“It’s like the cat that got the cream, but relatable, y’know?”
“It’s just my face.” And the relief of not having to avoid someone I don’t want to avoid. “Grab that paintbrush for me?”
My roommate does not look convinced as he hands me the brush. “You were gone a long time taking Aurora breakfast this morning.” I hear the and now you’re in a good mood and, even though he doesn’t say it, the smug look on his face is enough to assume that’s what he’s thinking.
“I don’t think I was that long.”
“She’s so hot. I might see if she wants to pair up at the swimming training later,” he says carefully, in a way that tells me he’s baiting me. “What do you think about that?”
Not looking at him, I concentrate on making sure I have enough paint and paintbrushes, knowing I’ll immediately give myself away. “I think that’s a great idea.”
“You’re such a fucking liar, Callaghan,” he laughs. “Fine. Have your secret summer of fun. I’ll just be lonely in our cabin with my dogs.”
“Our dogs.”
He leans against the wall beside me. “It’s always the quiet ones.”
“I haven’t even done anything.” Don’t look at him. “It’s all in your imagination.”
“Oh cool, my bad. I’ll let Clay know he’s got a shot with her then.”
The words almost refuse to come out of my mouth. “Yeah, you should.”
Xander snorts, punching me in the shoulder gently. “Your secret is safe with me. They don’t call me an unproblematic king for nothing.”
This time I can’t help but look at him as my eyebrows pinch together. I take the bait. “Who calls you an unproblematic king?”
“I do.”
“Okay, unproblematic king. I’ll be near the tennis court if you want me.” Collecting my equipment, I head to my project for the rest of the morning. One of our responsibilities this week is getting the camp ready for the campers and this chill morning activity is a nice change of pace from the constant training and icebreakers.
Nobody has asked me to share about myself, I don’t have to remember which order to tie something together, or what to do if someone stops breathing. I’m painting fence panels and dragging furniture and wiping stuff down and, other than Xander, nobody has been bothering me.
I feel good after my talk with Aurora earlier and I’m less worried about how I’m going to get through the summer with her.
“Birds are gross.” Turning toward the voice, I lower the hose I’m using to wash down a picnic table some birds have made their personal toilet. Aurora looks more alive than she did earlier, carrying a thermos in each hand, with a shy smile on her lips. “I brought you coffee. If you want it, obviously.”
I’ve watched her do sweet gestures for people since we got here. Filling up everyone’s water bottles, being the first to help people struggling during training, distracting Maya from her homesickness. Now I’ve earned the same treatment. “Coffee is good, thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” she says, handing it over. “I thought you might need it. I saw you running super early this morning; I forgot to mention it earlier. You don’t sleep much, huh?”
Running is something I hate but it’s one of the only things I can do to clear my head. Like Xander said when we arrived, occasionally your phone comes to life and messages come through. This morning, my mind was already working overtime after dealing with drunk Aurora, so when it started buzzing in the early hours I checked it.
The first thing I saw was a picture of my parents out for dinner, smiling into the camera like nothing’s wrong. That triggered my curiosity and I started to scroll up, eventually piecing together that Dad had won big somewhere and they were celebrating.
Dad’s addiction issue has never been with alcohol; it’s gambling. The alcohol consoles him after losing and like most gambling addicts, he loses a lot. It’s the alcohol that turns him nasty and that’s when the texts he sends me start to change into something harsher. When he’s on a winning streak, he’s a different man, but streaks are what gamblers say is happening to make it seem like some kind of skill and not purely a series of lucky occurrences.
Aurora is still waiting for me to answer.
Talking about my parents feels like opening pandora’s box. I sometimes wonder if the load would feel as heavy if I had someone to confide in, but I can’t bring myself to tell anyone. Even though Henry knows my history, I still find it difficult to tell him as stuff happens. It’s embarrassing to admit that my own dad doesn’t care about me as much as he cares about betting slips.
I settle for my default vague answer. “Not much, no. I’m used to it though, don’t worry. I can’t believe you were up early enough to see me.”
She takes the flask back, her hand brushing mine ever so slightly, just enough to send sparks up my arms and places them on the now clean table. I watch her as she methodically unscrews and presses buttons until she’s poured me a cup. “Would you believe me if I told you I was meditating?”
“No.” I accept the coffee cup back, watching her over the rim as I take a sip.
“I was sick. That’s why I was awake so early.” she says, laughing awkwardly. “I like to think it was food poisoning and not the excessive amount of tequila I drank last night. You may remember it; I was the one making a fool of myself in front of you.”
“I do vaguely remember having to decline your skinny-dipping offer.”
Her cheeks flush pink, eyes widen. God, it feels good to not be the one blushing for once. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to find a hungry raccoon and feed myself to it. Bye.”
I grab her hand as she tries to turn to leave. “It was funny, in a very stressful I-don’t-want-to-be-alone-with-this-drunk-girl-wanting-to-get-naked way.”
When I realize she’s not leaving, I let go of her hand. She clears her throat and sips from her cup, watching me carefully over the cup as it lowers. “Do you need any help today? Emilia banished me from the dance area.”
“Why?”
She kicks out her leg, the darkening purple indicator of bruising spreading across her shin. “I was bored because she’s a control freak and I tried to hurdle the freestanding ballet barres.”
The laugh that rips out of me is so loud I don’t realize it’s me until she starts laughing too. Dragging a hand down my face, I shake it off. “If I let you help me, can you be good?”
“Usually, with the right motivation.”
I sense I shouldn’t ask further, but I can’t help myself. At this point, as much as I don’t want to be, I’m the moth and Aurora is the brightest flame. “What’s enough motivation for you?”
Her teeth sink into her lip again and my brain flashes back to a very different scenario where I watched her do that. “You thinking I’m good.”
I’m going to get burned. “Alright then, grab a paintbrush.”
Aurora has her legs over my shoulders. Again.
This time she’s sitting on them to paint the highest point of the storage shed, but the same inappropriate thoughts remain. My hands cling to her thighs, which are warming my ears, and her hand is intwined in my hair while her other swishes the paintbrush against the wood.
“Have you ever seen Ratatouille?” she asks, running her fingers through my hair again.
It’s hard not to physically react to goosebumps spreading down my body. “Of course I have, why?”
“I feel like the rat.” She tugs on my hair gently. “Should we see if I can make you cook?”
“Excuse you,” I squeeze her thighs playfully and her hand tightens in my hair. “His name is Remy.”
“My apologies, I didn’t realize I was in the presence of a Ratatouille expert. You guys just be out here hiding in plain sight. Okay, I think we’re done up here.”
The shed looks ten times better than it did when we started and, while it probably wasn’t necessary to spend so long working on a random structure, the lack of interruptions has been nice.
“Russ?”