Heart hammering, I get inside quickly and set Dean’s food on the passenger seat as I take deep breaths, in and out, to calm myself. Fingers clenching the steering wheel, I stare blankly at the side of the bookstore, its OPEN light no longer illuminated.
One more deep breath, and my pulse begins to slow. He’s not here anymore. This is my town, my home. I’m not going anywhere just because some asshole tried to take advantage of me.
Quickly, I make my way back out to the camp. Dean is sitting on the front porch, beer in hand, when I pull up. The sight of him makes my stomach twist, but not in the way it should. No, my traitorous hormones are all about making me want him despite his asshole nature.
“Moe’s?” he asks, eyeing the bag in my hand as I climb the porch steps.
“Yup. Daisy said Moe made it for you.”
He holds up his free hand, and I reach into the bag, acting like I’m retrieving the Styrofoam container for him. Instead, I open said container and take a big-ass bite out of the burger before putting it back into the container and setting it down next to him. “Enjoy.”
Eyes on me, Dean lifts the burger and bites right where I’d taken the chunk out. Then, he groans and says, “Tastes even better now.”
Asshole.
Dean
I can barely manage to keep the smile off my face as Kleo stomps inside. I wasn’t lying, the burger does taste better now that she’s taken a bite out of it. Mainly because she never expected me to eat it, and yet here I am, enjoying the shit out of it.
The night air is humid as per usual in a Florida summer, but unlike usual, I’m not overly enjoying myself tonight. Mainly because I can’t get my blonde roommate out of my head. The way she felt against me, the way her mouth moved—fuck—it’s driving me insane.
I set the half-eaten burger aside and take a pull from my beer. Here I am crushing on Kleo Turner again like a lovesick teenage boy. Who would have thought? Definitely not me, and to be honest, the thought pisses me the hell off.
It’s so damned stupid.
Something crunches in the trees beside the cabin so I push to my feet quickly and peer into the darkness. More crunching and a large crash. “Damnit!” I race down the steps and around to the side of the cabin where I see my metal trashcan on its side, the contents spilling out of it.
“Fucking perfect.” Kneeling, I start shoving garbage into the can. “Fuck!” Sharp pain shoots through my hand, and I yank it back as blood pools on the surface of my palm. After checking to make sure it isn’t deep enough to need stitches, I search the ground for whatever cut me. I don’t remember putting any broken—I spot it just beneath me where I dropped it, the corner smeared with blood.
Lifting it, I study the broken mirror with irritation. Who the hell put it in here? Shaking my head angrily, I toss it in the can and finish throwing the rest of the garbage away before heading back into the cabin, ready to rip Kleo a new one for my now-injured hand. If it wasn’t me that put it in there, it had to be her.
There’s literally no one else living here. And yes, I understand it’s irrational. After all, it wasn’t her who knocked the can over, and if it was in the trash then she put it where it went. But if she wasn’t here, invading my space and turning my life upside down, it wouldn’t have been in there to get knocked over.
That’s at least somewhat logical, right?
The living room is empty as is the office and back porch. I stare at her bedroom door before heading into the bathroom and pulling out the first-aid kit to clean the injury.
By the time I’m done, my anger has dissipated, and my rational thoughts have returned. And I’m damned grateful she was in her room and didn’t witness my embarrassingly pissy temper tantrum.
17
Kleo
“I’ll be right back!” I tell Judson with a laugh as he slurps down another oyster at the horrified expression of his wife. She glares at me as if I’m the bad influence. I just smile back because I totally am. Judson and I are best friends, and any chance I get to pull him out of his button-down socialite mode, I’ll take it.
“Take as long as you need,” Sofia says sweetly, and I smile at her again. Bitch hates me as much as I despise her. At least, the feeling is mutual.
The party is going strong as I push through the dancing crowd toward the staircase. Most of them are drunk, but not me. I’m not a fan of losing that control. I tend to have my fun without the additive of alcohol, which works for me, and since it’s not hurting anyone else—it works for them too.
My parents are laughing, and as I pass by, my dad reaches out and wraps an arm around me in a half hug, pressing a kiss to my temple. “My baby girl is all grown up. When did this happen?”
“Dad,” I say as I feel the heat rushing to my cheeks. Who am I kidding though? I love the attention from the best man in the world.
“You ready for tomorrow?” Mayor Justin Connor asks with a smile.
I nod. “More than. Everything’s prepped for the campers to arrive.”
“She’s being modest,” my mom chimes in. “She was ready two weeks ago.”
“Who do you have for counselors?” the mayor asks, his gaze steady on my face. I’ve known the mayor and his wife for my entire life, and when I received the first of a series of strange letters two years ago, he put the sheriff on the case and managed to find the creepy bastard sending me shards of blood-covered mirror.
“Michael Scotts, Prea Julliete, Oliver Henson, Dean Lewis, Marnie Wilson, and Amber Micalson. Her husband Keith is going to pop in every now and then to help as well.”
“Gary still doing the cooking?”
“He is.”
“I don’t think we could drive him out of there if we wanted to,” my dad jokes. He and Gary have been friends since elementary school.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go check my emails one last time,” I say with a smile and a wave.
“See you later,” the mayor calls after me, and I wave again, heading up the stairs. I’m so excited for tomorrow. The camp has been my dream since I was old enough to know what I wanted out of life. That was when I turned five and my dad took me with him to the camp for the first time. The idea of helping people—it means something to me. Especially when those people are teenagers who haven’t gotten the best start.
I push open the door to my bedroom and step inside, leaving it cracked behind me as I head to my desk near the window and take a seat on the chair. My computer takes just a second to fire up, and soon I’m staring at a handful of emails from excited parents whose children will be arriving first thing tomorrow.
Reading through them, I fire off some responses and pull up my counselor roster one last time. Six counselors. One for each of the cabins. Three men, three women, all ready to help others. Well, most of them anyway. I’m not entirely sure why Dean signed up, but since I haven’t spoken to him in a few years, maybe he’s washed off some of his asshole-itude. I needed someone, and he stepped up.
The door creaks behind me, and I turn, expecting to see my brother or mother. Instead, the mayor stands in the doorway, his suit jacket unbuttoned. “Everything okay?”