Danny frowns. “They barely looked at me. I’m not hopeful.”
“Good thing there’s no rule that says a gay man can’t admire a straight one.” I give him a wave before the door shuts behind me.
His voice follows me outside. “Girl, wait until you see them!”
As I walk next door to the store, I can’t help the nagging suspicion that I already have.
Chapter 5
I spend the first four hours of my shift staring at the clock on my cell phone. I check out a few dozen customers, fight off a handful of enthusiastic campers participating in Water Wars, and don’t see a trio of guys that fit Danny’s description. That doesn’t stop me from staring out the windows at the front of the store for a glimpse.
Not because I’m boy-crazed like half of the staff, but because I want to know if I am right. I want to know if the three guys camping at site eight are the same three guys I saw at the café yesterday, and the same I vaguely remember helping me after the attack a few nights ago. They are the only ones who can confirm what did, or didn’t, happen to me.
From the store’s location in the center of the campground, sandwiched between the restaurant and the main office, I have an excellent view of the activity around me. It’s a warm, sunny day. Squeals and shouts of fun erupt from the pool despite the chill of the water this early in the season. A round of staff-led activities and crafts are kicking off at the pavilion. Campers run around with their Hilderness-issued water guns, hunting tie-dyed wearing staff members for flags. It looks like a blast out there.
I glance at the clock on the wall, then the time on my phone, and sigh. My forehead lowers to the counter and stays there while I mutter, “I hate this store.”
The bell above the door chimes, but I don’t move. I don’t greet the customer with my Hilderness-required smile. I don’t think I physically can, considering I have lost the will to live.
I’m calculating how early I need to get up in the morning to ensure I am the first one to clock in every day when there is a gentle tap on my shoulder. I suppress a groan and put on the best fake smile I can muster as I lift my head.
“What can I—” My mouth hangs open when my gaze connects with a pair of unforgettable eyes. “Luca?”
He’s wearing the same ball cap he wore in the café and a grin I’m growing increasingly familiar with. “You work here?”
I stand up straight, give my shirt a conscientious tug, and silently thank God that the counter is blocking his view of my shorts. “I have to pay for those community college credits somehow,” I quip with a carefree shrug that I hope masks my sudden nervousness.
He knows. He knows. He knows.
Will he bring up the elephant in the room first? Or will I?
As I watch a flirty smirk slowly take over his face, I suspect he doesn’t recall the events of the other night the way I recall them. Or his mind is on something else. “You remember me?”
“I . . . uh—yeah. I guess,” I stammer. Not only do I remember him, I am having wildly inappropriate dreams about him. I resist the urge to fan my suddenly hot neck, and play it cool with a shrug. “It’s easy to spot the out-of-towners here on a week-long vacation.”
“Ah.” He nods once as if answering a question that I didn’t ask. “What if I told you I’m not a tourist?”
He’s flirting—I think—though it’s not as obvious as what I experienced at the party. I recognize the same cocky gleam in his eyes, but there’s something different about him today. He’s more relaxed. Casual. Friendly.
The charm I thought was flowing pretty good before is gushing now. Though I’m convinced he is a heart destroyer, and he has pinned me as his next victim, I feel myself getting sucked in. I’m not concerned. There is no harm in enjoying the attention of a cute boy, and I’m cautious enough to get out before I get burned.
I flash him a smile. “Not a tourist, huh? That leaves hunter or environmental researcher.” I appraise his low-hanging board shorts, plain white T-shirt, and leather-strapped sandals with pseudo-criticism. “You don’t exactly fit either profile.”
“Hunters don’t wear flip flops?” His laugh is a deep, rich sound that tickles my insides and makes my neck flame hotter.
I wait, but he doesn’t tell me why he is in town. I suppose he intends to leave it a mystery, so I busy myself with the stack of Water Wars instruction sheets on the counter in an attempt to pretend I don’t care one way or the other what has brought him to Castien Valley, let alone my campground.
“Can I help you find something?” I offer. “It’s limited supply, but we have the basics.”
“Well, uh . . .” He rubs the back of his neck. “I was wondering if you sell anything for . . . itching.”
I suppress a grin. “Let me guess. You went for a walk in the woods behind your campsite? Or thought the bathrooms were too far of a journey in the middle of the night?”
“I—” He blinks, then narrows his eyes on me. “You know what campsite I’m at?”
“No, I don’t,” I gush. “I . . . just a lucky guess.”
His lopsided smile is all the proof I need to know that he doesn’t believe me. He has probably heard some of the other employees fawning over him and his friends, and suspects we all know where to find them.
My confidence deflates just as suddenly as it arrived. I trickle of sweat slides down the center of my back, and it’s not because the store is hot.
“Well, the itching stuff isn’t for me,” Luca explains. “My buddy picked a poor spot for a toilet last night.”
“He’s not the first.” I laugh awkwardly and start to step out from behind the counter before I remember the booty shorts. Instead of showing him myself, I point to the aisle he needs. “You’ll find some cream there.”
He looks in the direction I indicated, then flashes me a smile-wink combo before he turns. I sag against the counter the instant he is gone. My knees are shockingly weak, my pulse is a jackhammer in my ears, and I’m pretty sure the offensive thing I smell is me.
Who is this guy, and what is he doing to me?
I’m not this girl. My IQ doesn’t instantly drop in the presence of a good-looking guy. Not normally. But this one . . .
This one is causing all sorts of unfamiliar bodily reactions. Not necessarily unpleasant reactions—at least not all of them—but unexpected. I’m in unchartered territory.
Maybe it’s not him, but the memory of what he witnessed the night we met, that is affecting me. Sure, I thought he was cute when we talked at the party, and sure, I have only been reminded of how attractive he is since, but that is all. It’s the fact that he hasn’t mentioned that night that is flustering me—not his eyes, or his grin, or how everything he wears hugs his upper body, or the tufts of dark hair that stick out from under his ball cap like they’re demanding fingers to be run through them.
Nope. I don’t care about any of that.
I sneak a peek at him as he browses the medical aisle, and mentally scold my stomach for its uncontrollable flip-flopping.
Okay, so maybe his looks have something to do with it.
I’m attracted to the guy. So what? That’s not a crime.