“Come on.” Archer nudges my arm. “Let's find our site.”
I follow Archer around the area, each marked with specific couples’ names and I frown. I guess when I thought about camping, I had this vision of a cabin in the woods, not exactly a tent in the woods. One where I could sleep on the floor, or on a couch, or separately anywhere else because we wouldn’t be stuck in a tent.
Archer walks along the little path like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Like he’s not struggling with the thoughts of sleeping next to me naked.
Wait, what? Naked? Not naked!
Not. Naked. Viviana.
I need to get my head out of the gutter.
“Here we are,” Archer announces, surprising me and I bump into his back, my brain lost in my crazy-ass thoughts.
“Oh. Sorry.” I pat his back three times—THREE TIMES—like a crazy person and nod at the sign that says Archer & Viviana. “Yup.” I nod again. “That’s us.”
In the clearing where the tent is clearly supposed to be set up is a Rubbermaid box with a bag that has the picture of a tent on the side.
“Let’s set up.” Archer throws down his and my bag—he insisted on carrying my bag—and steps to the clearing, moving the Rubbermaid and the tent to the side and seemingly scoping out the area. I watch with slight interest, my eyes wandering from his head to his chest and shoulders to his stomach where I’m sure a good six-pack lies—he’s really filled out since high school—and I stop myself from going past his waistline, jerking my head up to look at the trees looming above us.
Gah, Viv. Don’t be a pervert.
“Alright, let’s pull the tent out and get started.”
“Right! Yes, let’s do that.” I move with false confidence toward the tent bag and grab it up. I set it in the middle of the area and unzip it while Archer opens the Rubbermaid to get whatever it is he needs.
I grab a bag that’s filled with tent rods. “Okay, yes, need those,” I murmur to myself, setting them aside. I then pull out a sheet of plastic that keeps unraveling itself. I step back and back and back until I have a full square tarp laid out and no freaking clue what it’s for. On top? Is this the walls? Where’re the little tent pole tunnel things for the poles?
I set it aside as well, my gaze going to Archer, who got caught up in a conversation with the neighboring couple. It was Jeffrey and Abigail. Abigail was competing for a job too, and was the closest one to my age.
They never told us if there was more than one position, I suspect, so we didn’t fight against each other, but I was hopeful that Abigail would get a job with me. Assuming I succeed. She was cool and her husband seemed like he really loved her. I liked to see that.
I move back to the bag and pull out another large roll of plastic, I note it’s the last piece in the bag and sigh. This better start explaining itself because I have no idea how to do this.
As I unravel it, I find myself wishing I had the abilities of Mr. Weasley circa Goblet of Fire, when he sets up that massive tent with the flick of his wand and when you walk inside it’s basically a whole house.
That would be nice right now.
I stretch out the tent and see it has windows and zippers, so this was the actual tent part.
I walk around my clump of a mess and sigh, hands on my hips as I eyeball the mess I’ve made.
“Need help?” Archer comes back over to our site and sees what I have going on. “Like, a lot of help?”
“Ha ha.” I stick up my chin defiantly. “No. I don’t need help.”
“Are you sure? Four hands are better than two.” He makes his way over to me and I take a step back only for him to butt up right against my side, his hand resting on my lower back. “Plus, you want this future boss of yours to see your teamwork is good, right?” He says this last bit right into my ear, like he’s telling me an intimate secret.
Why does it feel like he just told me to rip my clothes off and give myself over to him?
“I guess that’s fair,” I say and make to move away but he grips my hand.
“Also.” He pushes his lips back to my ear, his nose rubbing against my temple. Why is my heart beating so fast? “You might want to work on touching me.”
My eyes jerk open—when did I close my eyes?—and spin to face him. “Excuse me?”
He raises a hand in defense. “Viv, I’m your fiancé. You should want to touch me.”
Oh, I do. He has no idea how much I want to touch him. No. Idea.