Starry Eyes(85)

Lennon shoves dark hair out of his eyes. His clothes stick to him, clinging to his shape. Every sharp plane. Every muscle. It’s practically X-rated. Or maybe that’s exactly what it is, because I blink away rain and see his gaze roaming over me too. And there’s nothing polite about the way he’s looking at me.

Maybe the storm broke something in both of our brains.

I inhale sharply. He makes a low noise in the back of his throat.

Our gazes lock.

We both pounce on each other at the same time.

He pulls me against him, one arm slung around my shoulders, his other hand cupping the back of my head. His rain-slick clothes are cold, but his mouth is hot on mine. He kisses me hard. It’s an impatient, greedy kiss. Ravenous. And when thunder rumbles in the distance, I jump a little, but I don’t let go.

My back hits the smooth, wet bark of a sequoia, and he presses himself against the length of me. He’s taut and solid, a brick wall of lean muscle, lifting me up until my toes skim the tree’s bumpy roots. And when he pushes his hips against mine, I push back, feeling unmistakable hardness between us. A thrill zips through me.

My legs wrap around his hips, and he’s holding me in place against the tree, pinning me as he warms my neck with kisses. I smell his hair and the scent of sequoia bark, and the rain is coming down so hard, my grip around his shoulders is slipping. I throw both arms around his neck and cling.

“Tent,” he says into my ear. I’m not sure if it’s a question or a statement, but I’m telling him yes. And he tells me to hold on, but I think if I hold him any tighter, I’m going to break bones. My back leaves the tree, and he’s carrying me several steps. We slide in the mud, and when he sloppily sets me down in front of the tents, I’m clutching so hard, I nearly pull us both down. His head bashes into mine.

“Oww!”

We’re both laughing, and I feel a little delirious. “We’re drenched,” I say.

He pushes wet curls away from my face. “Yeah.”

“The sleeping gear’s going to get wet.”

“Maybe we should just, I don’t know”—he shrugs slowly—“get out of these clothes before we go in.”

My pulse pounds in my ears.

Naked.

Lennon.

Me.

Us.

“That would be the practical thing to do,” I agree, trying to sound casual.

But this is so not casual. And we both know it.

We lunge for each other, and he’s stripping off my shirt. My arms are tangled, and he’s laughing, trying to peel away the wet fabric. It gives, and his arm flies back. My shirt hits the tent with a loud slap.

Lennon pauses for a moment, looking me over, a slow smile lifting his cheeks. “Are we doing this?” He sounds dazed.

I’m a little embarrassed, but not enough to stop. “Oh, we’re doing this.”

Shoes and socks are dropped in the mud. And then I get his shirt off, and we’re both attacking each other’s jeans as if they’ll self-destruct if we don’t get them off fast enough. And oh, okay, wet boxer shorts are definitely pornographic. I CAN SEE EVERYTHING, and I can’t stop looking—I don’t even care that I’m shivering in my bra and panties in the middle of the woods.

“Wait, wait, wait.” I put a hand on his chest. My mouth moves faster than my brain. “You can’t get me pregnant,” I tell him firmly.

Lennon’s face contorts as several expressions flash. “That’s something a guy never thinks he’s going to hear.”

“I mean, I’m sure you could, which is the problem. I just didn’t plan for this. That’s what I meant.” Ugh, idiot, I think, suddenly self-conscious. I was thinking of what happened with Andre, and how stupid we were. And now I’m making assumptions, because we’re getting naked. Should I not be making assumptions? I’m completely rattled now.

“Forget it,” I say.

When he opens his mouth to respond, he pauses and then says, “Hold on.”

He dives under the short canopy connecting the tents and unzips the door to his tent, disappearing. I don’t know what to do. I’m standing in the rain, half-naked and humiliated, and— Lennon emerges. He crawls under the canopy to the big tent, unzips the door, and throws our camp towels inside. Then he holds up a long line of shiny metallic condom packages to show me before tossing them inside the tent, too. “You may not have planned, but I did,” he says, smiling. “Boy Scout motto. Be prepared.”

“Good God.” How many of those are there?

“Call it hopeful thinking. I guess I didn’t learn anything after the hotel-room fiasco. And, you know, one good thing about Toys in the Attic is an endless supply of free condoms. Come here.”

Heart racing, I duck beneath the canopy, taking his offered hand, and quickly crawl inside the double tent. It’s dim inside, and it smells strongly of nylon and rain. I’m acutely aware of how cramped the space is, and how long Lennon’s legs are. How much bare skin is on display, both his and mine. Those pornographic boxers—DO NOT LOOK.

Too late. Guess he’s not anxious.

But all of the sudden I am. So, so anxious. Why?

I glance down at myself and see all my hives on display. That doesn’t help. I hope it’s dark enough that he can’t see them, too, and quickly move my arm to cover my stomach.