“Well, I guess I’ll lead the conversation since you seem a little stumped.” She taps her chin with her finger and says, “Hmm, you know, I think I’ll have to go with an Arnold Palmer. There’s something about the iced tea, lemonade combination that gets me every time. But it has to be a good ratio, you know? It can’t be too sweet with the lemonade, and the iced tea has to be unsweetened.”

So she’s just going to act like everything is normal and talk about iced tea to lemonade ratios? How?

How is she not inwardly panting?

How does she not look dazed and confused?

How is she not on the verge of licking me all over like I want to lick her?

Claim her.

“What about you?” she asks.

I scratch the back of my head and say, “Uh, I don’t know…Dr Pepper.”

“Really? Kind of thought you would say Coke because of your soda app.”

Shit, she’s right. I can’t even think of my favorite drink, that’s how out of sorts I am.

“Are we talking your main love? Like that’s what you need in order to live? I mean, I guess I don’t need an Arnold Palmer to live, but that wasn’t the question either. Just our favorite drink, so I think I’ll stick with my answer. You sticking with Dr Pepper?”

I stare at her.

Blink.

Grow annoyed with her easygoing attitude.

“Yeah. Sticking with Dr Pepper,” I answer, even though inwardly, I’m screaming Coke. I love Coke!

“Great.”

“Time’s up,” Sanders says.

“Well, this was fun,” Scottie says as she gets off my lap.

“Yeah,” I say, still confused by her change of attitude.

“I actually think I have to go to the bathroom. Excuse me.” She pats my chest and then takes off as if everything in the world is fine.

Meanwhile, I’m over here reeling.

Fucking reeling.

Because I just made out with Scottie, and I more than liked it. I loved it.

I want to do it again.

And again.

But this time, with her shirt off.

This time, with her bra off.

This time…in fucking private. With every article of clothing off our bodies.

Chapter Twenty

SCOTTIE

Oh my God.

Oh my God.

Oh my fucking God!

I slip into the main building of Camp Haven and right up to the front desk, where I speak to one of the camp counselors…or whatever they’re called.

“I need to make a phone call. It’s urgent. Like, really urgent. Could you please give me a quarter so I can make said phone call?” When the girl doesn’t answer the second I’m done talking, I slam my hand on the counter and say, “Please. I need to make this phone call. Like right now. Right this very instant.”

“Okay,” she says, looking terrified.