Spencer lowered himself and sat on a stump near where the firewood was just starting to catch. There were several natural wood benches arranged around the fire pit and Spencer had chosen the one furthest away from Max. The heat pouring off the growing fire felt like a dream as it soaked into the aching muscles on his legs.
“How far is it from here to the river?” Spencer thought of his poor, throbbing feet, and he hoped it wasn’t much of a hike.
He didn’t miss the way Max rolled his eyes, but he appreciated that he kept his comment to himself.
“It’s nothing you can’t manage,” Collin promised. “Just a couple miles, and it’s mostly flat.”
Max scoffed, but Spencer ignored him. Maybe he wasn’t that hungry. He thought about crawling into his tent and ignoring Max for the rest of the trip, but that would only make him seem more childish.
He hated that he cared what Max thought. And maybe he wouldn’t have if it hadn’t been for the sadness that loomed over Max like a little thunder cloud. Spencer didn’t know why he fluctuated between anger and sadness, but there was definitely a war going on inside him. And Spencer wanted to help. He did. And he hated that he did because Max would probably be better helped by someone like Collin who was older, hotter, English, and more experienced at literally everything.
Once the fire was roaring in the pit, no one spoke, each of them retreating into their heads. The silence wasn’t exactly comfortable, though. It gave Spencer too much time for his thoughts to stray to how attractive Collin was. Tall and burly, ruggedly handsome with his dark hair flecked with grey. His presence made Spencer feel safe. Well, as safe as he could feel out in the wilderness.
Max, Spencer guessed, was slightly older than him. Older and obviously more cynical. And a jerk. A handsome one, but still a jerk. It sucked that Spencer was always attracted to men he had no chance with. Collin and Max looked like they belonged out here. They were at home in the open air and rustic backdrop. Spencer, on the other hand, ached from head to toe, he was riddled with bug bites, starving, and now he was getting cold.
He moved to a stump that sat even closer to the fire and sighed as the heat warmed the front of his shins. Collin handed him a plate and a fork—Spencer had no idea how the hell he carried all that in his pack—but he was grateful for it nonetheless.
“What’s your favorite song?” Spencer asked, breaking the silence. It had settled thick and angry between them, and as much as Spencer wasn’t enjoying himself, it wasn’t because he didn’t want to. He wanted this trip to not be the gigantic mistake everyone told him it would be. He wanted to have good stories to tell when he got back home.
Max scoffed and went back to eating. But Collin responded.
“Livin’ on a Prayer.”
Spencer grinned. “I thought for sure you’d pick something British.”
Collin almost smiled. “What, like the Sex Pistols?” He shook his head. “It was a rebellion of sorts. My brother hated American music, so naturally I sought it out.”
“I used to be sad that I’m an only child. I don’t think I am anymore.”
“What about you?” Collin gave him a real grin this time.
“Enter Sandman.”
“His highness has heard of Metallica?” Max’s question was rhetorical, and though he did call Spencer his highness, his bitter tone had lost its edge.
“Who hasn’t?” Spencer finished off the last of his dinner.
Unexpectedly, Max answered the question. “Katherine the Grateful. It’s by a group…”
“Knapsack.” Spencer interrupted.
“Right.” Max nodded, then abruptly got up from the fire and went to his tent.
“He’s in a mood,” Spencer huffed.
“There’s a bit of that going round. Must be in the air.” Collin gave Spencer a look, and fuck if that didn’t make Spencer want to move closer to him, like maybe into his lap.
Max returned to the fire and tossed a container at Spencer. He fumbled, but managed to hold onto it.
“What’s this?” Spencer turned the container over in his hands.
“S’mores.”
Spencer furrowed his brow and cracked the container open. He couldn’t help his cheesy grin, or his obvious glee. “I’ve always wanted to make s’mores.”
“You’ve never made them?” Max’s surprise was obvious.
“I’ve never done a lot of things.” Spencer hoped he didn’t sound pathetic.
Spencer didn’t notice that Collin had wandered off into the trees until Max stood and took a seat closer to Spencer.
“When Collin gets back with some sticks to roast the marshmallows on, I’ll show you how it’s done.”
“I could probably figure it out on my own,” Spencer tried to tamp down his defensive nature. “But thank you.”
The rest of the night was less awkward. Sort of. Spencer felt moments of it here and there when Max helped him make his first s’more. And again when Collin pointed out that he had marshmallow on the corner of his mouth.
He’d have stayed up longer, but the mosquitos were getting thicker, the air colder, and maybe it was the outdoor setting, or being close to two gorgeous men more suited to each other than they ever would be to him, but loneliness had crept up on him. It sank its icy claws into his heart. Spencer wanted to sleep off the effects of this horrible day, and getting the fuck out of his boots was a huge draw to turning in.
Spencer pushed himself to his feet and yawned. He stretched his arms over his head and let them fall to his sides with a sigh.
“I’m beat. I’ll see you two in the morning.” Unless he was eaten by a bear in the middle of the night. He probably wouldn’t be.
Probably.
Spencer climbed into his tent. With his air mattress blown up, there wasn’t a lot of room left for him in the small, one-man contraption, but there was enough to sit hunched over and pull his boots off. He slid into his sleeping bag and hoped that he would fall asleep fast.
He didn’t.
The next day was going to suck.
But after that, he could go home and his life would go back to normal again.
Chapter 6
Max has old boots
Max lay awake in his tent and stared at the point where the dark purple nylon stitched together. He reached up and swatted at the flap, letting it fall open. If he couldn’t sleep, he could at least look at the stars. Out here as far as they were, the lights twinkled brightly, even through the mesh screen.
His mouth tasted like marshmallows and chocolate and graham cracker, and he did his best to ignore the fact he’d packed the stupid s’mores kit to be shared with Trent. Max frowned. Trent wouldn’t have appreciated them the way Spencer had, and even though almost everything Spencer did annoyed him, Max couldn’t deny how it had made him happy to see Spencer smile as he made his first ever s’more.
This trip had been a terrible idea.
After Trent called things off, Max should have cancelled the whole thing, but he hadn’t because he was stubborn as a mule and he was probably going to die tomorrow trying to save Spencer from drowning.
Max sat up and stared at the zipped-up door to his tent.
He would definitely not die saving Spencer from drowning. If that little princess fell over the edge of the raft, saving him would solely land on Collin’s shoulders. Max wasn’t responsible for either of them, and he...didn’t want to be.