“Fuck, did you forget your towel?”

She slowly nods, eyes closed, lips pressed together. “Yup,” she answers with a resounding pop. “Forgot a towel, forgot extra quarters. All I had were my T-shirt and shorts, which horribly clung to my soaking-wet body. I made the walk of shame out the bathrooms and past the campsite of high school boys who were on some Eagle Scout field trip—mind you, I had no bra on—and made it to my parents’ campsite, where I grabbed a towel and more quarters. I wanted to pretty much die on the walk back when every single guy at the Eagle Scout campground watched me head into the bathroom. It was mortifying.”

“Hell, that is mortifying. Did you hide behind trees for the rest of your camping experience?”

“Pretty much. I didn’t want to go anywhere near the Eagle Scouts. And I faked sick to get out of the pancake breakfast that Sunday.” Sincerity laces her voice. “And do you know how painful that was? I love a good campground pancake social. All-you-can-eat fluffy magic, ugh.” She slaps the armrest on her chair. “What a world.”

I chuckle, loving how animated she is.

“Okay, your turn. What’s your story? And make it good, Knightly.”

The way she calls me by my last name sometimes, especially when she’s joking—I fucking love it. She’s got me hook, line, and sinker.

“Sudsy teenager doing the walk of shame is pretty hard to beat, but I think I have the story to destroy yours.”

“We’ll see about that.” She folds her arms across her chest.

I so have her freaking beat, and if I really wanted to preserve the image she has of me in her head, I would not tell her this story, but I’m going for broke here.

“I was with my brothers and my dad; it was a man’s weekend,” I say with a gruff voice to really exaggerate how manly of a weekend it was. “Which meant we were going natural.”

“Like no clothes?” Her eyes widen.

“No.” I chuckle. “Not that natural, but Dad wanted us to learn to live off the land in case we were ever, in his words, ‘abducted and dropped off in the middle of nowhere.’”

“Well, that makes sense. Smart parenting.”

“Agreed, but there were some things my dad failed to mention.” I grab the back of my neck, the story so vivid in my mind. “That weekend my brothers and I were pulling pranks on each other every chance we could get. Just stupid shit, like scaring each other in the woods and stealing each other’s underwear. Really mature stuff that I won’t go into.”

“Thank you for sparing me.” She chuckles, her smile beautiful, her lips distracting me for a brief second.

I clear my throat and continue, “We were all making dinner, and I had to go to the bathroom, so I went off into the woods, near the designated bathroom area my dad marked off, and started taking a leak, only to have Reid come up behind me and screech like a giant owl, which scared the living piss out of me.” Ren covers her mouth and giggles. “Naturally, I got pee all over myself, and since we were using the land as our only resource, I grabbed a leaf from the ground and started wiping up.”

“Ohhh noooo.” Her chuckling turns into a fit of laughter.

“It was almost instant. Poison ivy spread all over me, everywhere I touched, including . . .” I lift a brow at her.

A burst of laughter pops out of her. “You poison ivy-ed your penis.”

“And it wasn’t pretty. Red-and-white blisters for weeks. All I wanted to do was dip my dick into a cup of calamine lotion, but that was just asking for a UTI, so I had to resort to stroking my damn dick with anti-itch.” She’s laughing so hard tears are coming from her eyes. “I couldn’t look at calamine lotion the same for a very long time; the mauve bottle brought back odd sensations. Talk about confusing.”

“Oh shit.” She’s wiping her eyes, her laughter musical. Hell, it might be embarrassing, but it’s worth it to see her so happy, to see joy take over her entire body.

It’s sexy.

It makes me want to take her into my arms tonight, in our tent, the stars twinkling right above us.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

REN

All throughout my shower and while brushing my teeth and getting ready for bed, I kept chuckling at the thought of poor Griffin and his poison ivy penis.

I couldn’t imagine that kind of pain, but hell, it’s comedy gold.

But now that I’m making the walk back to the campsite—dry and sans soap in my hair—I can’t help but sober up.

I know I said I was cool with sleeping in the same tent as Griffin, but I’m all of a sudden extremely aware of the close confines we’ll be in. Over the last month or so, I couldn’t think of a better situation than sharing a tent with the kindest and hottest guy I’ve ever met, but now that it’s D-Day, my nerves are eating me alive, my will to be cool, calm, and collected quickly vanishing.

Is he going to be wearing clothes? What if he goes shirtless? I’ve never seen him with his shirt off; am I going to be able to not stare? What about shorts? Pants? Will he wear underwear only? Should I wear underwear only?

What am I thinking? Of course not. We’re camping, not having a sleepover.

This is a friend offering another friend space in his tent. That’s it, nothing more.

But then again, he held my hand tonight and gave me a hug for the first time, reassuring me I was welcome on this camping trip and melting my heart.

He was excited I was here.

He spent the entire night by my side, telling stories, making sure I was taken care of. He didn’t need to do that; he could have hung out with his brothers, but he chose me.

Our campsite comes into view, the fire dying down to embers, the three tents occupied, everyone but me settled in their beds. As I approach the orange tent I’m sharing with Griffin, my stomach ties itself in knots.

I clutch my toiletry bag and clothes to my chest. I can do this. It’s just sleeping.

Just. Sleeping.

If I can’t sleep next to this man, then I have no business being near him.

Finding a little bit of courage, I puff my chest and step in front of the tent, but I pause for a second. What if he’s naked or something in there? I should knock, but you can’t exactly knock on canvas. “Knock, knock,” I say instead. “It’s Ren. Are you decent?”

The low rumble of his chuckle washes over me. “Yeah, I’m decent. Remember, I took a shower, too, and I was smart enough to bring a towel.”

I open the tent to a dimly lit space and give him a narrowed look. “Low blow, Knightly, but at least I’m smart enough to know what a poison ivy leaf looks like.” He chuckles again as I take in the space we have, reality hitting me all at once.

One tent.

One air mattress.

One sleeping bag.

One pillow.

Oh crap.

Griffin must notice my mounting panic. “Uh, you can have the pillow and the sleeping bag. I usually get hot at night, so I’m good with this throw blanket.” He holds up a crocheted blue blanket that looks like it will cover the surface area of his chest, and that’s about it.

I tuck my things into my duffel bag in the corner and turn back to the mattress, eyeing it. This is stupid. We’re adults; we can make this work.

Plus . . . would it really kill me to share a bed with the man I’ve been crushing on for weeks? Maybe this is the final push he needs to make a move, to forget about that ridiculous, godforsaken curse.

I kneel down on the bed without saying anything and unzip the sleeping bag, spreading it out and slipping beneath. It’s warm, and I’m thankful I’m only wearing a tank top and shorts as I lie down. I prop my head up on my hand and pat the bed beside me.

“We’re adults, Griffin; we can share a bed. It’s fine.”

He scratches the back of his neck, his thick bicep pressing against his shirt sleeve, stretching it out, as he studies me. Even though I was nervous about him going shirtless, after watching the little bicep show, I kind of wish he were shirtless.

“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“The only thing that’s going to make me uncomfortable is the thought of you sleeping under that itty-bitty blanket during this trip. Come on.” I flip up a corner of the sleeping bag, giving him access to join me. “It’ll be fine.”

He turns off the flashlight, darkening the tent, and gives the bed a final once-over before climbing in. The mattress shifts under his weight, jostling me around a bit until he’s settled into position, a good foot separating us. He bunches up the blanket and uses it as a pillow, keeping his gaze turned up to the ceiling of the tent.