by Ella James
Why would someone take this camping?
I turned the bag upside down, feeling desperate as half a dozen pairs of fluffy socks, three hair brushes, a Chi hairdryer, two makeup bags, one wig, three bras for mega boobs, several pairs of large panties, a tablet I was too afraid to turn on (lest we be tracked), two ragged Cosmo magazines, a pack of birth control, a small silver flask, an electronic cigarette, and two bottles of what looked like expensive shampoo for dyed or damaged hair fell to the floor. The only thing wearable was the socks, so I rolled a purple pair gently over my sore feet and tore into the next bag. When I found it stuffed with little boy clothes, toys, and a Finding Nemo pillow, I clutched the pillow to my chest and blinked back tears.
“I think this bag has some…okay, maybe not.” Nick pulled out a white cotton dress that smelled of sunscreen, a pair of lilac leggings that sparkled like the little girls' clothes in the mall, and a royal blue zip-up hoodie that had to've belonged to an elementary school boy.
I giggled, and he laughed gamely. “Maybe I can check the car…or—” his brows arched— “Vera’s tent.”
He said “Vera’s tent” in a mock horrified way, but my startled reaction was genuine. What was it I didn’t like about that idea? Him going into her tent, or just the reminder that she was here with us? The reminder that she was…who she was.
I rocked my sore self into a sitting position and took the clothes from him, inhaling the summery smell of the dress. Nick reached into his pocket and pulled out a zip-up travel wallet, opening it to show a photo of the family we'd robbed. The presumed mom, who looked a tiny bit familiar from when I'd seen Nick put her out of her truck, was sporting the mega boobs that fit into my huge new bras.
“Nice.” I pushed up to my feet, wondering what I'd do if I couldn't get a decent bra from Vera. “Um, I'm going to go outside and change.”
Nick rose, too, catching my wrist gently and tugging me closer. “It's mid-October, Milo. Thirty-three degrees. I can turn around.”
“Is that what you’ll do with Vera?” It just popped out, and I felt so so so so so so so dumb.
He grinned a little, like he thought my jealousy was funny. It was such a typical guy expression, and I was so surprised to see it on his face I didn’t even get mad.
“She’s like…” His brows notched as he turned to face the tent flap. “She’s like a twin. More than a twin. I could never feel anything romantic for her. Or any member of The Rest.”
I was standing there in my rainbow underwear, having just decided that I'd rather wear leggings with no panties than continue wearing these dirty ones, and I didn't have the nerve to ask him why. Did “The Rest” just not do that sort of thing? Vera had acted like the idea was revolting.
I was reminded that I knew next to nothing about Nick or where he came from.
Thinking is not your friend, Milo Mitchell.
I wiggled into the leggings and pulled the strapless dress over my bare chest. Instead of wondering about topics better left to apocalyptic movies, I focused on the way Nick's back strained against the fabric of his stolen linen button-up. I admired the shape of his arms, the biceps familiar even after such a short time.
This was my Nick, and he was just like me.
Lonely. I smoothed my hair down, tugged the tight hoodie on and pulled the sparkly leggings over my fuzzy socks. I let my gaze rest on Nick, memorizing the way his shoulders moved as he breathed.
“I'm finished.”
He turned to face me, and l felt like I was seeing him again for the first time. He was even more breath-stealing than when I first met him, because now he was him. Powerful. Confident. Wise. And of course, breathtakingly beautiful—the advantage of being able to make your already hot body almost perfect.
He sank down onto the foot of the sleeping bag, crossing his leg over his knee and resting his hand atop his ankle. Now I had different thoughts I couldn’t shake. My cheeks burned as I sank down near the pillow, feeling self-conscious and nursing a belly full of butterflies.
Nick reached behind him, and as he brought his arm back around, I pictured him handing me flowers. Instead, he draped a red and black flannel jacket over my shoulders.
“For you.”
I closed my hand around one of the soft sleeves. “Thank you.”
