“Not a chance,” I tell him flatly, then add, “If anything, you can hand Brooks the Black Card I’m sure you have, and he can ride with me. You can stay here and help runyourcamp.”
“You’re rude,” Kai huffs, placing his hands on his hips.
“Not a novel observation,” I grunt, pressing a hand to Brooks’ lower back, guiding him to the up-seat, fishing Colton’s helmet out of the saddlebag, and passing it to him. He looks nervous yet excited, all rolled into one. “Have you ever ridden on a bike before?” I ask.
He shakes his head sheepishly. God, he looks like a dream, wild, dark-auburn locks flipping in the slight breeze, a pink stain on his rounded—slightly freckled—cheeks, looking particularly excited about riding for the first time. Truthfully, I’m excited too—knowing he’ll be so nervous, he’ll probably cling to me for dear life.
I internally chastise myself for letting my mind wander into uncharted waters again, before the internal voice that taunts, scolds, and bullies does it for me.
That doesn’t stop me from letting my hand wander up to flip some of the hair back out of his eyes though, before he slips the helmet on his head. I tap it and grin at him. “Hang on tight, and lean with me when I do.”
On that, I throw my leg over and settle onto the seat. I tilt the bike, kicking up the stands and walking it around so it’s facing the right way to head back out. With a roar, the bike comes to life again, the vibration between my thighs noticeably more pronounced with the added stimulation provided by the heat of a body pressing close behind me.
“Like this?” Brooks asks nervously, squeezing my hips with his thighs and resting his palms on my shoulders.
Truthfully, he could stand to relax back a little and not crowd me, but my body screams otherwise. “Try putting your hands around my waist, instead of my shoulders,” I tell him, my vocal cords betraying my rationality.
I guess he doesn’t need to know that he could also just hold onto the bike itself.
I spare a glance over my shoulder, before pulling away from the camp and see the priceless look of a contempt Kai, standing there in the driveway looking like a scorned man-child in a fucking designer dude-romper—one that’s covered in pineapples and palm trees, like he’s at a resort island getaway and not a summer camp in the woods of Maine.
Now, I could be mistaken, but the way Brooks directed me back to the camp seemed like it was a longer, more winding way. Not sure if he did it just so he could lean into me more and wrap his arms around me tighter. Also, not sure if I mind it at all.
I pull up to a four-way intersection and wait my turn. Casually, and I don’t know what compels me to, I reach back and pat his outer thigh, caressing the length of his leg. The act is way more intimate than anything I’m used to doing.
“This is pretty fun,” Brooks notes over the rumble of the engine, slightly wiggling his hips a little, making me glad he can’t see what’s starting to creep up in front of me.
I chuckle. “Yeah?”
I feel his chest brush my back as he presses himself in closer. “I mean, I have no interest in learning to pilot one of these things, or whatever it is you call it, but I could get used to riding.”
I twist slightly to face him with a smirk. “Maybe Pretty Boy needs to drain your car battery more often. It’d give you an excuse to go out for more rides.”
I get the feeling that’s the only reason he’d ever allow himself to set foot off the camp property—out of necessity. Not to indulge in some casual joyriding, much less anything else—like a social life, or an occasional treat. Which is why, when I see an ice cream stand up ahead, I tap my blinker and pull in.
We order and when it comes time to pay, I start to reach for my wallet in my back pocket. Brooks swats my hand away, a playful smirk on his face as he slides Kai’s Black Card across the counter and pays for our cones. “He owes me more than just an ice cream, but this is a good start,” he says.
I can’t tell if that statement was snarky or wistful, and that gnaws at me. I mean, I barely know Brooks at all, but I know he likespaying people back for things he perceives he owes them. It shouldn’t bother me that I find myself trying to decipher the tone behind that statement—but I’m nothing if not a masochist, as recently evidenced by my flirting. I’d be lying if it didn’t bother me that I know he’s sharing his house with Kai, and I’m likely to find out that I acquired a bunkmate in the staff cabin while I was back in Ternbay the past three days.
Wondering whether or not he and Kai share a bed together makes me outwardly groan and cover my face with my palm, without even meaning to. He must interpret the pained reaction as brain freeze, because he chuckles. “Careful,” he warns, nodding at my mile-high vanilla cone, “might want to try savoring it, before deep throating it all at once.”
My eyebrows shoot up towards my hairline, and he gasps and slaps a hand to his mouth. Redness creeps up his neck, staining his cheeks—like watching mercury rise in a thermometer. “God no, ignore that! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean—ugh, you must think I’m no better than Kai.”
I grin, tearing my eyes away from the adorable shyness he’s now displaying on account of his embarrassment.
“I’m so sorry,” he repeats, suddenly unable to make eye contact with me, his long lashes fluttering on his cheeks. “Yes, I’m gay, and anyone would be a fool to not see what an attractive man you are, but no—I don’t make it a habit of making lewd innuendos in public. Least of all to the father of one of my student-hires… and, come to think of it, someone who’salsonow one of my employees.” He gnaws at the inside of his cheek, while that blush returns to his face.
“It’s fine. I’m not about to report you to the labor board, bossman,” I tease, taking another lick of my ice cream. “I’ll take it as a compliment that you’re critiquing my ice cream blowie-giving technique.”
Still unable to make eye contact with me, I’m acutely aware of how his eyes are glued to the action of me licking my ice cream. I intentionally make a show of it, against my baser instincts, just to see his reaction. His expression flares into something too brief to interpret, before he schools it and takes a lick of his own cone. My attention is now honed on the way he swipes at the white cream that coats his bottom lip, and his tongue darts back out to lick said cream off his thumb.
“So, about Kai,” I say, trying to change the subject to something that will undoubtedly settle the swelling in my jeans that cropped up the second he confirmed he’s gay, “what’s the story between you two and the camp?”
Brooks gives his cone another lick, and I watch as his Adam’s apple bobs when he quickly gulps down his mouthful. I swear, watching this guy is an art form. I can’t help from letting my mind go to places I know it shouldn’t be going.
“Well,” he says, “we originally came up with the idea in college together. I was going to become a social worker, and Kai was a business major with a focus on property investment. We were dating, and, at the time, he seemed super supportive about the idea of having a summer camp for troubled youth.”
He goes on, “My older sister—she got mixed up with a bad crowd after her best friend in high school passed away unexpectedly her freshman year. These new ‘friends’ helped her cope by taking her out, partying, getting her hooked on drugs and alcohol, and I watched my mothers struggle with how to help her for years until she dropped out of high school and just kind of flitted in and out of our lives. I envisioned a summer camp that helped kids stay out of trouble—to be a place where they could get therapeutic support without itfeelingclinical.I guess I was hopeful I could have an impact on at-risk teens and pre-teens.”
