It’s been years since I did this—slept on the hard ground. I have so many fond memories of camping trips with my sister and dad, but this . . .thisis miserable.
I’ve tossed and turned for two hours. The giggles from the tents across the clearing have stopped. The two couples have either fallen asleep, or they’re . . .busy. The hum from Adler’s speaker is still low, but I haven’t heard his voice singing along for at least an hour. I’m likely the only one awake. And I swear it’s because of this poor excuse for a sleeping bag. I may as well have layered a few paper towels on the ground to sleep on.
It couldn’t possibly be the guilt.
No. Not guilt. Nah. Nope.
I’m sure Hunter is comfortable in the truck. He’s inside. On a leather bench seat. He may as well be on some fancy couch in an apartment. Yeah. I’m sure he’s sleeping just fine.Waybetter than I am. He’s probably actually sleeping. I guess that’s good since he’ll need to drive in the morning.How close is morning?
I pull my phone from my backpack pocket where it’s plugged in to my charger. It’s just after midnight, so I can’t really say it’s morning. But it’s the next day. I made it over the hump into tomorrow.
Go me!
I still feel guilty, though.
Shit.
It’s the thoughts I’m having.
Not the ones about forcing myself to sleep. Those are just excuses I’m telling myself.
No. I feeling guilty because of the mental torture I’m trying to bury and rewrite. I want to do something bad. Notbadbad. Justbad ideakind of bad. And I’ll regret the decision by morning, I know I will. Hell, I might regret it minutes after orgasm.
But I do want it.
I want him.
In this fucking tent.
Fucking me.
I bury my face in my hands and laugh silently at what I’ve become.
Get it together, Renleigh. You’re a twenty-four-year-old sexual being. You’re single. You’re in a tent out in the wilderness, albeit not totally alone, but for all intents and purposes . . . you’re alone. With a hot professional athlete.
Who clearly wants to fuck you.
Just let him, for Pete’s sake!
I kick off the top flap of the thermal-lined sleeping bag and get to my feet. Shaking out my hands and feet, I let the cool air spike my courage. I run my fingers through my hair, combing the wavy ends and resting them over my shoulders. I’m wearing a double XL pale pink sweatshirt and equally baggy gray sweatpants. It’s my go-to pajama choice, and it seemed practical when I shoved it in my backpack fifteen hours ago. Now, though? I feel pretty fucking frumpy.
I stare down at my legs, then bend to pull the elastic up my calf on one leg before rolling the waist band so it sits below my belly button. I feel like I’m wearing a fleece innertube.
Gah!
I pull my pants down and dance my way out of them, kicking my feet free so I’m now wearing nothing but the calf-high tube socks with pink stripes across the top to match my favorite sweatshirt.
Okay. This might be sexy.
I pop my hip out and turn my knee in, practicing what I’d like to think is a rather coy pose. Demure, as that influencer says. I run my fingers through my hair one more time, scratching at my scalp to give my locks a bit of body, then shove my feet into my warm boots. One more deep breath and exhale, and I unbutton the tent closure and step out into the starry night.
“Jesus,” I whisper, hugging my body as the breeze cuts right to my bare legs. Goose bumps rise on my skin.
“Can’t sleep?”
I jump at Hunter’s voice, and it takes my eyes a few minutes to adjust to the landscape and moonlight. He’s sitting on his tailgate, leaning back on his palms while his legs dangle. He isn’t asleep. And he isn’t inside the warm cab.
“Why are you out here?” My inner thoughts pour out before I think to answer his question. “And yeah. Can’t sleep.”