It was huge—almost as wide as I was tall. I worked my arms into the sleeves and smoothed the soft, thick fabric over my legs. “I can wear it like a trench coat.” I smiled, still overly conscious of our proximity.
Back in my room when Nick had been this close, it had seemed easier. I hadn't known who he was, after all, just that he could do weird stuff.
“Are there…anymore sleeping bags?” I asked, trying hard to sound normal. “One for everyone?” I tacked on.
Nick shook his head, and my imagination leapt into action. I must have looked awkward, because Nick grinned. “There are, actually, but I don’t need one. I can control my body temperature.”
“Oh,” I said, but really long and embarrassing, because clearly I was flustered. It was more like, “Ooooooooooooooooooooooh.”
“It's all a matter of overriding cellular…I’m going to freak you out again if I keep going.”
Actually, no. I had already reached max freak capacity. “I’m interested.”
“You are?”
I nodded. “I want to know all your talents.”
I’d hoped he would smile again; I wanted as many memories of him smiling as I could get. But he still seemed unhappy. And nervous. As soon as I realized that, I was nervous, too, because what could make him nervous?
Oh, God. He was going to tell me something horrible. I was even more sure when I hugged the Nemo pillow against my stomach, and Nick scooted a few inches closer, the expression on his face still gravely serious. Normally, everything about his behavior made me comfortable—unless it made me feel like blushing.
Right now, seeing his dark, troubled eyes, I felt the opposite of comforted.
I looked around the tent, stifled by my apprehension, needing to move. Unable to move. Nick's heavy gaze pinned me to the sleeping bag. For a heartbeat, I felt like I could see how powerful he was; it was all there, in his eyes, and it was incredible. Scary. Sexy.
One deep breath later, I was able to escape. Or maybe he let me go. I scooted off the sleeping bag. An inquisitive look from him and my own thrall had me moving almost spasmodically back onto the bag. I stayed at the edge, though, and to make the space less awkward-seeming, I stretched my legs out, so my feet were just inches from Nick, who was watching me with a serious, probing expression.
My heart pounded when he thumbed my foot through its fuzzy sock. The corner of his mouth pulled up, the sexy half smile he'd given me by the creek after I'd shot him. His fingers stroked the sock, and my toes warmed—like, they actually got warmer. I grinned, and Nick winked, and I waited for him to move his hand, but it just stayed, stroking gently down the sole of my foot, making me giggle.
“These are nice.”
His face had a dreamy, blank sort of expression as he folded his hand over my toes, and every inch of my lower body went molten. I closed my eyes, shocked at how affected I was by such a simple touch. Shocked at how badly I wanted his hand to move up my leg. I had the fleeting thought that this was what being human was all about, and with an apocalypse coming soon, I should probably try to experience everything I could. Then Nick's hand went away, and I peeked my eyes open.
He looked intense. Almost startled. I could see that he was gritting his teeth, and I thought that maybe he was having the same sort of thoughts.
“You should go to sleep.” His voice was rumbly.
“I can't.” I didn't want to get into the sleeping bag by myself. I didn’t want him to leave me alone with my fears. “You should…lay beside me.”
I dangled there, swaying with my heart hanging from my chest, and to my horror, Nick stood. He walked toward the door flap. He ran his hands through his hair. He shook his head. His voice was agonized when he spoke
: “Milo, I…before I came here, I didn’t understand what it was like to be human. The actual experience of it. Nothing about my existence could have prepared me for the power of, just everything. Emotions, impulses, instincts. I…I’m at a loss to explain how surprising it all is. But I do understand regret. And I regret what I’ve put you through.”
“I don’t care,” I said quickly, and I really didn’t. True, I wish the DoD weren’t on our tail, but as far as the aliens, if Nick hadn’t taken an interest in me, it seems like humanity would have definitely been destroyed. I told him this, and he said, “That’s not exactly what I meant, although I am sorry that we even saw Earth.” He was practically wringing his hands.
“Then what do you mean?”
“I won’t be able to stay,” he said quickly. “To protect Earth, to protect you, I’ll have to leave with Vera.” He looked at me expectantly; I stared back at him. “Once I’m gone, I won’t be able to come back.”
