“Yeah, if you say so,” I murmur.
She looks at me over her shoulder and grins. “Among other things.”
“That’s more like it,” I say.
With the bags set up properly, she turns toward me. “Now what?”
I don’t think she’s trying to be provocative. With Laney, I don’t think she ever really tries. She just is. Everything she does is sexy as hell and makes my dick as hard as a chunk of granite. My . . . appetites have always been pretty voracious, but with Laney, they’re even worse. I just can’t seem to get enough of her.
“I can think of so many ways to answer that question, but I guess we’d better get down to the river.”
“Whatever you say, Davey Crockett,” she responds pluckily as she bends forward to crawl past me. This time, I have to grit my teeth as she passes me.
* * *
It’s dark. Laney and I are sitting in front of the fire. She’s between my legs, leaning back against my chest. We just finished our hot dogs. “Those were for an emergency, you know. Just in case we didn’t get much out of the river.”
Laney shrugs. “How was I supposed to know it would bother me so badly? I told you I’d never been fishing. It’s not like Daddy is exactly outdoorsy.”
“But Laney, God put fish here for us to eat. People would’ve starved to death in the old days if the women were like you.”
She tilts her head to one side and looks back at me. Her eyes are big, soulful drops of sky blue that glisten in the firelight.
“Maybe they didn’t go. Maybe their men just brought them back fish filets to throw in a skillet and cook.” She nods as if that explains it all.
I shake my head and sigh. “Maybe. All I can say is thank God for hot dogs.”
She grins and rests her head back against my shoulder. “Thank you for throwing the fish back.”
“I think it’s weird that you’d rather eat Porky Pig than a damn cold fish, but . . .”
“I didn’t have to catch and kill Porky Pig. That’s the difference.”
“You’re such a girl,” I say mildly.
“And you’re such a guy.”
“Damn straight.”
“But that’s the way it’s supposed to be. The men are the ones who are supposed to be okay with doing these heartless things. The women are the ones that stay back at camp to patch up skinned knees and dry tears.”
“I can see you doing that.”
“Can you really?” she asks, looking back at me again.
“Definitely. Sometimes I get the feeling you’re trying to do that to me.”
“Do what to you?”
“Patch me up.”
“Is that such a bad thing?”
“No. I just don’t want you wasting your time on a project like me. Some things can’t be fixed, Laney, no matter how much you wish they could.”
“Maybe you just need to let someone try.”
“You think?” I respond casually, looking away from her eyes.
“I do.”
“Well, if you wanna know what I think, it’s that we need some marshmallows. What say you?”
Her lips curve into a smile, but it’s a sad one.
“Marshmallows sound good.”
The mood is a little somber as we peel down the tips of the green sticks we used to roast our hot dogs to make way for marshmallows. Several times, I find myself glancing over at Laney, watching her fingers work, admiring how satiny her skin looks in the flickering light.
If I’m being honest, I know she’s developing feelings for me. I should’ve put a stop to this a couple weeks ago when I started suspecting. But the truth is, I didn’t want to. Still don’t. Why? Because I’m a selfish bastard.
It’s been so long since I’ve let anybody get close to me. And now that I have, I find myself wanting to enjoy it for a while, whether it hurts her or not.
But that’s not fair to her. It’s not her fault I’m this way. And, ultimately, she shouldn’t have to pay the price for it.
As Laney eases her stick into the fire, letting the marshmallows hover just above the flame, the metaphor is not lost on me—her getting too close to the flame, her in danger of getting burned. Badly. I know what she’s doing. And I know I should stop her. And I will.
Just not yet.
I reason that she’s not past the point of no return yet. I’ve still got a little time to enjoy what we have before I have to make my move.
And enjoy it I will.
One of Laney’s marshmallows catches fire and she jerks back her stick, blowing the flaming blob until the fire is doused. Gingerly, she picks off gooey globs of sticky sugar and plops them in her mouth.
“To never have been camping before, you sure have this part down pat,” I observe, smiling as she licks white cream from her fingers.
“Any kid who’s ever been near a fire of any kind has roasted marshmallows.”
“Ahhh, so you’re an old hand at it.” She nods and smiles. “Obviously you enjoy it.”
“They’re made of sugar. And they’re melty. What’s not to love?”
I stare at her beautiful face, the one that matches what seems to be a beautiful soul.
What’s not to love, indeed.
A big blob drops off Laney’s stick and hits the front of her shirt. “Awww,” she whines, picking at it to salvage what she can. “I hate to waste even one bite.”
Before I can even suggest it, as if reading my mind, Laney lays her empty stick to the side and slips her shirt over her head. Her bra is the color of the setting sun and, in the soft light, makes her skin look like it glows.
Within a fraction of a second, my body is as hot as the fire I’m sitting in front of.
A month ago, she would never have done something like that. Hell, a couple of weeks ago she wouldn’t have done something like that. She’s come a long way.
Where has the time gone? And how can I get some of it back?
When she’s finished picking marshmallow from her shirt, I catch her before she can put her shirt back on. “I’ll make you a deal,” I tell her. “I’ll share some of my marshmallows with you.” She’s paused with her arms half raised above her head and she’s peeking at me over her hands. “On one condition.”
One of Laney’s eyebrows rises, something she’s just started doing. Something that drives me wild. “What’s that?”
“I get to feed them to you. But I’m messy, so you’d better take the rest of your clothes off.”