by Jenna Sutton
I take a deep breath, get a big whiff of horse, and exhale in a rush. As I turn to face my brother, his hand falls from my shoulder to dangle by his side.
“What am I missing here?” Leo’s tone is hesitant, unlike his usual confident delivery. “You’re not the father ... are you?”
“No.”
“Then why did—”
“Just drop it.”
Suddenly, I feel exhausted—defeated in a way I’ve never felt before. I want to go back to my room, climb into my big bed with its soft sheets and fluffy down comforter, and tumble into the blissful oblivion that sleep offers.
“Why did you say, ‘my Cassie’?” Leo persists.
Knowing he won’t relent until I answer, I meet his concerned gaze. “Because that’s how I think of her. Because I want her to be my Cassie.”
His dark eyes narrow on my face. “Please clarify that statement.”
“I’m in love with her, Leo, and I’d give anything—anything—to be the father of her baby.” I arch my eyebrows. “Is that clear enough for you?”
I know I’ve shocked the hell out of him because his mouth opens and closes like a ventriloquist’s dummy. “Are you serious? You’re in love with Cassie?”
“Yes.”
Leo is silent for a long time. Finally, he says, “Have you ever...”
I wait for him to finish his question, but it never comes. “Have I ever what?”
“Been in love before?”
“No.”
“Cassie is the first?”
“Yes.” I nod slowly, wondering where’s he going with his questions. “Please don’t insult me by suggesting that I’m not really in love with her simply because it’s a new experience.”
To my surprise, Leo laughs softly. “I would never suggest such a thing. Before Tessa, I’d never been in love either.”
I still remember that first conversation Leo and I had about Tessa, after they met in the hospital. From the way my brother talked about her, I had a hunch she’d become someone special. But even I was surprised when my emotionally detached older brother told me that he was in love with the woman who’d received his liver and that he planned to make her his queen.
Leo clears his throat. “I had no idea you felt this way about Cassie.”
Despite my despondence over the entire shitty situation, I can’t help smiling. “You have been a little preoccupied with your new roles—king and husband.”
“And you’re sure Cassie doesn’t feel the same way about you?”
“Since she’s pregnant with another man’s baby, I think it’s safe to say she doesn’t,” I reply, my tone edged with sarcasm. “Don’t you?”
“Does she know how you feel?”
“I haven’t explicitly told her, but I haven’t exactly been subtle about showing my interest.”
“And?”
“She rebuffs me, every time.”
Leo shakes his head as if he can’t believe what I’m telling him. “Frankly, I’m astonished. Most women fall at your feet when you smile at them.”
“I guess Cassie is the exception.” My self-deprecating laugh sounds hollow, just like the way my chest feels right now. “You know what’s really pathetic, Leo? I changed my life for her.”
“In what way?”
“I stopped screwing around.”
I mean it both figuratively and literally. Once I figured out how I felt about Cassie, I knew I needed to put my playboy days and ways behind me. I wanted to be a better man for her ... to be the kind of man she deserves.
Leo stares at me unblinkingly for what seems like hours. “When you say stopped screwing around, are you talking about sex?”
“Yes.”
“So you’ve been celibate?”
“Yes.”
“For how long? An hour?”
“Actually, it was closer to a year.”
Leo stumbles backward a step, as if I’ve given him a jab to the solar plexus. “No fucking way.” He points his forefinger at me. “You’re lying to me.”
Before I unzipped my pants in the folly, I hadn’t been inside anyone for more than eleven months. “I’m telling you the truth, Leo.”
“Jesus.” He tunnels his fingers through his hair. “What are you going to do?”
I stare blankly at my brother. “What am I going to do?” I echo. “Cassie is having another man’s baby. The best thing I can do is avoid her.”
“You can’t avoid her forever, Marco.”
“I can try.” I muster a smile for my brother. “It has to be easier than being celibate for fifty-one weeks.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Cassie
The first day of camp makes me nervous. It always has. And even though I’m now a camp counselor instead of a young camper, I’m still nervous. Meeting the other counselors, getting to know the kids, teaching new curriculum—it’s exciting, but nerve-racking too.