I pulled my knees to my chest, hugging them as I watched him watch me—for my reaction. I didn’t feel blown away, or even surprised. I wasn’t a believes-in-happy-endings kind of girl. I’d already realized what he said was going to happen—would have to happen.
But it did hurt. Not in any way he could see, but immediately. It was a cold ache in my stomach that spread.
“What does it mean that Vera blew the whistle?” I asked. “Is it a call to invade?”
I sat frozen, watching his face as it tightened.
“Milo…no. It’s not. It’s an SOS. It means we leave.”
“And then?”
“Typically, we transfer data to The Rest and agree on a recommendation.”
I nodded slowly. “And this is happening in like twenty hours?”
“Vera will call it off. I promise.”
“And then you’ll leave.”
He nodded.
“How soon?”
“I’m not sure.”
“But you have a guess, don’t you? I’m sure you have an educated guess.”
He pressed his lips together. “Less than forty-eight hours, assuming I can get her to blow the whistle and give me time to prove my case. And I can,” he added quickly. “I’m sure I can.”
A sob got caught at the bottom of my throat. I swallowed it down. I held onto his gaze, nodding spasmodically.
“I should have never come here,” he said heavily.
He threw the tent flap open, and the steam from the springs rushed in to fill the space he left.
I ROLLED THE sleeping bag out in the middle of the tent and stretched out on top of it, pulling my borrowed coat around myself and muttering curses when I noticed that the top of the tent was just a screen. I could see the stars, but it was going to be a cold, lonely night.
I didn’t feel like crying anymore, so I didn’t. I didn’t feel exactly sad. Instead, I was left with an empty, restless feeling similar to the way I felt when Nick left me the first time, back when we thought he was Gabe Dewitt.
I could probably work myself up to tears if I thought about him leaving—if I actually imagined him boarding some alien craft, or being beamed up, green light shining on his beautiful auburn hair. I could definitely work myself into a state if I thought about Nick—my Nick—disappearing into some giant hive mind. But I don’t want to cry.
I spent too much time after Dad died thinking about all the things we wouldn’t share together. He wouldn’t see me graduate high school or college. We wouldn’t fix up my first apartment together. He wouldn’t give my first boyfriend the fifth degree. Dr. Sam told me it was okay to feel sad about the things we wouldn’t get to do, but he also warned me against neglecting the memories I have.
The problem, though, was that I had less than two weeks-worth of Nick memories. That’s why I decided, screw whatever else happened, I was spending as much time as I could with him. I was going to make more memories.
I zipped the heavy, plaid jacket and stepped into the night. I hardly even noticed the cold when I stepped out, I was so revved up to find Nick. I assumed I’d be able to spot him maybe ten yards from my tent, pacing amidst the firs or melting ice patches. But I didn’t, and I didn’t find him at the truck, either.
My eyes turned toward Vera’s tent, in a little grove behind mine, surrounded by a bend of the steamy spring. There was no way he was in her tent, right? I walked as quietly as I could to my own tent, hesitated, then took a few tentative steps toward Vera’s. I strained my ears, but heard nothing.
Then, from behind the cluster of trees in the opposite direction, I heard what I thought was splashing. The springs… Nick had said he was able to regulate his body temperature!
I stepped into the shadow of the trees, where the air was thick with steam and slushy snow glimmered in the moonlight like a trillion tiny diamonds. After only a second’s hesitation, I wove my way through branches, over rocks and through the shin-high grass, heading in the direction of the gentle splashing sound.
I stopped when I could see a good bit of what looked like steamy soup winding through the trees, and looked around. “Nick?”
He didn’t say anything for a good ten seconds, and I thought I had imagined the splashing. I was turning to go—already thinking of sneaking closer to Vera’s tent—when his voice stopped me in my tracks.
“What are you doing here?” He sounded frustrated.
“I…wanted to hang out.”
