by K. A. Tucker
“Yeah.” We saw our third round of campers off earlier. The third week played out much like the last two—tears and amateur gimp bracelets and promises of a reunion next year.
“And where are you now?”
“Just in town, grabbing dinner.” Standing next to Kyle’s car in the parking lot of Tony’s Burgers.
“With who?”
My eyes drift to the green neon sign ahead, and then to the table where Kyle, Eric, and Ashley sit, laughing and picking away at their plates. “Ashley and Christa.” It’s only half a lie.
“Who drove?”
“Christa.” Outright lie. Surprisingly, it rolls off my tongue without issue. It’s been two weeks since my father delivered his edict that I am to stay away from Kyle and, thankfully due to his business trip to Japan and my lack of cell phone reception, I’ve been able to avoid lying to him up until now. The fact that I even have to makes my stomach roil.
“Good. I’m relieved to hear that. I did some checking up on that boy you were with. Did you know his father and brothers are currently serving time in federal prison?”
“What?”
“Of course the little delinquent didn’t tell you,” he mutters. “His father’s a guard, my ass.”
He assumes my outburst was shock, and not outrage. I temper the accusation in my voice. “How’d you find that out?”
“I had my guy run the license plate off his car.” He admits it so casually, as if that’s a normal thing. “I had a bad feeling about him and, as usual, my gut was right. Those plates aren’t even valid.”
“I just . . . can’t . . .” I grit my teeth as tears of frustration threaten to spill. I can’t believe you would do that.
Kyle glances out the window then. He sees my face and frowns. Are you okay? he mouths.
I force a smile and nod, before turning away.
“Did you tell him who we are? Who I am?” my father asks.
“No. No one knows.” That, I can answer truthfully.
“Good. Because if he’s anything like his father, he’ll be trying to extort money from us before long. I have half a mind to call that camp director and report him.”
“Don’t! I mean . . .” I scramble to think of something to dissuade him, without letting on that I’ve ignored my father’s iron-willed wishes and am still very much with Kyle. In fact, I’ll be with Kyle all night tonight, if all goes as planned. His roommate, Shane, drove off right after Darian’s weekly star award meeting. “The kids like him, and he’s been staying away from me so far. Plus, if what you found out is true, then I’m sure he needs the money. At least he’s coming by it honestly.”
“Hmm . . . You’re right. Perhaps I’m too jaded.” He sighs heavily. “But you don’t get to where I am without dealing with your share of scammers and extortionists. I’ve been facing those kinds of people all my life. I’m not about to have my teenage daughter get taken advantage of by some punk.”
Because there’s no other reason why Kyle would want to be with me, right, Dad?
I could defend Kyle’s honor, but there’s no point. My father’s already made up his mind about him, and clearly the power of money comes before the heart. I swallow the bitter taste in my mouth. “Don’t worry, he’s already moved on to another girl,” I add, piling on the lies.
“Not surprised. A guy like him wouldn’t have any idea how lucky he is to earn a second of attention from you.”
I’m the luckiest guy in the world right now.
Oh, he knows, Dad. I feel the vindictive smile curl my lips. And he’s going to know a whole lot more after tonight.
“Just keep details about our family to yourself and if he tries anything, you call me right away. I’ll deal with him.”
“I will. Thanks, Dad. Love you.” My voice comes out cold and hard.
“Love you, too. See you in five weeks, is it?”
“Yup.” I end the call.
“So who am I with now? Please tell me it’s the Gasoline Queen.”
I spin around to find Kyle standing behind me.
He gives me a sheepish grin. “Sorry . . . I saw your face and I was worried, so I came out. Didn’t mean to listen in.”
“It’s okay.”
He slides his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Everything all right with your dad?”
“Yeah, just . . . It’s nothing.”
He hesitates. “But you were talking about us.”
I sigh. Kyle is the one person I don’t want to lie to. “My dad is intense,” I begin.
His eyebrow arches knowingly. “Yeah, I got that.”
“He ran your license plate. Or he had his guy do it, anyway.”
Kyle’s head falls back with a groan. “My brother’s name would have come up.”
“It did, and now he knows about him, and your other brother. And your dad . . .”
Kyle curses under his breath. “I have to say, he brings new meaning to the word overprotective.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t think he’d do something like that, either. But you don’t know him. You don’t know who he is.” I hesitate, my father’s voice ringing in my ear, explicitly warning me not to do what I’m about to do. “My father is—”
“Don’t.” Kyle’s hands go up in the air, stopping me. “I don’t want to know, Piper. Seriously. Look, I’m not clueless; I’m not gonna pretend that I am. But I like that it’s just been you and me here, not your rich parents or my shitty ones. We’ve been just us, together. And it’s worked.” His brow wrinkles, an earnest—almost pleading—look filling his eyes. “Can we please just keep it like that?”
I nod. “Yeah. For sure.” My father is so wrong about Kyle.
“Good.” He reaches for me, taking both my hands into his, pulling me closer. “I don’t care if your dad is a freaking king of some remote country.”
I laugh. “He’s not a king—”
Kyle stops my words with a kiss. “I told you. I don’t want to know. Now, can you please come inside and distract me from Eric’s disgusting peanut butter burger?”
