Say You Still Love Me(18)

“No shenanigans?” Eric calls out with an impish grin, earning a few laughs.

“You got it, Mr. Vetter! No shenanigans! And I don’t want to have to treat you like children by watching your every move. Listen, I know there will be times when you need to unwind a bit after refereeing and corralling kids all day. I get it. I’ve been there, too. But I expect everyone in their cabins by ten tonight, snoring softly, so you’re bright-eyed and bushy-tailed when those parents and kids pull in tomorrow. Is everyone with me on this?” Again, her arms go above her head, her question seeming more like a practiced cheer.

Kyle leans in toward me. “Darian tries hard to be ‘hip,’?” he murmurs, his voice low, his mouth close to my ear as he air-quotes the word hip.

I take a deep, calming breath to balance my spiking heart rate. “So I’m noticing.”

“She usually misses the mark, big time.” He settles back, resting his elbows behind him on the picnic table, his long legs stretching out in front of him. “But she’s all right, as far as bosses go. No one’s allowed to be a dick to her.”

It sounds oddly like a warning. Like, if you’re a dick to Darian, you’re going to have a problem getting along with the other counselors. Or maybe just with Kyle.

“Okay! So on that note, we do have a few new people in our group. One who is brand-spanking new to Wawa.” Darian’s hand flies my way and I instinctively tense at being singled out. “So, I think it’s a good time to play our favorite ice-breaker game”—another round of groans carries—“and see what new things we can learn about one another. Come on! It’s been a year. Stuff has happened. Besides, I’m sure there’s still plenty you don’t know about even your closest friends here.” She claps her hands. “Okay! Two truths and a lie! Who’s going first? Don’t make me pick.”

Someone shouts, “New girl goes first!” and a chant of “New girl, new girl!” begins.

“Okay, then! Piper, stand up and try to fool us.” Darian nods encouragingly.

“Are you kidding me?” I mutter under my breath, squirming in my seat as forty-odd sets of eyes land on me. Two truths and a lie? What the hell do I say? Couldn’t they have given me two minutes to prepare?

My mind has gone completely blank.

“I’m going first,” Kyle announces, standing and taking a step forward, steering everyone’s attention to him.

Darian doesn’t object.

I let out a shaky sigh of relief.

“Let’s see . . . two truths and a lie . . .” He slides his fingers over his chin in exaggerated thought. “This is my second year as a counselor at Wawa, I got caught up in an armed robbery, and I just got my fifth tat last month.” He rhymes them off so smoothly, I’d think he had them long since prepared.

“One . . . two . . . three . . .” Eric, who’s sitting on the other side of Kyle, counts out loud, his brow furrowed in thought. “Hey, Avery! Does Kyle have any ink on his ass? Or you know . . . ” He waves a hand at his own groin area.

Laughter erupts.

“Don’t pretend you guys don’t walk around butt-naked together every chance you get,” Avery throws back in a snippy tone, her face flushing to match her red hair.

“Yeah. But we don’t get up close and personal.” Eric’s eyebrows waggle. “If you know what I mean—”

“Thank you, Eric!” Darian cuts him off with a warning tone. “Anyone want to take a guess? What is Kyle Miller’s lie?”

Even I know this is his second year as a counselor. A general consensus of “Number Two!” and “Armed robbery!” echoes around the campfire as Kyle waits patiently, his arms folded over his chest, a knowing smirk on his lips.

“Well?” Darian watches him expectantly, though, I note, with a touch of apprehension in her gaze.

Kyle reaches up and tugs at his shirt collar, stretching it to reveal a slender but muscular shoulder and the fresh outline of a tattoo in progress. “This will be number four when it’s finished.”

Eyebrows pop and looks are exchanged, and then a flurry of curious questions about the robbery erupt.

“We’re going clockwise,” Kyle announces, ignoring them all, settling back into his seat beside me. He nudges a surprised-looking Eric beside him with his knee.

“Dude,” Eric mutters, peering at his best friend. “Seriously? When?”

Kyle shrugs nonchalantly. “I can’t remember. Two truths and a lie, Vetter. Go.”

Eric shakes his head and then, just like that—as if Kyle is the camp director running the show—he stands and rattles off his own three lines.

But Eric’s words don’t register for me. My focus is on the boy beside me, his elbows resting on his knees, his attention locked on the dancing flames. I have so many questions.

Golden eyes turn to me suddenly and I avert my gaze to the sparse grass at my feet, but it’s too late.

“You come up with anything yet?” he asks casually.

“Almost,” I lie. “Thanks, by the way, for buying me some time.”

He shrugs. “Being the new guy sucks.”

I guess that would have been him last year, after so many years away.

Eric is done and everyone’s shouting out numbers, most of them having chosen “one.”