The steam cleared a few feet ahead of me, and I could see his form, a shadow against the pearly, moon-drenched fog. I couldn’t make out many details, but I could see lines. Like shoulder lines and pec lines, and delicious hip lines, before the rest of him dipped into the water. I had a full body-flush and felt thankful that, as far as I knew, he couldn’t see in the dark.
After a long moment, he sighed. “I’m bathing. As I understand it, that’s not hang-out time in your culture.”
“Actually…” I bit my lip, “as the resident expert on American culture, I have to disagree. If I joined you, it would be skinny dipping, and that’s something we do. Some might even call it a rite of passage.”
I couldn’t breathe as I waited for his answer. It came quietly. “The water is more than two hundred degrees, Milo.”
“Well, fix me so it doesn’t burn.”
“What?”
“You made my foot warm earlier.”
He shifted and the water made a sound like falling rain. “You think that means I can keep you from being boiled alive?”
He sounded skeptical. I nodded. “Can you?”
A pause, and then, “Well yeah, but it’s got nothing to do with how I was helping you warm up.”
I smiled, even though my heart had started jumping jacks. “Well, um, can you see me?”
“What? Of course.”
I waved my hands around myself, like I was a “Price is Right” model modeling me. “Make me impervious to pain.”
“That’s not…you’re joking.” His voice was lighter. The water swished again as he stepped closer to the dirt shore. “I think it would be easier if I just changed the water temperature around you,” he said, and I felt triumphant. He wanted me to stay! Then terrified. I was about to get naked!
“Ok, um, that sounds good,” I said. “So, you can see me?”
“Yes.”
“How well?”
He got it. “I’ll turn around again.”
“Really?”
“Promise.”
My fingers trembled as I tied my hair back with the rubber band around my wrist and pulled off my wet socks. I couldn’t bring myself to peel my leggings off yet, so I unbuttoned the jacket and slowly slid my arms out of its sleeves.
“I’m going to come a little closer to you,” Nick said then. I watched him tread water, moving backward, toward me. “That way, when you step in, I can be sure the water’s right. Be careful, though. It’s only shallow near the ground. It gets deeper a few steps in.”
I nodded, then, realizing he couldn’t see me, said, “Okay.”
I wondered, as I tugged the white dress over my head, just what on earth I thought I was doing. I stood with my back to Nick, wearing only my sparkly leggings, and it took effort to get myself to turn around. Despite my bluster, I felt shy now. I stripped the leggings off with one quick motion and turned toward Nick.
“Okay, I’m coming in!”
Two steps through the fog, and my feet were in the water.
“Wow! It’s…perfect.”
Nick chuckled, and I grinned at his bare shoulders.
“Stay there now. I’m not all the way in.” I took another tentative step, mud squishing through my toes, and submerged myself to the waist. A third little step and I was sighing. “Oh my God, this is like a bath. It’s amazing!”
Nick didn’t move. After pointing my toes and realizing I couldn’t touch the bottom anymore, I kicked forward and tapped him on the shoulder.
He turned slowly, grinning like the Cheshire cat.
“What? Do I look funny?”
He shook his head, but there was definitely something on his face: the kind of uniquely male amusement that somehow always seems smug.
“Not funny,” he said.
“Then what?” I splashed him a little, glad for the peek at his pecs as my stream of water splashed him. He had a really nice body, even if it was borrowed.
His grin widened, and my eyes roved over his face. “I don’t know. You look nice. I like having you here.”
I grinned, too. “Bath time lonely for you?”
He shrugged. He looked almost silly—lighthearted, flirting—but then his brown eyes grew a little darker, his words softer. “Everything is better with you. I wish I didn’t feel so much that way.”
Looking at his face, the intensity there—the need for something—likely for the person-to-person, soul-to-soul connection I'd taken for granted my whole life—I realized I was in way over my head. But that was what I wanted. To be in too deep to get back out.
I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, and his eyes flipped open, like I'd shocked him. For the barest instant, he looked almost wounded. Then I watched desire turn to intention as his eyes narrowed, and he was kissing me.
