I hold my breath.
She moves, though I can’t tell if she’s approaching or moving away.
“Ouch. Shit.” And then a hard exhale. It’s an annoyed sound, followed by what might be an internal argument, happening aloud. “Fine. Fine.” A pause. “Hello?” she voices, louder. That shakiness is there, from the first night. It pulls hard at something inside me.
While I cast around for an appropriate response, instead of,Hey, girl. That you?or, I don’t know,Boo!, my hand nudges the cold edge of a beer can and inspiration strikes. With stiff fingers, I pop the pull top, my movements slow, the sound loud as hell and totally out of place here in the wild.
At first, she doesn’t respond, which makes me doubt everything, from coming here to begin with, to giving in to the urge to share my presence.
But then, after a prolonged beat, she lets out a breathy little sound that could be a sigh or a laugh or, hell, even annoyance.
“You’re here,” she says, to which I can do nothing but drop my head back and wait, drawing deeply from what I think is my third beer.
Her progress toward me is slow. I assume she’s giving me time to tell her to beat it or, worst case scenario, escape on my own if I want.
I don’t want. At all. I want to stay here. I want to see what happens next.
* * *
Grace
With the sliver of moon above, it’s lighter out tonight, which lends more depth to the woods, but also, in a weird way, more mystery. I follow his low, grainy whisper, half-convinced it’s a dream, to a tree that is all too familiar, though it smells like beer tonight instead of sex.
“Watch your step.”
My eyes just make him out on the ground, wedged up against the tree.
“Have a seat.”
Using the trunk as a guide, I settle beside him, without quite touching, and lean my head against the rough bark, watching the stars flicker with the movement of the leaves.
I inhale the skunk scent of beer, mixed with moss and pine.
“Drink?”
It’s a relief, after the masquerade’s mind-numbing racket, to reply in a whisper of my own. “Yeah. Please.”
A can opens and a second later touches my arm. I jump, squeak involuntarily, and laugh as I accept the beer. It’s a real laugh, which I know isn’t part of the anonymity pact, but to hell with it. I won’t be staying at Kink Camp forever. He won’t have to worry about me next week.
“Thanks.” Settling back, I look up again.
Our shoulders touch.
I stop breathing, expecting…hell, I don’t know. For him to move away? For him to jump me? Any number of things, but certainly not the long, low hum he lets out. It sounds like pleasure, like comfort, and when he presses his arm to mine, it vibrates through him like a purr.
The beer goes down easily—too fast, probably, but I’m nervous, despite our easy silence.
I expect questions, I guess, maybe even accusations.Why the hell are you back here?He says nothing, just drinks, leans in so our skulls almost touch. Our arms peacefully co-exist.
After a while, he turns and I go still, my can suspended on the edge of my lip. I’m wet between the thighs, which is a strange, unexpected development, given that nothing sexual has happened.
“I’ve had too many of these.”
“Okay.” It doesn’t stop my nerves from humming way up close to the surface.
“Do you know who I am?” His question shocks me, each word a puff of hot, hot air against my neck.
“No.” At the almost disappointed sound he makes, I half turn, putting my cheek so close to his, I feel the prick of his stubble.
