt nauseous.
"It's fine, Brooke," he said after he ate the whole thing. "Tastes great."
I looked at my plate again, wondering if I was getting sick or something. My throat did feel a little tender when I swallowed, but I'd been putting that down to a night fucking and not refueling. "Yeah. Maybe I'm just not feeling bacon today," I said quietly, hoping, now that I'd made a stupid scene, everyone would forget it and just go back to what they'd been doing. "Never mind."
The guides started to eat again, but Dylan was still staring at me. "Are you anorexic?" He asked it so quietly that no one could have heard, but it still hit me hard in the chest.
"I'm not," I said shortly. "Not by choice anyway. But I've been regularly deprived of food over the years, so I'm sure I'm somewhat malnourished."
This conversation was making me sick now, so I shoved my plate away and stood. "If you'll excuse me, I think I need a minute in the bathroom."
I glared down at Dylan, even though, technically, he'd done nothing wrong. It was probably a fair question to ask someone who was acting like I was. But I couldn't explain why the bacon tasted bad. It just did.
"Brooke." He reached for my hand, but I jerked it away before he could touch me.
"I'm not going to throw up," I hissed between my teeth. "I don't even have any food in my system. And I'm not bulimic either, okay!"
