“You don’t have to debrief,” Dawn says softly when she’s gone. “I mean, you obviously already debriefed Jamison, but…”
“Har, har,” I whisper.
Dawn grins. “But you don’t have to kiss and tell. If you want to keep your steamy sex adventures with Jamison the Smolder God to yourself, we’ll understand.”
“Who said I was with Jamison?” My cheeks heat as I pray Jamison and I were as quiet in the tent as I think we were.
“Shelley saw you run off to go skinny dipping with him and came to us for advice,” Dawn says, sending a wave of relief coursing through me. “We connected the dots from there. Since Shelley said Jamison was sober and watching out for you, and you obviously have a thing for him, we decided not to interfere. Was that the right call?”
“Yes,” I say, my shoulders relaxing. “Thank you.”
And thank God everyone in camp didn’t hear me moaning last night. If they had, I’d be hitching a ride out of here before breakfast. No way could I look any of these strangers in the eye if they’d heard me orgasm. I’m not even sure I’ll be able to look Jamison in the eye—despite the fact that I stared straight into his soul while I was coming last night.
But that was last night.
This morning is this morning, and things look different in the light of day, without any Jack Daniels to soften the edges or blur the lines.
“But you’d better get aspirin from Piper before you decide not to share,” Dawn adds as Piper emerges from her tent. “Otherwise, she’ll withhold your pain reliever. She believes torture is a valid interrogation technique.”
“One or two?” Piper asks, juggling a palm full of pills, a gently sweating water bottle, and a steaming thermos-top full of coffee that smells utterly divine.
“Two please.” I hold out my hand, sighing with relief as two white pills roll onto my palm. I take the water bottle Piper offers and swallow the pills with a gulp of cool liquid, feeling better almost immediately, though I know medicine takes time to work.
“And you can have your coffee, too.” Piper holds the thermos top just out of reach. “As soon as you tell us if Mr. Sexy is as good in the sack as he obviously thinks he is.”
I blush, but I want that coffee in a major way. “Better. Way better,” I admit, blushing harder as Piper curses and Dawn giggles.
“More details.” Piper hands over the coffee before settling into the chair next to me. “You have to tell me everything because there is no way I’m getting laid while we’re here.”
“What about the two lawyers?” I ask, hoping to guide the conversation onto less treacherous ground. I’m not ready to talk about Jamison. The night still seems surreal, both too good to be true and too scary to dwell on for more than a few seconds at a time.
What if Jamison never talks to me again?
What if our one-night stand ruins our friendship?
What if it doesn’t ruin our friendship, but Jamison simply never wants to get his cock anywhere near me ever again?
I’m not sure I can handle that final possibility, either. Last night was the best sex of my life, bar none. The thought of never feeling Jamison moving inside me, never having his strong arms braced on either side of my head as he thrusts into me with sensuous rolls of his hips that stoke the fire inside to ridiculous heights, is soul crushing.
It’s like finding out Santa isn’t real and my husband’s gay at the same time.
Thank goodness, in reality, over twenty years passed between those two challenging events.
“The two lawyers have a bet going,” Piper says, her tone souring. “They’ve got a thousand dollars riding on which of them can get me in the sack first. I heard them talking about it last night, when they stupidly assumed I was too tipsy to be paying attention.”
“Assholes. They obviously didn’t realize that you are never too tipsy to pay attention,” I say. “Or to hold a grudge.”
“That’s right. A mean grudge,” Piper agrees. “One that will ensure my vagina goes home lonely and full of cobwebs tomorrow afternoon.”
“Maybe you’ll meet someone else,” Dawn offers hopefully. “There are still a few guys who haven’t been claimed.”
“Not good ones.” Piper sniffs. “My vagina’s lonely, not desperate. Shelley may be okay with bumping uglies with a guy who looks like Harry Potter, but I have standards.”
“Shush!” Dawn’s blue eyes widen as she shoots a glance toward Shelley’s tent. “They’re in there together, you know. I heard them making out last night.”
Piper winces. “Do you think she heard me?” she whispers. “I didn’t mean to be hateful, I’m just jealous that everyone is getting kisses except me.”
“I didn’t get any kisses.” Dawn twines a lock of her silky black hair around her finger, making me jealous that she has hair that behaves so nicely when exposed to the elements. “I spent the whole night talking with Helen like we were at a damn PTA meeting. I think I’ve forgotten how to meet men.”
“You haven’t forgotten,” I say. “There just aren’t that many guys here. There are at least five more girls than boys, did you notice?”
“I did.” Piper’s brows draw together. “And I think the company’s guilty of false advertising. Weren’t there supposed to be an equal number of men and women? That’s what it said on the brochure, right?”
“Totally.” I nod, affecting more outrage than I actually feel, sensing an opportunity to shift Piper’s focus. “I think we should write a letter to leave in the feedback box.”
“Or head over to the host tent and lodge an official complaint,” Piper says, obviously warming to the idea. “I may even ask for a partial refund. Not only are there an uneven number of men and women, but the hosts are completely wimping out on the no social media rule. Those two guys at our table were on their phones every other bite of hot dog. I thought cell phones were only supposed to be used for emergencies or taking pics.”
“They are,” Dawn confirms. “Guess those guys didn’t get the memo.”
I sip my coffee and sigh with pleasure. Extra creamy, just the way I like it. I snuggle deeper into my chair, smugly congratulating myself on dodging the tell-all bullet.
But I should have known better—Piper’s easily riled up, but she isn’t so easily distracted.
“But official complaints can wait,” she says, turning her sharp gaze my way. “Wait for however long it’s going to take you to quit messing around and spill the details.”
I gulp more coffee and take my time swallowing, knowing I’m trapped, but still hoping for a miracle—for a tree to fall on my tent or someone’s shoe to catch fire or one of Piper’s children to call with a non-life-threatening emergency.
I don’t really expect the miracle to be delivered, however.
I still believe there’s more good in the world than evil, but I lost faith in miracles the day Serge dropped his bombshell and left our home with his lover, leaving me alone to cry in a puddle of shirts that still smelled of his cologne.
To say that I’m surprised when Jamison jogs up the gravel path that meanders through the campground with his hair standing up on one side, wearing nothing but a wrinkled white undershirt, a pair of cargo shorts slung low on his narrow hips, and a concerned expression, is an understatement.