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“I was behind a tree.”

“Yeah, but you looked like you wanted to be inside it.”

One of the kids laughed.

Omar’s eyes shifted towards Alvin. “You okay?”

“Peachy keen,” Alvin replied.

He moved closer, bumping his shoulder against Omar’s, and the fucker smiled. “Want to finish telling me more stories about the pastor?”

“I’d love to. He once sent me an email that said, and I quote: God is Watching. No context. No greeting. Just the subtle threat of eternal damnation.”

Omar laughed. Alvin laughed with him.

And I stood back for a moment, flustered and trying very hard not to look like a man who had just let his former best friend jerk him off in the woods. It didn’t work.

Alvin glanced over at me. The corner of his mouth lifted and then he turned back to Omar and kept flirting.

Touché, motherfucker. Tou-fucking-ché.

CHAPTER 19

Sunday mornings at Camp Dix were apparently now reserved for suffering. Not hiking. Not swimming. Not sleeping in like normal, juvenile, civilized people.

Church. Mandatory fucking church.

The announcement had come over the loudspeaker at 8:30 while half the cabins were still trying to figure out who had stolen whose toothpaste.

“Campers and counselors are reminded that Sunday chapel begins at ten. Attendance is mandatory.”

I’d stared at the speaker mounted above the mess hall door. “Can they legally do that shit? What if I don’t want Jesus with my Fruity Pebbles?”

Trevor, who was sitting across from me with a bowl of cereal in front of him, shrugged. “Probably. Your dad seemed irritated by the lack of holiness around here.”

I thought about the last camp-related activity, and my mouth watered. “Wah, wah, wah.”

Darius walked past our table carrying a mug of fresh coffee, black like his mood. “Just go to the fucking chapel, Alvin.”

I looked at him. He did not look at me. And I grinned.

I’d barely stroked the guy yesterday. That was the beautiful part. A little pressure. A little voice. A few carefully chosen words. Then that sharp breath against my neck and my name coming out of his mouth like he hated me for knowing exactly what I could do to him.

What followed? Silence. That delicious, mortified silence when he realized what had happened. He’d barely spoken to me since. And, naturally, I’d been incredibly mature about the whole thing.

“Dee.”

He kept walking.

“Deeders.” When he didn’t acknowledge me, I tried to be a little more creative. “Dingle Fungus.” Not even a hitch in the step. “Darius.”

Finally, he stopped and slowly turned in my direction. “What?”

I smiled. “Nothing.”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re such a fucking asshole.”

Trevor looked over and gestured a milk-coated spoon between us. “What happened?”