The Opportunist (Love Me with Lies, #1)(41)

“Go!” I instruct, pointing at the office. Caleb takes a few faltering steps backwards—still looking at me in mock surprise, then turns around and jogs into the small structure.

I settle back in my seat, proud of my crassitude.

Caleb exits the building about ten minutes later with an older woman trailing behind him. When he reaches the car, she throws up a hand and waves at him like he’s an A-list celebrity. Her jowls flap around like pillowcases and I snicker. He is forever making friends…or fans. Amnesia apparently does not change everything about a person.

“They don’t allow tents here,” he tells me, but they have these structures that they rent out. Looks like a tent, but bigger and it has wood floors.”





I already know this. The first time he deceived me into coming here, he told me that we would be staying in a luxury cabin. I packed my bags, excited to be leaving Florida, something I had never done before, and wondered whether or not our ‘cabin’ would have a fireplace. When we pulled up to the camp grounds, I looked around for the cabin in anticipation.

“Where is it?” I had asked, craning my neck to peer into the trees. All I saw were tepee-like tents. Maybe the cabins were further back into the woods. Caleb had smiled at me and parked his car in front of one of the tepees. He laughed when my face turned white.

“I thought we were staying in a cabin,” I had said, folding my arms across my chest.

“Trust me, this is posh camping, Duchess. Usually you have to erect your own tent and the floor is just thin canvas beneath you.”

I grunted, and stared at the tent miserably. He had tricked me.

Despite my initial horror, it turned out to be the best weekend of my life, and I would be forever addicted to ‘posh’ camping.





“Let’s go buy fur coats,” Caleb says blasting the heat. I nod and stare contentedly out of the window.

We find a Super Wal-Mart a few miles away, leave Pickles in the car, while Caleb puts his arm around me as we run for the doors. People stare at us like we have antennae growing from our heads. Some of them are in shorts.

“Its arctic cold out here,” I say to Caleb, and he smiles like I’m silly.

“Not to them.”

I am freezing, even though it’s at least fifty degrees out, and I wonder what it feels like to be in snow. I think of asking Caleb about snow but then I remember he doesn’t have any memory of it.

We head to the clothing department first. Caleb finds a matching pair of sweatshirts with kittens on the front that says, “I’m Cat’s About Georgia.”

“We are getting these,” he says throwing them in the cart.



I look at them in mortification and shake my head.



“How’s a girl supposed to look pretty wearing something like that?”



He tweaks my nose.



“You would look pretty wearing burlap and mud.”



I turn away to hide my smile.



We fill our cart with underwear, sweatpants, and socks and then head over to the food aisles.





By the time we stand in line to pay, we have enough food for two weeks. Caleb pulls out his credit card and refuses to take any money from me. We pull our sweatshirts over our heads next to the free magazine rack in the foyer and then dash to the car with our bags.

“Breakfast,” Caleb says tossing me a can of boiled peanuts. I pull a face.



“I’m pretty sure I saw a McDonalds back that way.” I pass the can back to him.



“No way,” he shoves it at my chest, “we are doing this the right way. Eat your peanuts!”



“The right way,” I mumble. “Is that why you bought an electric heater?” He looks at me out of the corner of his eye and I see a smile creeping at the corners of his lips. He always liked it when I sassed him.

We pull into our temporary gravel driveway around nine and begin lugging our supplies into the tent. I set up inside, stripping our new sleeping bags of their tags and arranging them on opposite sides of the small space we are sharing. I glance outside the tent and see Caleb arranging logs to make a fire. After a moment of watching his strong arms tug and pull, I yank the sleeping bags closer together. I might as well stay as close as I can—while I can.

Once the fire is lively and spitting, we each grab a semi-chilled bottle of beer and cozy up on our rainbow striped beach chairs.



“So does this feel familiar?” I ask, stroking Pickle’s head. He furrows his brow and shakes his head.



“No. But, it feels good. I like being here with you.”



I sigh. Ditto.

“What are you going to do about your apartment?” he asks not looking at me.



“Start new I guess. I don’t really want to think about it. It’s depressing,” I pull the lid off of the can of boiled peanuts and fish one out.

“We can both start over,” he flips the cap off another bottle of beer and lifts it to his lips. I watch him quietly waiting for him to continue.

“I’m going to start living my life the way I want to live it,” he tells me. “I’m not really sure who I was before the accident, but by the looks of things I was pretty miserable.”