“No. I don’t want to get into trouble by drinking,” I explain honestly. “And you’re really, really drunk. You should probably go to bed, we have water safety training tomorrow and it’s late.”
She’s still swaying and I can practically hear the cogs in her head turning while her brain wades through the tequila she’s tried to drown it with.
I recognize the familiar sounds of dog collars jingling and paws against gravel. Deciding not to wait to find out who they’re with, I grab Aurora’s arm, quickly pulling her toward the darkened space between the cabins. “Someone’s coming,” I explain when she looks up at me alarmed.
This would be a really bad time to discover some of the less cute creatures that no doubt roam this camp at night.
I pull us into the shadows as quickly and quietly as I can, practically carrying Aurora as she giggles. Yes, she thinks it’s funny. “Stop laughing,” I whisper. She leans forward, burying her face into my t-shirt in an attempt to smother the amused noises escaping her. It’s not enough and when she lets out a little snort, I put my hand over her mouth gently. “Shhh.”
Fish stops at the spot Aurora and I just vacated, staring toward the darkness and, therefore, us. I’m holding my breath, my heart hammering so hard I’m surprised Aurora can’t hear the thud, thud, thud. I’m mentally running through all the excuses I could possibly give, realizing that being in a dark corner of the camp alone with a drunk girl is far more alarming than talking to one. Then Fish barks and I swear my heart stops beating all together.
“Stop it, noisy girl,” Jenna chastises, clicking at the puppies to follow her. “Fish, come on,” she says with a whistle. I wait until I can no longer hear the gravel before finally letting myself breath properly again.
“Ow, fuck,” I snatch my hand away from Aurora’s mouth. “Did you just bite me?”
“You forgot I was here.” Like that could happen. “You’re good at that.”
How did I end up here when I was purposely trying to stay out of the way?
“Come on, Edward Cullen. Back on the path before something bigger and scarier than you decides to bite me.” It’s like guiding a toddler as I hold both her arms to lead her through the dark and back into the lit-up path.
“Russ, I feel sick,” she mumbles.
“Do you need some water?” She nods and there’s a very real possibility she’s about to barf on me. Guiding her toward the porch steps of the cabin labeled “racoon,” I sit her down and jog toward the main building. It doesn’t take me long but she’s paler by the time I get back. “I don’t feel good,” she moans into her hands.
“I’m not surprised. You drink like a fish. Here . . .” I joke, handing her my water bottle.
She looks up, her green eyes fixed on me between slow, long blinks. “I drink like a dog?”
“What? No, I didn’t mean—never mind.” She guzzles the water, wiping the excess from the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand and offering the bottle back to me. “Do you want me to walk you to your cabin?”
Nodding, Aurora holds out her hand and I gently tug her to her feet; her fingers intertwine with mine and she begins to lead me toward her cabin, which is in a different section to mine.
We’re halfway there when she suddenly stops, pulling me to a stop too. “Do you want to go skinny dipping?”
Jesus Christ. “You need to go to bed.”
“I don’t want to go to bed.” Her bottom lip pouts out and, in this moment, she reminds me of Stassie and Lola when they’re drunk. It’d be cute if I wasn’t so stressed.
“Well, you have to,” I say, dragging her along.
“Make me.”
“I’m not going try and make you.”
“You’ve got me into bed before, it shouldn’t be that hard for you.”
I should have stayed reading my book. “If you don’t go to sleep, you’re going to feel like death tomorrow and you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.”
“My dad is to blame for all of my problems, so that’s not true, is it?” As drunk as she is, there’s something clear and certain about the way she says it. It’s a feeling I can relate to, but I think trading daddy issues is the exact opposite of what I need this summer. It’s definitely the exact opposite of what I need right now, dealing with a drunk person. “You don’t get to tell me what to do, mister. You’re not the boss of me.”
“But you just told me to make you? I know I’m not the bo—” I stop talking because I’m arguing with someone who probably isn’t going to remember any of this tomorrow. “Is that why you’re so drunk? Your dad’s done something?”
“It’s his birthday.” She looks at her watch, squinting. “Is that a twelve or two? Was his birthday. I arranged for a gift to be delivered. Silly, silly Rory, always expecting too much and trusting the wrong people.”
“And he didn’t like it?”
“He didn’t open it. I spoke to his assistant Sandra, no, Brandy? Brenda. I spoke to Brenda because he didn’t answer my calls and it was still in his office.” She shrugs and her whole demeanor changes again. It’s like every time she talks about something that makes her unhappy, she forces herself to look happy. “His girlfriend and her daughter took him to Disneyland as a surprise. He fucking hates Disneyland. He never went with us when my mom took me and my sister. But anything Norah and Isobel want they get and I just have to exist in their shadow.”
“I’m sorry.” I don’t know what else to say, but we reach cabin twenty-two and she begins to climb the steps. Thinking back to Xander and Clay’s wrong cabin accident, I keep hold of her hand. “Is this definitely yours?”
“Yup,” she points to the fairy lights decorating the porch. “Cabin two-two. Angel number.”
I stop on the bottom step, letting go of her hand. “Angel what?”
She spins around so quickly she almost loses balance, but the walk here, water and the short period of time without a tequila bottle in her hand has helped sober her up a tiny amount. “Why have you stopped?”
“We aren’t allowed to go into other people’s cabins.”
She huffs, her hands landing on her hips like somehow I’m the one in the wrong here. “Nobody cares about those rules. Nobody cares enough to punish me.”
“I care about them, Rory. And you’d understand that if you weren’t so drunk.”
Dragging me up the steps, I reluctantly follow. “Come in, please.”
“I’ll stand in the doorway,” I say firmly, which is a waste of breath because she pulls me over the threshold anyway. “Aurora, I can’t be in here. I need this job.”
“I liked it when you called me Rory.”
“Rory, get into bed please. Lie on your side in case you’re sick.” To my surprise, she kicks off her shoes and throws herself down onto her bed. “Good girl. Okay, goodnight.”
“Wait!” she shouts as I turn to leave. “I’m hungry.”
It really is like being with Stassie and Lola. “I can’t do anything about that right now. I’ll get you breakfast in the morning.”
“No, you won’t.” She wiggles under a blanket and while sleeping fully clothed isn’t ideal, it is not something I’m prepared to tackle. “Tomorrow you’ll go back to hating me.”
My mouth opens and closes, no words come out. “I do not hate you.”
She yawns and begins to lose the fight to keep her eyes open. “Will you wait until I fall asleep, please? It won’t take long.”
I’m still stunned she thinks I hate her, even though it’s probably drunk babble. “Sure, why?”
“Because it’s easier to wake up and you’re not here than it is to watch you leave me.”
I sit on the edge of her bed, mulling over her words, scrambling for a plan to untangle the mess I’ve created for myself starting tomorrow. It doesn’t take long for her to fall asleep and I’m instantly jealous, because I know I’m going to be up all night wondering if it would have been easier to watch her leave after we hooked up. Or was it easier to find her gone?