Say You Still Love Me(17)

They break apart and she playfully pokes him in the ribs. “You never emailed me.”

“You know how it is when you leave here.” His inky blue eyes flip to me. “So? Who’s your new friend?”

Ashley waves dramatically toward me. “Piper, this is Eric. Eric . . . Piper.”

He offers his hand and I take it, but the handshake quickly morphs into a weird slap-snap-flap move that leaves my hand frozen midair, my eyebrows raised in surprise, feeling foolish.

Eric frowns with astonishment. “Wow. You’ve really never been to Wawa before.”

“Uh . . . no.”

“?’Cause you know, there’s a secret handshake.”

“There’s a secret handshake?” I echo, feigning shock.

He grins. “Oh, yeah, there’s a secret handshake. Better learn it fast because you’ll be doing it a thousand times this summer.”

“Ten thousand times,” comes a throaty male voice. I turn to find Kyle standing beside me, close enough that I can smell the mix of Deep Woods bug spray and whatever hair product he uses to get his hair to stay up.

He must have broken free of Olivia’s advances and made a beeline here as soon as he saw his best friend approaching. I swallow, forcing down the swirl of giddiness over that thought. “Ten thousand. That’s a lot.”

“It is,” he agrees with mock seriousness. “Soon you’ll be waking up to your hand doing the motions in your sleep.”

“Yeah, that’s not what your hand is doing while you’re asleep,” Eric retorts, earning himself a swift punch to the shoulder from his friend.

Kyle turns his attention back to me, his golden eyes glittering with amusement. “Hey.”

“Hey.” A blush creeps along my cheeks. Knowing I’m blushing only makes my face grow hotter. I wish the sky would plummet into full darkness right about now.

“I’m Kyle.” He holds his hand out and I eye it warily. A cute smile curves the corner of his mouth with the lip ring. “Nothing funny. Promise.”

His fingers are long and slender as they slip over mine, his skin cool to the touch. “I’m Piper.”

“Piper,” he repeats, his hand lingering a beat or two longer than normal before he releases me. “I like that. It’s different.”

“It’s definitely different.” And it has come with an arsenal of unwanted nicknames. Pipe Cleaner, before my stick figure began to fill out; Pipes, courtesy of my brother; Piper the Viper, from opposing players on the tennis courts—that one’s growing on me. And of course, there are also the gags. I’ve found more than one jar of dills in my locker this past year, and the guys’ swim team has taken to trailing me in the halls while whispering some stupid rhyme about picking their pickles.

Kyle slides his thumbs into his pockets and lets them hang in that casual way. “So, how’d you end up at Wawa for the first time ever, Piper?” He’s watching me so intently, his eyes—with a vibrant green hugging the pupils, I can see now—searching mine.

I have to clear my throat before I can manage words. “My mom used to go here, and she’s a firm believer that everyone should experience being a camp counselor at least once in their life, so . . . here I am.”

“Those damn parents, always forcing us to experience life and shit,” he murmurs, his lip twitching with amusement as he reaches up to casually scratch the back of his neck. His sleeve slips, showing off the edges of black ink. Seventeen and tatted. Did his parents actually allow that? Because mine are vehemently opposed to it. My dad has basically told me that every tattoo is a digit lost from my trust fund if he finds out.

“So you get it, then.” I smile softly.

His gaze flickers to my mouth. “I do.”

“Everyone!” Darian, our petite and energetic camp director, has climbed up onto one of the picnic tables. She claps several times, showing off toned arms. “Everyone, grab a seat! Chair, table, grass, wherever. Get comfortable!”

There’s a shuffle of bodies around the campfire as people settle in. I find myself perched on one end of a picnic table bench, next to Kyle. His jean-clad thigh softly nudges mine, momentarily distracting me from everything else.

“It looks like you’re all having fun, catching up. That is awesome!” Darian emphasizes the word awesome by throwing her arms in the air. My guess is that she was that spunky high school cheerleader in her former life. Somewhere in the last twenty or so years, she traded in her long blonde ponytail, short skirt, and pom-poms for a cropped cut, hiking boots, and a tennis visor that reads “Camper 4 Life!” across the front. “Now, I know I don’t have to remind you guys what the first day of camp is like, right? All the excitement and nerves can make for a long night. Kids are excited, nervous, homesick . . . which means they don’t sleep, which means you guys,” she jabs the air with her index fingers, “don’t sleep either.”

A chorus of groans sounds out.

“And then you’re up at the crack of dawn for an even longer day.”

More groans.

Darian holds her hands up in surrender. “I know, I know . . . But taking care of these kids and making sure they enjoy their week away is kind of why you’re here, am I right?” She pauses, waiting for a few sounds of agreement. “And you all need to get a good night’s sleep tonight so you’re ready for what’s to come. You catching my drift?” She casts a searching look around the group.