“Is that King?” she asks, her eyes wide. “It can’t be. There’s no way he would be caught dead here.”
I have no idea whom she’s referring to. “Why not?”
“Because he’s…” Her stare follows the man’s movements.
Her elaboration doesn’t help me make sense of her freak-out, not in the least. “Because he’s what, Hope?”
“Because he’s Kingston freaking Scott. The king of all defensive ends. A god-like masterpiece of epic proportions. Just look at him.”
Squinting, I try my best to see more of the guy who now looks like he’s in a heated argument with another player. I twist my lips, focusing back on the heated one. “He looks…” I try to find something positive to say. “Very…” And I’m coming up empty. “Grumpy.” When her eyes bulge at me, I jump to my own defense. “I can’t even see him. He’s all covered up.”
My nonchalance makes her wince. “I’m starting to question our entire friendship.”
“Over my attraction to a sweatshirt?”
She lets out a laugh. “Okay, I get it. But c’mon. You’re telling me you took one glance at Kingston’s file and didn’t feel an ounce of anything?”
I give her question some serious thought, reviewing his name over and over in my mind until something clicks. Kingston Scott. Kingston Scott. Kingston Scott. But nothing connects. For the life of me, I can’t remember ever seeing the guy’s name in the records I’ve reviewed. “I know nothing,” I tell her honestly. “Must have skipped over him on accident.”
Hope rolls her eyes while laughing. “Only you, Silver. Only you.”
Grinning at my friend, I squeeze her arm. “I’m heading back to work now.” When she starts to argue, I narrow my eyes, signaling that I’m not taking no for an answer again. “See you at dinner.”
This time, she doesn’t argue. “Okay, fine. You get back to work. I’m going to find us a couple of guys to get to know better.” She winks, effectively causing my chest to heat with embarrassment.
I don’t doubt that she will.
I make my way to the empty staff room in the main lodge and pour myself a cup of coffee. The room is quiet save for the television that someone left on. The Bexleys strictly enforce the no electronics rule around camp with this one television as our exception.
There’s a cooking show playing now, and I smile when I recognize it as one I’ve watched with Hope before. Desmond’s Kitchen is an adorable reality-slash-cooking show that features the owner of a cooking school in Seattle alongside his girlfriend, Maggie.
I find the remote and aim to turn it off when I’m caught in what’s playing out on screen. Desmond is creeping up behind Maggie, who is cutting strips of dough to make pasta. She’s so focused on her task that she doesn’t see Desmond kneel behind her until he places a hand on her hip.
She looks over her shoulder, and then her eyes pan down. The moment she sees him, her face morphs from confusion to shock to excitement as she registers what’s happening. The volume is too low for me to hear his words, but it’s enough to make her fall to her knees and tell him, “Yes!”
A bundle of emotions heat in my chest and behind my eyes, until I’m fighting back tears from the proposal playing out on the screen. It’s such a beautiful moment, a sweet and thoughtful gesture, but it also makes me sad to know it’s something that may never happen for me.
After taking a moment to collect myself, I grab a muffin leftover from breakfast and head to my office. I start to think about Hope and her reaction to the NFL players who arrived. It’s a mystery to me how she can be so content with having a meaningless fling with a guy who will be in and out of her life within the week. Then will she do the same thing next week, when a fresh set of guys come through? She could get attached to one of them—or worse, her heart could get broken.
A pang hits my chest at the thought of seeing my friend hurt. Working at a camp makes it impossible to avoid witnessing heartbreak. It’s a frequent occurrence with the coed teen crowds. If it’s not a boy not noticing them, then it’s a boy who cheated or a boy who was only using them for one thing. Sure, sometimes it was the girls doing the hurting, but it’s a rare occurrence that a boy comes to me looking for the cure to a broken heart.
I’m still thinking about Hope when I round the corner of my office and spot Anderson chatting with the giant, angry man. Strange that I don’t remember him from the roster they sent to me.
“Silver,” Anderson says when he spots me, “I want to introduce you to Kingston Scott. He was a last-minute addition for this week, so I’m just getting him squared away.”
Kingston is still covered up with his dark shades and hoodie like he’s afraid of the sun, but the little I see is enough to send chills rippling through my body.
I step forward to close the distance between us, knowing it’s my turn to say something, but finding words has never felt so difficult. From afar, it was apparent that Kingston is a tall dude, but now I’m realizing just how tall. He towers over me by more than a foot. Given the fact that Anderson is six-three and still a few inches shorter than Kingston has me doing a quick calculation in my head.
There’s a sliver of light brown peeking out from under his hoodie and unshaven stubble on his cheeks. His mouth is pressed into a hard line, telling me he isn’t exactly thrilled to be here. Everything about the man is such a stark contrast to his teammates who hopped off the bus and greeted the staff with nothing but smiles.
“Welcome to Camp Dakota, Kingston,” I say, somehow managing to steady my voice. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy your time here.” Thank God Hope isn’t with us now. She would laugh in my face at my formality.
“Silver is our resident nurse,” Anderson adds. “She’ll be working closely with the sports physician once he arrives on Monday. Until then, she’s your girl for any of your medical needs.”
Kingston’s brows lift above the top of his shades for a second before he reaches a hand out to me. My gaze falls to the hand he’s just offered, and I hope he can’t hear the way my heart is currently crashing against my ribs. While I know nothing about football, I imagine the hand he reaches out for me to take was born to hold one. “Nice to meet you, Silver.”
Holy Jesus. Kingston’s voice is like a baritone horn freshly dipped in honey, its tone still buzzing through the air long after its last note ended. I search his shaded gaze, knowing I should probably speak, but I’m coming up empty.
What the hell is wrong with me?
A throat clears from beside us, and I snap my head to find Anderson peering at me inquisitively. “Silver, do you mind getting him caught up on any medical release forms you’ll need prior to Monday?”
“Sure thing,” I manage to say, still reeling from being caught off guard, then I tilt my head, confused. “Wait. You mean right now?” I’m so flustered, I can feel my cheeks blazing.
Anderson narrows his eyes at me. “Unless you were in the middle of something?”
I give a quick shake of my head. “No, of course not. I have time now.”
“Great. Make sure to show him to his cabin when you’re done.” Anderson backs away with a parting smile to Kingston. “Silver will be sure to take care of all your needs.” He claps the man on the back before jogging off and shouting back at him, “You’re in good hands.”