I’ve been a camp counselor every summer since I started college, but this is my first summer with Camp Discovery, so my usual “first day” nervousness is amplified. Although the program has been around since I was a child, I didn’t know much about it because my parents sent me and Tessa to another camp.
Earlier this year, when the mother of a child in my class asked if I’d recommend Camp Discovery, I did some research about the program. I was impressed, and when I saw that Science is Life was looking for qualified counselors for the upcoming summer, I decided to apply. I need the extra income that a summer gig provides, and I was pleasantly surprised when I learned how much Camp Discovery pays its counselors.
It’s just after eight o’clock in the morning, and all camp personnel are supposed to gather at half past the hour for a breakfast meeting at the Nest, the big building that serves as the hub of the camp.
Leaving my duffel bag in my old Mini Cooper, I grab my backpack and hook it over one shoulder. My counselor orientation packet is inside, along with a stash of fortune cookies from my favorite Chinese restaurant. It’s weird, but they settle my stomach faster and better than saltines and ginger ale or even those specially formulated pregnancy lollipops.
I look around and see a few people heading toward a gravel path at the corner of the parking lot. Like me, they’re wearing bright orange T-shirts with the Camp Discovery logo on the front. Assuming they’re counselors too (and they know where they’re going), I follow them.
As I approach the path, I see a tall wooden sign with arrows pointing toward the Nest, the staff and camper cabins, and the lake. According to my orientation packet, Camp Discovery is situated on roughly twelve acres and includes more than sixty cabins for its staff and two-hundred plus campers.
I begin the trek toward the Nest. Small boulders line the winding path, along with large pots overflowing with bright pink dahlias.
A few minutes later, the Nest comes into view. I was expecting an oversized log cabin, but this building features a modern design with straight lines, light-colored wood, and huge windows that offer a stunning view of the surrounding forest and lake.
The double doors open into a huge great room with wide-planked oak floors, a floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace to one side, and a peaked ceiling accented with massive wooden beams. Several sofas and armchairs are scattered around the room, creating cozy conversation areas.
Toward the right, a display board rests on an easel, pointing all camp personnel toward the dining area. Another set of double doors leads to the spacious dining area, and once again, I’m surprised by what I see.
I was imagining row after row of cafeteria tables, like those found in school lunchrooms around the world, mine included. But the dining room at Camp Discovery offers a mix of seating, from long farmhouse-style wood tables to round café tables to spacious booths that could accommodate more than four people.
There’s no serving line either. Instead, a massive buffet stretches along one wall, with plates stacked on one end, and a few small beverage stations dot the space.
I hover to the side of the o
pen doors, my eyes skimming the room. It’s clear that most of the counselors have worked together before because they’re laughing and talking like old friends. I hope they welcome new people. I’d hate to be treated like an outcast for the entire summer, like some real-life version of Mean Girls.
As I nervously smooth my hand over my hair, which I’ve styled in double Dutch braids, my gaze lands on a group of people about twenty feet away. A guy is standing with his back to me, talking to four women in a semicircle in front of him. Whatever he’s saying must be incredibly interesting because their expressions are rapt. Either that or he’s incredibly good-looking.
I have to admit, he looks pretty good from the back. Tall with wavy, dark hair and nice broad shoulders.
He’s gesturing with both hands, and every time he moves his arms, the muscles of his shoulders flex and bunch under the thin cotton of his orange staff T-shirt. It’s untucked, concealing his butt, much to my disappointment.
My eyes wander lower, taking in his sand-colored cargo shorts, strong calves, and brown hiking boots. Hmm. I wonder if I should’ve worn hiking boots instead of tennis shoes? I don’t have time to go back to my car right now, but I’ll probably be able to switch my footwear before the campers arrive.
Just as I lift my gaze, the guy turns his head and glances over his shoulder. I gasp in surprise. What is Marco doing here?
