Backwoods

He finished inflating his sleeping pad, smiling a little. Then he watched her blow into the valve on her sleeping pad with more interest than was appropriate.

Brooke tempted and teased him on a regular basis. She did it the same way she did everything, with unfiltered joie de vivre. Flirting was as natural as breathing to her. Maybe she toyed with him because he was safe. They were comfortable together. There was no possibility of a relationship. She meant no harm, but she wasn’t so oblivious that she didn’t notice his reactions to her. He’d gotten an erection once when she’d climbed on top of him. She’d been more amused than embarrassed, tickling him until it went away.

He knew she wasn’t a virgin. She’d told him all about her first time, and how her douchebag boyfriend hadn’t bothered to be gentle. He assumed she’d had other, hopefully better, experiences since then. But it was clear that she was still innocent in many ways. She had no clue how much he wanted her. Sometimes that made him angry. Sometimes he wasn’t in the mood for playful wrestling and blue balls.

He couldn’t stay angry, though. Being mad at her for flirting was like being mad at her for being beautiful, or being mad at the sun for shining. If he needed space, he could put distance between them. But he never did. Because he enjoyed the attention. God help him, he liked her rubbing on him.

They’d never discussed what Leo had done at Mavericks. Leo wasn’t sure she even remembered it. She’d been high as a kite, thanks to him.

They climbed out of the tent and pulled on jackets. The sun had disappeared on the horizon, bringing the chill of dusk. Abby and his dad were sitting on the log by the fire pit. While Brooke added boiling water to four meal packages, letting them steep for a few minutes, Leo cased the perimeter of the campsite.

He’d lied to his dad about the pot. It was still in his backpack.

Leo wasn’t worried about the hunters coming after them. His dad had made a good point about the poached venison. Even so, the remoteness of their location left them vulnerable. As he stared into the dark recesses of the forest, he couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Troubled, he returned to the others.

There was nowhere to sit except on the fallen log in front of the empty fire pit. Leo took a space next to Abby. He didn’t make eye contact with her. He was embarrassed by his contentious relationship with his father. Brooke’s sordid tale about his mother and her father getting busy in the back office didn’t help.

Brooke put another pot of water on to boil, humming a cheery tune. She was wearing a fluorescent yellow windbreaker and a blue knit beanie with her cutoff shorts and hiking boots. Her legs were about a mile long, smooth and tanned.

Leo hazarded a glance at Abby. She’d put on a gray fleece pullover to ward off the chill. She was pretty, and not that old. His friends would call her a “milf.” He hated it when they said that about his mom.

“Brooke tells me you’re a student at Humboldt,” Abby said.

“Yeah,” he said. “I like it there.”

“Do you have a major?”

“International Studies.”