I cringe. “You’re kidding.”
Kyle gives me a flat look. “I wish.”
The sun is minutes from dropping below the horizon when we pull into Wawa’s parking lot.
Eric groans as he climbs out of the backseat of Kyle’s car, capping it off with an exaggerated stretch, the grease-coated paper bag from Tony’s that holds a second peanut-butter-and-bacon burger dangling from his fingertips. “It’s a freaking ghost town around here,” he murmurs, surveying the silent campground. Several of the counselors have taken off for the night—either to go home or elsewhere, needing an escape from Wawa after three weeks straight. The rest are in hiding. Likely sleeping.
“I think Wade said he was going to start up a fire by the lake.” Ashley scoops her frizzy hair into a ponytail and secures it with an elastic.
“Good. Come on, Freckles.” Eric hooks an arm around her neck and leads her toward the gravel path that will take them to the beach. “Meet you guys there?”
Kyle’s eyes graze over mine. “Yeah. In a bit.”
“Oh, right. Shane’s gone tonight. Gotcha. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Eric tosses over his shoulder.
Meanwhile Ashley grins mischievously at me, giving me a thumbs-up sign.
My cheeks begin to burn. Great. Everyone will have heard about this by the morning.
“Don’t forget, you’re still on probation,” Kyle throws back.
Eric waves it away. “It’s Saturday! No curfew tonight!”
Kyle sighs, passing me the bag of snacks I picked up at the local grocery store at a fraction of the price of the canteen, before pulling me into his arms. “You need anything at your cabin first?”
“Nope.”
He leans down to set his forehead against mine. “So . . . you want to head to mine, then?” he asks softly.
It’s been a week of heated glances and teasing touches while in passing. A week of ten o’clock curfews and restless nights,
anticipating tonight.
I smile. “Yes. Definitely.”
Kyle is quiet as he leads me to the boys’ cabins. The boys’ and girls’ sides are virtually identical—a cluster of ten small brown rectangular buildings set beneath a canopy of leggy evergreens and elm trees, with a separate shower and restroom off to one side.
By the time we reach the one marked “Seventeen” and he guides me inside, my stomach is a twisted mess of nerves.
“Same as yours, right?”
“Pretty much.” Musty air that’s ten degrees hotter than outside, low ceiling, six sets of bunk beds, ink-covered walls where campers have scribbled their name to memorialize their attendance, the tacky orange-and-brown floral curtains . . . Check, check, check. Except . . . My nose crinkles. “It smells like dirty, wet socks?”
“Believe me, it has smelled a lot worse.” Kyle chuckles, tugging the curtains back and sliding open both windows all the way. “Sorry, I should have done that before we left.”
I wander over to the only bed with a pillow and sleeping bag on it. The bag has been unzipped and stretched out to cover the thin, single mattress, the end dangling off to graze the worn wood floor. I gingerly take a seat on the edge, my hand smoothing over the soft blue-and-red flannel interior. “This is you?”
“That’s me,” he murmurs softly.
Our eyes meet and lock.
“You good?” he asks.
“Yeah, why?”
“Nothing. Just . . . you’ve been acting weird since that phone call with your dad.” Kyle kicks off his shoes. “Thought maybe you were worried about pissing him off.”
“No. I’m not. He doesn’t get to decide who I’m with.” I set my jaw stubbornly, as if the small act of defiance gives weight to my declaration.
Kyle opens his mouth to answer but decides against it, instead tugging his wallet out of his back pocket, to toss onto the floor below his pillow.
Does he have a condom in there, I wonder?
I didn’t even think to ask about getting one.
My heart begins to race with the thought of what we’re about to do.
Am I really ready for this? We’ve kissed, a lot. We’ve fooled around, a bit.
Branches snap just outside and then a moment later Colin’s face pops up in front of the window. “Hey, Miller, you comin’ out to—” He cuts off when he sees me sitting on the bed. “Oh. Never mind. See you guys later.” With that, he’s gone, whistling to himself.
Kyle shakes his head. “Would people leave us alone for just one night?”
“It’s hard being so popular.”
“It is.” He drags the curtain closed and smacks the light switch, throwing us into darkness, save for the safety nightlight that each cabin has near the door. “There. Hopefully they’ll think I’m already out.”
I can just make out his outline as he strolls over to take a seat next to me, the rustic wood frame giving nothing under our combined weight.
He grazes my cheek with the backs of his knuckles. “This night is all I’ve been able to think about, all week long.”
“Me, too,” I admit, shifting to pull my leg up so I’m facing him.
Only he’s already moving with me, guiding me backward. The next thing I know, I’m on my back and Kyle is lying next to me, pressed up against my side, his fingers trailing along my collarbone.
How many times has he been with a girl before? We haven’t even talked about that. Shouldn’t we talk about that first?
I gather my nerve. “How many times have you done this?”
“Done what?” He says it so innocently.
I roll my eyes. “How many girls have you been with?”
“Do you mean—”
“Yeah.”