Almost immediately, relief and happiness replace my surprise. I don’t care why he’s here, just that he is.
Before I can go to him, his eyes lock on me like a target indicator on a fighter jet. When they widen in obvious shock, I smile and wiggle my fingers in a little wave.
As he turns in my direction, his hot-fudge gaze flows over my body. From the way it lingers on my midsection, I know he’s aware of my pregnancy, and my hand involuntarily drops to my lower stomach.
I watch him as he moves toward me with long, confident strides. With each step, I mentally remove a piece of his clothing until he’s wearing nothing but his red-and-black Hublot watch.
Like most of the world, I’ve seen nearly every inch of him, thanks to that mishap with his swim trunks—the one that resulted in the infamous nickname Prince Prick.
I know Marco’s pecs are sprinkled with dark hair that arrows down his stomach. I know his abs are ridged like the sides of a steel soup can. But all the pictures I saw in magazines and online blurred out his cock, so I have to use my imagination for that.
Fortunately, when he’s at the pool or beach, he now wears swim shorts that remind me of shorter, tighter boxer briefs. He seems to think they’re safer than trunks. I wonder if he realizes they outline every curve and line of his princely prick?
Catching myself staring at his groin, I jerk my gaze up and away. A second later, he’s standing in front of me, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to see his face.
“Why are you here, Cassie?”
I’ve never heard him sound so harsh, and I blink in surprise. “The same reason you are, I think. I’m a camp counselor.”
Shaking his head, he mutters, “Of course you are.”
I study him for a moment, noting his clenched jaw and tight mouth. I’m hurt and confused by his standoffish behavior. He’s always been kind to me ... always been friendly. Truth be told, he’s always been more than friendly, and I have no idea what’s changed.
“You don’t seem too happy to see me, Marco, but I’m happy to see you.”
I lay my hand on his forearm, needing to touch him for some inexplicable reason. His gaze drops to my fingers, and his muscles tense almost imperceptibly before relaxing.
He lifts his gaze to mine. “You’re happy to see me?” he asks, his tone no longer harsh, but deep and quiet.
“Really happy to see you. It’s been forever.” I lightly squeeze his forearm. “I missed you.”
A slow smile lifts the corners of his mouth. “I missed you too.”
The tightness in my chest eases, and I suddenly feel like I can breathe again. “I was feeling so nervous when I walked in here ... worried no one would want to be friends with me. Then I saw you, and I felt so much better, knowing I already have a friend here.”
His soft laugh sends tingles skipping down my spine. “Don’t be silly, Cassie. Everyone will want to be your friend.”
He reaches up and strokes the tip of his forefinger over the tail of one of my braids. It’s hanging over my shoulder, only an inch or two above my nipple. Under the lace of my bra, the sensitive peak tightens, and I can’t help wondering how his fingers would feel on it.
Just like that, my pussy turns slick. I want to blame pregnancy hormones for my aroused state, but the sad truth is, they have very little to do with it. Marco always has this effect on me.
To my surprise, he wraps my braid around his fist and gently tugs me closer. His gaze roams over my face, sending color surging into my cheeks.
“You look...”
When his sentence trails off, I grimace and remove my hand from his forearm. “That bad, huh?”
“Not bad at all,” he counters. “How are you feeling?”
He sounds so sincerely concerned, I’m tempted to tell him all about my sore breasts, my overwhelming exhaustion, my horrible bloating, and my disgusting morning sickness. Instead, I paste on a smile and lie straight to his handsome face.
“Fine. I feel fine.”
“And Zac is taking good care of you?”
“Umm ... well ... he...” I stutter to a stop, frantically thinking of the best way to answer the unexpected question.
I still haven’t told anyone that Zac isn’t the father of my baby. I can’t bring myself to admit that I’m going to have to leave the space for the father’s name on the birth certificate blank.
Marco’s eyes narrow into slits. “There’s only one acceptable answer to my question, Cassie. Yes or no?”
