Dead of Summer - Page 107

Especially for a kid to find. Boys would stab themselves playing stupid games that involve running with knives.

My girls would stage a coup, I’m deadly certain about that. The world doesn’t need Melody at its head just yet; and neither does Camp Crestview.

“Under the bed,” I admit, a bit sheepishly. When Kayde gives me a very unimpressed look, I hunch my shoulders self-consciously. “Where else would I put it? Should I hang it on the door?”

“Under the bed is the first place any idiot would look.”

“Well, then, let’s hope he’s not an idiot.” The words earn me another flat glance, but I just beam at him in response.

And I certainly don’t miss the twitch of a smile on his lips that he tries to smooth away before it can grow.

“So I’m thinking you go in and get the marshmallows.” Kayde shoves his door open and jumps to the ground, his black boots making almost no noise on the asphalt. Today is the first time I’ve seen him out of camp counselor attire and it’s, well…

Well, if I hadn’t been drooling over his looks before, I would be now. Kayde had swaggered up to my cabin in distressed jeans over dark, worn boots. His black tank top looking newer than the jeans, and a necklace with some kind of pendant hanging below his throat, obscured by the collar of his shirt. I’ve never seen him wear it before, but I’m not about to be nosy and ask him what it is, when he’s clearly got it in his shirt for a reason.

Well, not yet, anyway. But the day is still young, and my curiosity knows no bounds. His hair is loose and mostly dry now. It was wet from the shower when he showed up at my cabin, and some stupid part of me had been a little put out that I hadn’t gotten to join him.

It’s a thought I normally would’ve smacked and shredded until I could hide it in the back of my mind, under a rug labeled Inappropriate Kayde Thoughts. But now I let myself have them, and I let myself sometimes dwell on all the things that cross my brain when it comes to Kayde.

It’s troubling, really, how often I think about him railing me. Sometimes it’s memories. After all, sex with Kayde is hard to forget, and he is sure to remind me how much I love it pretty frequently. Sometimes, though, it’s ideas of what I’d love for him to do to me, and where.

Like the boathouse, again.

Like, frankly, anywhere. Against a tree in the dark plays in my fantasies quite often, but with finding the duffel bag last night, some of that dream has withered and died at the thought of being in danger in the woods outside of camp.

“Hello?” I blink, and realize I’m staring straight at Kayde’s pecs, which have materialized in front of me. Or rather, all of Kayde has appeared in front of me, and I realize that maybe I’ve been spacing out, lost in thought. Kayde reaches up to tap my forehead, a soft, amused smile on his lips. “My sweet little overthinker.” He chuckles. “What in the world am I going to do with you?”

“Fuck me?” I ask, before I can stop myself. But at the very least, my suddenly burning cheeks aren’t quite as obvious as the way his brows jerk upward and his lips part for him to take a deep, hissing breath.

Well, I hadn’t meant to say that out loud. But now that it’s between us, I grin wryly and gaze up at him from behind my sunglasses.

“That’s not very public appropriate, Summer,” Kayde chides at last, though he doesn’t make a move to step away from me. His hand comes up, and he presses two fingers under my chin to tip my face up to his. “But I love it when you speak your mind, so you won’t find me complaining. Even if half of it is you just needing the last word, huh?” Before I can reply, he leans down just enough to kiss me lightly on the lips.

It’s chaste and sweet.

And it’s nothing I want from him. But it would probably be inappropriate to toss him in the back of his truck to ride him, or to demand he eats me out again like he had the first week of camp when I’d ridden his face?—

Now really isn’t the time to be doing this to myself. I feel the blush staining my cheeks even more, and I press my hands to them, still meeting Kayde’s eyes behind my sunglasses.

“Are we trying to start something we can’t finish, sweetheart?” Kayde is better at reading me than he should be, and he finally shows me a genuine smile before kissing my forehead. “Later you can mouth off all you want to me, okay babe? I’ll make you pay for it like you clearly want.”

“What?” Shock trembles down my spine, and I rear back. “That’s not?—”

“Marshmallows, and check with the store manager about anyone he doesn’t recognize coming in lately,” Kayde tells me firmly. “I’m going to wander around a little.” His hand brushes my hip before Kayde turns and ambles in the other direction, looking like a heartbreaking bad boy from some vintage movie with a cult following.

Though in Kayde’s case, in these jeans, that cult following would be solely dedicated to his ass.

“He says he’s in love with you,” I remind myself under my breath. “There’s probably nothing morally wrong in staring at his ass.” It takes me longer than I’m proud to admit to tear my gaze away from him, and then I almost walk into the door of the general store like a dumbass before dragging myself into the air-conditioned building.

It definitely hasn’t changed much over the years. I’m always so amazed at how little gets refurbished or remodeled in ‘Dan’s General Store’ every year that I end up here. Inhaling, I taste the familiar scent of gasoline and cleaning products in my nose, though I’ve learned that just covers the scent of slightly too-ripe fruit and cigarettes.

The floor has its sticky places, but overall the cement is inoffensive on my shoes as I stride up to the counter and knock on the old, chipped laminate to draw the man’s attention from staring down at his phone through behind thick glasses.

“Yeah?” Dan grunts, still not looking up as a cigarette dangles precariously from between his lips. When he finally does look up, recognition jolts into his expression, and he stands up with a sigh. “You’re from the camp, right? What do you need this time?”

“Marshmallows again,” I admit, shooting him an apologetic smile. “I don’t know what’s wrong with our math, but we always seem to underestimate how many we need.”

He chuckles dryly, sidling out from behind the counter and heading further back into the store. The brick building is set up in aisles, though it’s hard to move through the store without going through the aisles in the way Dan intended. We pass pickles, olives, bread, candy, and the few spices he sells before we make it to the baking section, which is mostly just s’mores ingredients and canned cherry pie filling.