He doesn’t answer right away and I start to think he’s formulating a lie. But Kyle doesn’t seem the type to lie about how many girls he’s slept with. So he must be busy counting them all in his head. “Oh my God,” I mutter. “Don’t tell me—”
“Two.”
“Seriously.”
“Seriously. Two.”
“Who?”
He groans, like he doesn’t want to answer. “First was this girl Shannon, when I was fourteen. My brothers threw a party at our place while Mom was away and she was there. She was a couple years older. Never saw her again.” He pauses. “And then Avery, last summer.”
So they did sleep together.
My jealous flares, and that cynical voice creeps into my subconscious, wondering if I’m just the 2006 version of Kyle’s 2005 summer camp experience, if his summer itinerary would read the same—cliff jumping and golf-cart racing and cabin-sleeping—except with a different female lead.
“You’re nothing like her. This is nothing like last summer,” Kyle says, as if reading my mind. He leans in to fit his face into the crook of my neck. Hot, wet lips graze my skin.
I close my eyes, reveling in the feel. “How is it different?”
“Because I didn’t feel this way about her.”
“What way?” I push, because I need to hear him say it.
“Like I’m already doing the math on how much gas will cost to get from Poughkeepsie to Lennox when the summer’s over. And I’m wondering how much I can set aside in phone cards so I can text you.”
“I’ll send you cards,” I rush to say, my heart swelling as I shift onto my side so I’m facing him, our noses pressed together. “And I’m getting a car in the fall, so I can come out to see you, too. Every weekend. Or almost every weekend. I don’t know. I’ll try.”
“Your parents are going to let you do that?”
I burrow in closer, until we’re touching from our noses all the way to our toes and my arm is curled around him. “I don’t care. I’m coming.”
He presses his lips to mine. “I’m crazy about you, Piper.”
“I’m so crazy about you, Kyle.” I think I’m in love with you. The words are there, on the tip of my tongue, wanting to leap off.
He reaches up to stroke my hair off my face. “We’re not going to let things go too far tonight.”
“We’re not?”
“No. Shane said he’s going home next Saturday, too. There’s no rush, and I want you to want to.”
“I do want to,” I’m quick to say.
Kyle smiles softly. “I want you to be totally ready.”
I can’t answer as quickly. Maybe because I know I’m trying to convince myself more than him. I do want to be with Kyle but maybe I need more time. The fact that my body relaxed the second he said that confirms it.
It has only been three weeks. Three of the best weeks of my life, but still, only three weeks.
“So what are we going to do, then?”
“I was thinking we could start with this . . .” He gently pushes my shoulder until I’m lying on my back again and then leans over to press his mouth against mine, his tongue sliding over the seam of my lips until I allow him in.
I could get lost in Kyle’s mouth for days, the way he kisses—with such focus, as if he’d be satisfied going no farther—intoxicating.
And at the same time frustrating, as my body begins to ache for more.
“Can we pick up where we left off last Saturday?” I hear myself ask.
He answers by working my T-shirt up over my stomach, over my chest. I lift my arms to help him slide it over my head. He’s yanking his shirt off seconds after, tossing it in a heap on the floor.
I’m more excited than nervous as I reach up to push the clasp in the front of my powder-blue lace bra. It pops open and Kyle makes a soft sound.
“Wear more of this kind,” he murmurs, lowering his mouth over a nipple, the warmth of his mouth sending shivers down my stomach.
Steeling my nerve, I unfasten my shorts and work them down over my hips and legs, shaking them off my ankles.
Kyle’s breath catches as he peers down to regard my powder-blue panties. “Have I ever told you that I have a thing for matching underwear?”
I giggle. “No.”
This time, there is no loud camp director shouting at us.
No annoying friend jumping off the cliff.
Nothing to interrupt me from experiencing my first time falling apart beneath a boy’s touch.
And when my ragged breathing has subsided, when I’ve come down from the clouds to Kyle’s mouth pressed against my neck, I reach over, gingerly unfasten his zipper, and push his shorts down over his hips.
And I return the favor.
Chapter 17
NOW
“I’ll be there in fifteen,” I promise, struggling to gather my dress with one hand while pressing my phone to my ear with the other. I climb out of the town car as gracefully as possible, offering a nod in thanks at the driver as he holds the door open for me.
“You’re already fifteen minutes late. Hurry up,” my father grumbles. “I hate these events.”
“Not as much as I do.” I end the call before he can deliver a lecture about how I am at the start of my career and had better get used to it, because showing up for these high-society charity galas is critical for Calloway’s image and for connections and blah, blah, blah.
Normally my tolerance for my father’s sermons is high, but since learning that he single-handedly torched my relationship with Kyle, my Kieran Calloway tolerance meter is set at zero.
I’ve managed to avoid a confrontation with him so far, answering his emails with direct responses to his questions and tying myself up in meetings all day. Some might call that cowardly, but with a man like my father, I need a strategy, one that doesn’t result in hellfire raining down on Kyle.
I swipe my card to gain access to our office building, intent on rushing up to my office to grab the silver Manolos I left in the corner.
A man in jeans, a T-shirt, and a baseball cap leans casually against the security desk with his back to me, talking to the guard on duty.
My steps falter as familiar eyes peer over the counter at me.
