“It’s too late for that.”
“I know.”
“Do you want me?”
“Yes.” The word slips out before I have a chance to stop it.
“Are you gonna do anything about it?”
My gaze falls because I can’t look at his face when I tell him that, “I can’t.”
“What can’t you do? Be with a man? Someone my age? Your best friend’s brother?”
“I can’t do any of it.”
“Fuck you.” He turns and walks to the van.
I stand. “Carey, I’m sorry.”
After two more steps he pivots back. “Save it. It was like pulling teeth to get you to apologize the first time, now you’re throwing it around like you actually give a shit.”
“I do give a shit—”
“Only about yourself… This might be the first time I’m actually saying it, but you’ve known for weeks that I have feelings for you. If you cared, you would have told me nothing would ever happen before I got on my knees for you. I even gave you an out while I was sucking you off, for Christ’s sake. But you’re too much of a selfish prick to think about anyone but yourself, what you want, and what you can get out of any given situation, and…” He looks down at the kettle, then back to the van. “Forget it,” he exhales. “I’ll get dressed, you put out the fire, and… we’ll just go home.”
He walks away, and I let him. I don’t have a leg to stand on, anyway.
The van door opens, then slams shut.
My brain is fried, my chest is hollowed out, and I feel like I want to dig into my flesh and pluck out each of my bones one by one.
There's a thud inside the van.
I keep my eyes where they are until it feels like I'm going to burst, and when I do look over, I see the silhouette of Carey standing in the kitchenette. He's ditched the blanket, but I hope, for my own sanity, that the towel is still around his waist.
I pick up a stick and try to distract myself by playing with the logs in the fire because I'm sure as hell not putting it out.
I don't want to leave. I don't care if that makes me selfish.
Carey said we were spending two nights here and I plan on holding him to it.
I'll sleep in the damn tent tonight if I have to.
I jab harder at the logs but it's a pointless endeavor. My dick keeps pulling focus and grinding on me with its growing,insistent pressure, because it knows, just as well as I do, that Carey is fully naked only five yards from where I'm sitting.
I might not want to want this but, fuck it, I do.
I don't want to betray Eden, or the person I promised myself I'd be, but I want Carey Novak so badly I'm on the verge of throwing it all away.
I grip the arms of the camp chair until my knuckles pale.
I force my breathing to slow, but the images keep coming: Carey, naked and smiling that cocky sunshine smile, bent over the sink, washing himself, knowing exactly what the fuck he's doing.
I squeeze my thighs together like it'll trick my erection.
I don't want to look. I want to be strong, to resist, to not let him see how he's gotten under my skin. But I can't help myself.
The guilt burns inside me, but the need burns hotter.
