We’re about to head out for the welcome dinner, and frankly, after being in this cabin, I’m now terrified as to what to expect. Is this an orgy thing? I don’t think I can handle it if it is. I can’t afford to quit my job, but the image of Finky walking up to me wearing only an embroidered vest, looking to see if I’m ready to have a good time? I’d have no other choice but to quit.

Is that why they like coming here so much, because it’s their one time a year to let loose and have fun?

I really hope not.

“Okay,” I answer as I stand.

“Just okay? Do you have a headache?” Wilder asks, looking really concerned.

I have to hand it to him: he might have forgotten to roll when we fell, but he sure knows how to make up for it. He’s a really caring guy, has looked out for me consistently, and has made sure I’m taken care of.

Matt was never like that.

I’m pretty sure if I was attending this camp with Matt, he would have laughed at me, probably pointed, and made fun of me later for smashing my head on a rock.

There would be no apology.

Most likely, he would have blamed me for making us fall rather than taking responsibility.

Wilder—not that I’m comparing them, because Wilder and I aren’t actually together—you can see the remorse in his face. Makes me think, if I ever decide to put myself out there in the dating world again, this is an attribute that I would be looking for.

Doesn’t laugh when girlfriend gets her face smashed by a rock.

“No headache,” I say. “Pretty excited by the bruising though.”

He chuckles and presses his hands into his pockets. “I’m happy for you. I hope it looks even worse tomorrow morning.”

I press my hand to my chest. “That’s so sweet. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He nods toward the door. “Ready to go? We don’t want to be late. Sanders was adamant about that.”

“Yeah, I’m ready. Let’s go.”

Wilder opens the cabin door for us and then locks up. He turns toward me and says, “Can’t have the other campers sneaking into our room, knowing the kind of free goods we have in there.”

“Oh, smart. You know, I wonder if it’s something we could trade.”

“What do you mean?” Wilder asks as we walk down the ramp together.

“Well, you know how they trade in jail, like a cinnamon bun for a cigarette? What if we can use our prized condoms and dildo for trading fodder? Who knows what the other prizes are going to be? We have to be smart about this. There could be an opportunity for us to trade up.”