“What we did earlier?” she whispers, her voice soft and rasping. “Can we do it again?”
All the blood pours straight into my cock, an uncomfortable tightness forming in my pants. For a second, I consider taking her again, right here—throwing her down on her hands and knees, yanking down her shorts, burying myself to the hilt. But no. We’re too close to the camp. Oliver might hear us and wake up. Besides, she’s clean, as clean as I could get her, and I don’t want to dirty her again.
I can hear her held breath, though. Her pounding heart. I step up to her and cup her face with my hand, tilting her eyes up to meet mine. Those, I think, she sees.
When I tap her once, her smile lights up all the darkness.
22
CHLOE
Iwake up the next morning to the scent of frying meat, my back aching from sleeping on the ground. I’ve never liked camping, although this experience has certainly been better than my last one.
When I crawl out of my tent, Oliver is already up, watching Theo cook something in a black cast-iron skillet over the fire. I blink out at the early-morning sunlight, and Theo’s the first to see me, lifting his gaze from the pan. He waves and gives me a sly, dark smile that makes my breath catch.
Oliver, of course, doesn’t register any of that. He whirls around to face me, his hands flying. “Theo’s making us breakfast, like he promised. It’s—” He hesitates, then looks back at Theo questionably.
“Venison,” Theo spells out. “And coffee, if you want some.”
“Ah.” I stumble forward and slump down on the log to watch the steaks cook and sizzle in the pan. My mouth waters at the scent of them. I didn’t have much dinner the night before. “Coffee would be great.”
Fortunately, it doesn’t take much longer for Theo to get breakfast together. He lays the venison stakes out on old, chipped plates, along with the oranges Theo brought from myhouse. The coffee he prepares over the fire, too, in some ancient-looking metal canister. He pours that into matching ceramic coffee mugs, and although we have to drink it black, the caffeine does help me feel more awake after a night of outdoor sleep.
“Did you have fun?” Oliver signs at me between bites of his steak, which he doesn’t bother cutting into pieces—he just stabs the whole thing with his fork and gnaws into it.
“Yeah,” I tell him. “I had fun.”
I can feel Theo staring at me from across the low, warm fire, and when I glance over at him, he’s smiling.
“My favorite part was roasting marshmallows,” I add.
Oliver nods at that and keeps tearing into his breakfast. I eat mine, too, although not quite enthusiastically. I’m actually not super looking forward to going back over the lake and explaining to his parents why I kidnapped their child for an impromptu camping trip with his imaginary ghost friend.
Maybe they didn’t notice he was missing, I think, squinting up at the sky. It’s definitely still early, the horizon limned with grey.
Theo watches me, his brow furrowed a little with concern. I guess he can sense it, my worry. I flash him a smile, wondering if he thinks the worry is because of him. Because of what we did last night.
I take a deep breath and look over at Oliver, who’s just finishing up his last orange slice. “We should probably get back,” I say. “We don’t want your parents to be worried.”
Oliver freezes, the orange slice still in his hands. When he looks up at me, something snags in my throat. There’s a real sadness in his expression. The kind of sadness you don’t ever want to see on a kid.
He drops the orange slice onto his plate. “I want to stay.”
That tight feeling in my throat pulls even tighter, and I glance over at Theo, who watches us guardedly. “I’m sure Theo has things to do,” I say carefully.
Oliver immediately looks over at him. “He has to do his hauntings,” Oliver says. “I can help.”
I don’t know what Oliver means byhauntings, and, in fact, I think I might have misunderstood. But Theo says, “Chloe’s right. You should check in with your parents. And hauntings will be boring for you.”
Oliver stares forlornly down at his uneaten orange slice. Then he throws it into the fire, hard enough to make sparks fly up.
“I want to stay here,” he signs.
I sigh. “Let’s just check in, okay? Maybe you can come visit this afternoon?”
Oliver doesn’t answer.
He also doesn’t protest again, though, not even when he tries to help put the tents away and Theo tells him not to worry about it. I suspect Theo has had the same basic thought I had: namely, that the sooner I can get Oliver back to his parents, the less likely they are to call the police.
