She scoffs. “If you think we’re watching that together, you are sadly mistaken.”
“Okay, if you want to watch it first, I can go hang out in the bathroom, and then we can rotate.”
Her nostrils flare, and she turns away from me. “Good night, Wilder.”
Smirking, I turn off the light and say, “Night, Pips.”
Chapter Twelve
SCOTTIE
I did not sleep well; I kept worrying about keeping to my side of the bed. I wish I’d worn socks; I was freezing. And while I heard Wilder quietly sleeping, all I could think about was how many of the cabins’ inhabitants were getting it on.
My guess was all of them besides us.
No wonder the Brads and Chad like to revisit the camp often. It’s like a kinky sex club in the woods. And here I thought it was going to be about bonding and therapy and trying to patch up my broken, nonexistent relationship.
Sure, I’m judging the camp based off one day and a cabin full of paraphernalia. We’ll see what today brings, but if I had known, I would have cancelled and come up with a different solution, because this makes me embarrassingly uncomfortable.
And what makes it even more uncomfortable is that it seems to me that Wilder is loving every second of this.
With the video, he didn’t even scoff. I think if I said we were going to watch it, he’d have been all about it. He laughs about the fleshy poker in the shower. I’ve seen him perusing theoverpriced lovemaking minibar. I even caught him staring at the nipple picture, as if he was trying to come up with a backstory for it.
Which leads me to believe that he’s very confident in his sexuality—something I wish I was.
I found out quickly with Matt that I was not comfortable in my own skin.
And I know it wasn’t his responsibility to boost my ego, but I wish he would’ve at least once looked at me like he wanted to devour me. I wish he had given me a touch of confidence in the bedroom when I took my clothes off with just one hungry look or nod of approval.
But there was nothing.
He was more interested in his own pleasure than mine.
And once he found completion, that was about it. It got to the point where I wasn’t really trying anymore. I was just doing what I needed to do, and then I could get on with my night. I know it was one of the reasons why we disconnected. I tried talking to him about it once, even suggested trying something new, like toys, and he scoffed at the idea. I felt so humiliated, as if it was wrong to ask for more sexually. It drove home this insecurity that my sexual needs simply don’t matter and at the core of it all, I just wasn’t good enough. And that’s a hard perception to shut down.
So being immersed in a situation where sensuality and sexuality—which I have no experience with—are at the forefront of conversation makes my skin itch, especially since my fake husband seems to be very well versed in the matter.
“Ready?” Wilder says, knocking me out of my thoughts.
“Yeah,” I say as I down the rest of my orange juice and then dab my mouth with my napkin. Breakfast was delivered right on time, an assortment of pastries, coffee, tea, and yogurt parfaits. For a summer camp, it was pretty fancy. I was expectingpancakes and a vat of scrambled eggs to be cooked on a flat-top grill, only to be divvied out by the scoopful. But our tray was beautifully decorated with cloth napkins and a daisy in a vase and set in cotillion style.
Fancy.
“That apple Danish was really good,” he says as he opens the door to our cabin for us, the humid summer air already penetrating my skin.
“Yeah, I liked the cheese one. Kind of hope that’s something we get every day.”
“Hey, I was thinking the same thing.” He bumps my shoulder with his. “Look at us being friends.”
“Friends? I think that’s pushing it.”
“We shared a bed last night, Scottie. I think that makes us at least friends.”
“No, I think that makes you lucky.”
He gasps. “Holy shit, did you just make a joke?” He tugs on his ear. “Did I hear that right?”
“Can you not, please?” I try to hold back my smirk.
