“That’s because I’m not.”
“I know. Lily’s been with Benji for a long time. She hasn’t been happy for a while. I think this week made her realize things aren’t going to get better.” She picks up a stick and twirls it between her fingers. “It’s another reason I didn’t want to flake out on Lily for this trip. Benji’s got some . . . issues. Sometimes he can be mean. Anyways, it might be good for her to have a fling.”
“As long as she gets that that’s all it is.”
“She knows all about you hockey boys.” She grabs my hand and moves toward the forest. “Come on, let’s get some kindling.”
We end up making out in the forest against a tree. Making out turns into moving Sunny’s shorts to the side and taking her from behind. I hang the spent condom from a tree branch when she isn’t looking. Outdoor sex is the fucking bomb. Afterward, Sunny demonstrates her master campfire-building skills. She manages to get a roaring fire going without dousing it in gasoline or lighter fluid.
Once it’s blazing, I go back to the cottage to look for marshmallows and roasting sticks. Campfires aren’t campfires without them. I also want to head off any potential fuckery between Randy and Lily.
I’m too late, though. I find them in the kitchen. Randy has Lily pinned against the counter. Maybe pinned isn’t the right word. Lily is fisting his shirt, and he’s got a hand braced on either side of her. He has one knee between her legs, dry fucking her while they suck face.
I close the screen door harder than I need to. Lily shoves him away and spins around, dunking her hands in the sink. Her back expands and contracts with every heavy breath. Randy wipes his mouth with his sleeve as he glances over his shoulder. “’Sup, Miller? You get a campfire going yet or what?”
“It’s marshmallow time.” I wrangle up a bag from the pantry along with graham crackers. I can’t find a chocolate bar, so I make do with Nutella. “You guys coming, or are you planning to get it on in the kitchen some more first?”
He slips an arm around Lily’s waist and nuzzles her neck. “I’m partial to option two, but I’ll leave the decision to Lily here.”
“We’ll be right out,” she croaks.
Randy chuckles. I shake my head and shut the screen door behind me. For someone with a big hate-on for players—perceived or real—Lily seems intent to hook up with one. I wonder how long it’ll take for her to regret it.***I soon discover that Sunny doesn’t eat marshmallows. Gelatin is made from bone marrow, and bone marrow comes from animals, so they’re a no-go. Being a vegan seems like food-deprivation torture.
We stay outside for a few hours, but Sunny’s itchy, even with all the bug spray. Everyone’s drunk by the time we decide to call it a night. Sunny sets Randy up in the room right next to Lily’s. I’d say it’s a bad idea, but based on all the groping going on at the fire, those two’ll get their fuck on regardless of how far apart their rooms are. I hope Sunny’s right and Lily takes it for what it is: a rebound lay.
Sunny’s bedroom is decorated for her. The walls are painted a soft, pale yellow. The comforter is covered in sunflowers. It’s a girly room. It gives me a better understanding of how close Sunny and her brother are.
“I need a shower; my hair smells like campfire,” Sunny says once she closes the door.
I wrap my arms around her from behind and shove my nose in her blond waves. “You smell like toasted marshmallows. I like it.”
“I smell like smoke and bug spray. And I’m itchy.”
“I’ll give you a hand, then, eh?”
She turns around, her grin sloppy and her eyes glassy from all the mojitos. “I love it; my Canadianness is rubbing off on you.”
“I like it when you rub your Canadianness all over me.”
I kiss her. Even her lips taste smoky. Easing my hands down her sides, I squeeze her ass. On the way back up, I pull her shirt over her head. She’s not wearing a bra. I’m about to take full advantage of that fact, until I notice the rash. Streaks of red cover her chest. I move her hair out of the way and note the same rash around the back of her neck, as if it’s followed the line of her bikini.
“Do you have any allergies?”
She looks down and screams, then brings her hands up to touch her boobs. I grab her wrists before she can make contact.
“Sweets, are you sure that was Virginia Creeper in the forest today?”
Her eyes shoot up to mine, tears already brimming. “Oh my God! I have poison ivy on my boobs?” It’s a question, like she doesn’t want to believe it’s possible.