I look away from his penetrating stare. “Zac and I aren’t together anymore. We broke up.”
His grip on my braid loosens. “What?” he breathes.
“I’m raising the baby by myself.”
“He abandoned you?” Marco’s voice drops to a whisper. “That motherfucker. I will slaughter him for this.”
“No!” Alarmed by the menace in his tone, I grab his hand. “It was my decision. I didn’t want Zac to be a part of our lives.”
A tense silence lingers between us for several heartbeats. Finally, he says, “If you need anything, you can come to me. I hope you know that.
To my surprise, he wraps his arms around my shoulders and hugs me to his chest. As I loop my arms around his waist, the scent of clean cotton, citrus aftershave, and warm Marco saturates the air around me. Unable to stop myself, I burrow closer and take a deep breath.
He drops his head and speaks softly into my ear. “Whatever you need, Cassie. I’ll take care of it.” His arms tighten around me. “I’ll take care of you.”
CHAPTER SIX
Marco
With all ten of my campers tucked into their cabins for the night, I rush back to the cabin I share with another male counselor. Despite working at Camp Discovery for five weeks, I’m still not used to the lumpy twin-sized mattress with its scratchy bedlinens, the basic bathroom with its weak-ass water pressure, and the limited entertainment options (an old deck of creased playing cards).
I miss my king-sized bed and my spa-like bathroom. I miss my seventy-seven-inch smart TV and my surround sound. I miss my indoor putting green and my portable wine cellar.
What can I say? I’m spoiled.
Camp ends in just a few days, and I’d be thrilled to leave my rustic cabin behind if not for one thing: Cassie.
I take a moment to spray myself with insect repellant and then grab the cooler I packed before bedtime check. On my way out the door, I scoop up a patchwork quilt and an outdoor lantern.
Armed with the necessities for a nighttime picnic, I jog down the steps and head toward Cassie’s cabin. Knowing she’s nearby makes it almost impossible to stay away from her.
Although we eat every meal together and often combine our classes throughout the day, it’s still not enough.
Once I arrive at Sparrow—all the cabins at Camp Discovery are named after birds—I set the cooler at my feet and knock on the door. I hear movement inside, and a few seconds later, Cassie opens the door. She always finishes bedtime check before I do because her campers are a little younger than mine and a lot better behaved (their counselor has a sweet smile and a steel spine).
She’s been back at her cabin long enough to change into a black-and-white striped T-shirt dress. It’s not tight, but the stretchy fabric clings to her tits, which seem to grow a little bigger every day.
She’s already removed her makeup and released her hair from the braided pigtails she usually wears. The long, dark strands wave around her face and shoulders in wild, crazy zigzags that bring a smile to my face.
Although we didn’t have plans to meet up tonight, she doesn’t look surprised to see me, probably because I unexpectedly show up on her doorstep three to four nights a week.
Occasionally, we play cards or watch movies with the other counselors at the Nest, but usually we spend time alone—canoeing on the lake, hiking through the forest, or relaxing by the fire pit.
“It’s a perfect night for a picnic,” I say. “Will you join me?”
Her pink lips tilt into a lopsided smile. “I’d love to. Give me a second to put on some shoes.”
She darts away before I can say anything else. Raising my voice, I call out to her, “Bring your insect repellant. And maybe grab a sweater. I don’t want you to get cold. And don’t forget your fortune cookies.”
It’s just after nine o’clock, and the temperature is still in the seventies. But it will drop rapidly without the sun to warm us up.
Cassie returns, wearing red Converse low-tops and carrying a canvas tote bag over her shoulder. Patting its side, she says, “Insect repellent. Sweater. Fortune cookies. Am I missing anything?”
“I don’t think so.”
After she locks the door, I pass the lantern to her, and we set off on the path that winds in front of the cabins. Maybe it’s the sound of the gravel shifting under our feet or the gentle breeze rustling through the tree leaves, but my mind wanders to the night of the masquerade ball.
