“Okay,” I answer as I stand.
“Just okay? Do you have a headache?” Wilder asks, looking really concerned.
I have to hand it to him: he might have forgotten to roll when we fell, but he sure knows how to make up for it. He’s a really caring guy, has looked out for me consistently, and has made sure I’m taken care of.
Matt was never like that.
I’m pretty sure if I was attending this camp with Matt, he would have laughed at me, probably pointed, and made fun of me later for smashing my head on a rock.
There would be no apology.
Most likely, he would have blamed me for making us fall rather than taking responsibility.
Wilder—not that I’m comparing them, because Wilder and I aren’t actually together—you can see the remorse in his face. Makes me think, if I ever decide to put myself out there in the dating world again, this is an attribute that I would be looking for.
Doesn’t laugh when girlfriend gets her face smashed by a rock.
“No headache,” I say. “Pretty excited by the bruising though.”
He chuckles and presses his hands into his pockets. “I’m happy for you. I hope it looks even worse tomorrow morning.”
I press my hand to my chest. “That’s so sweet. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He nods toward the door. “Ready to go? We don’t want to be late. Sanders was adamant about that.”
“Yeah, I’m ready. Let’s go.”
Wilder opens the cabin door for us and then locks up. He turns toward me and says, “Can’t have the other campers sneaking into our room, knowing the kind of free goods we have in there.”
“Oh, smart. You know, I wonder if it’s something we could trade.”
“What do you mean?” Wilder asks as we walk down the ramp together.
“Well, you know how they trade in jail, like a cinnamon bun for a cigarette? What if we can use our prized condoms and dildo for trading fodder? Who knows what the other prizes are going to be? We have to be smart about this. There could be an opportunity for us to trade up.”
Wilder pauses and turns toward me. “Is it weird that your suggestion just made my nipples hard?”
“Yes.”
“Fair.” He nods, making me laugh. He points at me and says, “Hey, no laughing. We’re supposed to not like each other at the moment.”
“That’s not that hard to fake,” I say. “Given that you didn’t roll when we started falling.” I lift a brow at him.
“I apologized. I asked you how I can help. I have offered you all the things, like meds, an ice pack, and a drink. What else do you want from me?” he replies in a teasing tone.
“To live with the regret that you nearly cracked your fake wife’s head open on a rock.”
“Listen, I gave you an amazing gift. Without me, you might never have experienced your first-ever black eye. And now that I’m saying that out loud, it doesn’t sound great.”
“Not really, but I know what you mean. So what you’re saying is that I should feel honored to be in your presence.”
“Exactly,” he says as we walk down the path toward the food hall. “Anything I need to be aware of when we get in there?”
“Not really,” I say.
“What if people ask us if we liked our prize for the mini golf? What do you want me to say?”
“Um, I don’t know. What would a couple who is on the rocks right now say to that?”
