But even so, I don’t know how to process the comment that so ardently reminds me now of sex.
If he were anyone else, I’d assume he was flirting with me.
“Well,” I say, voice a little rougher than I’d like, “you burn my marshmallow, and it’s the dungeon for you.”
Oakley sputters a cough that turns into a laugh. His voice is whisper-soft when he speaks, cognizant of the kids around. “Jesus, Lawson. You got some sorta kinky playroom I’m unaware of?”
“What? ’Course not. I didn’t mean it likethat.”
Oakley continues to laugh at my put-out expression.Christ, this man.
Despite myself, I smile as I shove his shoulder. “Get my mallow going.”
He tosses me a salute. “Yessir.”
As the marshmallows heat, Oakley passes the s’mores supplies around. A few of the kids start roasting their own marshmallows, others eating chocolate plain. Liv offers Oakley a thanks he looks pleased by.
Oakley likes to help others. It’s a quality I’ve always admired about my friend.
Not many people are as goodhearted as him.
Oakley pulls my marshmallows off the fire once the outsides are perfectly browned—notburnt—and the insidesare gooey all the way through. They’re exactly how I like them, and I tell him as much, earning a beaming grin that has me feeling a surge of fondness for this man I’ve known all my life.
It wasn’t the same these past few years he was gone. But now… Now everything feels as it should.
Liv herds the kids indoors at eleven, much to their verbal complaining. But they comply, heading to their cabins or the nearby bathrooms to get ready for bed. The adults take care of the messes left out by the fires before putting the flames out.
Oakley and I wait until all of the kids are inside their cabins and everyone has been accounted for before using the cement-walled bathrooms and retiring to our tent. He lets out a big sigh as he drops onto his stomach atop the sleeping-bag-padded ground, the man looking like a wet noodle in the dark.
“All right?” I check.
“Mm. Just tired. I’m usually sound asleep by now.”
I give the side of his ass a slap, an action that has his head whipping my way. “Buck up, cowboy. These kids will be up at dawn and not down again until midnight.”
“’Scuse you, I can handle it.”
“Can you?”
“I got this. If anything, I’m surprised you’re not complaining about the late hour.”
“I’m complaining on the inside,” I assure him.
That has him chuckling as he rolls onto his back. With a grunt, he curls upright to tug off his shirt, the clear window at the top of our tent giving me just enough moonlight to see him by. It’s warm enough he doesn’t cover himself with his sleeping bag, and neither do I. I lie beside him in the dark, watching the gentle ebb and flow of his chest, his hands resting on his stomach.
Part of me aches to bridge the distance between us. To rest within the curve of Oakley’s arms, where everything is familiar and quiet. I don’t ask it of him, knowing I’ve asked far too much lately.
But boy do I ache.
Chapter 16
Oakley
I wake well before dawn, a habit hardwired into me through years,decades, of ranching. Which means the dark isn’t a surprise.
The man at my front, however,is.
At some point in the night, Lawson and I found our way toward one another. I don’t know if he moved, if I did, or if it was a mutual effort, but my arm is slung over a still-asleep Lawson, my body curled around his big spoon to little spoon style.
