Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 20192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 101(@200wpm)___ 81(@250wpm)___ 67(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 20192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 101(@200wpm)___ 81(@250wpm)___ 67(@300wpm)
“You know what? Fine. You caught me.” I push him away and clamber off the table, crossing my arms over my peaked nipples, but not before he sees them, frowns, and tries to reach for me. “No, seriously, you’re right. It’s all a prank. You know me too well.”
There’s something like regret in his expression, but ultimately, he shuts it down, a line snapping in his jaw. “Guess I do.”
I hate boys. I hate them all. Why couldn’t he be different? How was I so wrong? “Thanks for my first real kiss,” I say too brightly, ripping the elastic band out of my braid and loosening it with agitated fingers. “See you at the campfire, I guess. I’m going to burn this shirt and the lipstick, so it should be a good one.”
“Your first real kiss—” Dean starts, sounding incredulous, but I’m already yanking open the door. “You took your braid out? Margot. Wait.”
I keep walking until I’m swallowed up by the woods. I walk until I’m mad at myself, because doesn’t Dean have good reason to doubt me? Like eight summers’ worth? Isn’t this a situation of my own making? I walk until I convince myself I can get over him.
I walk until I realize he’s trailing twenty yards behind me.
“What are you doing?” I snap.
“I’m going to direct you back to camp when you finally realize you’re walking in the wrong direction,” he says calmly, though his eyes are anything but. “The woods get dense out here.”
“They’re not the only thing that’s dense,” I mutter.
An eyebrow raises. “What was that?”
“Nothing.” I take a deep breath, swallow my pride, and turn back toward camp, refusing to make eye contact with Dean as I pass. Wishing I had, though, because I only get three weeks of him. Apparently, that’s all I’ll ever be allowed.
Chapter Four
Dean
My cabin is the first to arrive at the campfire. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t rush them to get here, out of pure agitation and confusion. A need to see Margot.
What the hell happened in the laundry hut?
Hours later, I’m still baffled.
She was her usual silly and upbeat self tonight at dinner. Her braid was back in place. She led the campers in her chants. All the girls in her cabin were crowded around her, vying for her attention, which she gave them in perfectly equal measure. She always does. For dinner, she had a handful of popcorn and a stray pizza crust dipped in ranch. All of her usual habits.
The balance of my universe, however, has totally shifted.
Actually, it’s gone.
Because I don’t know. What. Happened.
I wasn’t lying when I said I felt her hesitating while we kissed, but if our kiss was really, truly her first kiss, then everything I felt from her makes sense. How she jolted slightly in my arms when I sank my tongue into her mouth, how she seemed almost . . . surprised to be getting turned on the longer our mouths moved, her butt unable to stay still on the table. Antsy. Caught off guard by how good it felt.
She’s not the only one.
That kiss . . . I think it changed my life.
I’m dazed.
Kissing Margot tasted like inevitability. Being quenched. Woken up.
Welcomed home.
Imagine how embarrassing those feelings would be if she’s just pranking me.
There’s too much at stake not to be sure, so I questioned her one more time. I pushed it, to prevent myself from a long, painful fall. I’ve had a lot of loss recently, and that pain has made me . . . guarded. But now? Yeah, now I wish I’d kept my stupid mouth shut and glued to hers. Because what if she’s for real? What if this crush business isn’t a lie at all, but the truth?
What would have happened in the laundry hut?
Would she have let me go down on her?
I bury my face in my hands, scrubbing, refusing to let that thought land when I’m around a bunch of campers, but damn, it lands anyway. If our kiss made her body sensitive enough to tremble and wiggle around, my tongue between her legs would wreck her. Margot is all big reactions and drama, and I’m finding it very hard not to wonder how that would translate in bed. I’ve thought about it before. A lot. But I’m living it right now.
I’m also living with the misery of her being pissed at me.
Whether she’s pranking me or not, I dinged her pride somehow in the laundry hut. By pointing out her hesitation, I might have come across as criticizing the way she kisses (I definitely wasn’t). By calling her bluff, if she was, in fact, pranking me. By doubting her if she wasn’t. I don’t know the exact source of her anger, but I’m not going to relax until I’ve fixed things.