"That's him all right," I say for some damn reason. I take a closer look, and see he's leaning against the hood of a car. "What is that he's driving?"
Hank peers intently at the screen. “That's a Mustang badge just on the right of his hip there. Looks like your new boy likes sports cars."
"Mr. Larroquette would throw a fit if he found out I rented Tyler a Mustang," I reply, groaning inwardly. Not sports cars, although I guess that's not as bad as the Escalades and giant trucks some of the guys drive. "Got anything a little more sane?"
"Oh come on, they're not as bad as they used to be," Hank replies with a smirk. “You can get him the EcoBoost model… pretty small engine for a sports car. Sure it looks sexy, but it's a PUA."
"A what?" I ask, trying to keep up.
Hank laughs. "Sorry, got it from my kids. A PUA, pick up artist. All talk, no real go behind it. Come on April, you work with football players, you've got to be more up on the slang than that."
"I try," I say, blushing again. I do keep up, but I'm not all that cool, I just do my job. "Okay, well, I guess a Mustang will work then. Can you get me the calmest one?"
“No problem,” Hank says, turning his monitor back around and typing away. "I can get you one that you can pick up tomorrow if you like."
"Yes please. Oh, and can you get it in electric blue, do you have that option?"
Hank raises an eyebrow. "Electric blue? Why?"
"Blue is Tyler's favorite color," I say without thinking, my memories coming forward again.
Hank chuckles and taps at his keyboard. "Doesn't know the car the man likes . . . knows his favorite color. April, you are one funny woman. All right, I'll see what I can do."
The night is almost totally black, but there's no chill to the air as the counselor lights the big bonfire that takes up the middle of the sand. We're really pushing the limits on the fire code, but it's cool with the flames nearly as tall as I am. And the food was great, and we've still got dessert to make with S'mores on deck.
"Whoa," Tyler says as the fire shoots up. "I guess Tom wasn't lying about helping it out with gasoline."
"Stupid," I comment, still feeling funny. Tyler's been really nice all day, and now at the barbecue he's been awesome. When the food came around he got me a plate and brought it over to our spot on the sand like a real gentleman, and when the other boys ran off to play football, he stayed and we talked. He told me about his life in San Diego, and how he dreams of playing professional football, and he listened as I told him about my life in Canada. In fact, he listened more than he talked, which most people don't do at all.
"Hey Tyler?"
"Hmm?" Tyler asks, the flames still dancing in his eyes.
"Earlier, why didn't you run off to play football with the other boys? You could have, you know."
Tyler turns to me, a little smile on his face, and shakes his head. "I thought this was supposed to be a date, not a football game."
Tyler looks at me strangely for a second, then leans forward, and we kiss. It's my first kiss, so it's not like I have a lot to compare it to, but I know that his lips are soft, and it's not yucky at all. Instead, it's really nice, and I can feel my heart speeding up. I want to kiss him more, but suddenly there's a call from the other side of the fire.
"Woooo-ooo-ooo! Tyler and Pokey!"
Tyler breaks our kiss and looks embarrassed. "Shut up, Gina!"
The party wraps up after we make our desserts, and afterward, we walk back through the dark to camp, flashlights bobbing as we walk through the woods. I'm not so much surprised as happy when Tyler reaches over and holds my hand again. “Sorry about those girls."
"It's okay," I whisper, but it's not, really. I've never been all that social, and I don’t like being called out like that. "You didn't mean to."
"Actually . . . I kinda did," Tyler says with a little chuckle. "I wanted to kiss you.”
"Why?"
Tyler shrugs, and before he can answer, we both trip over a root, stumbling a bit. He grabs me, and in the darkness I can feel his hand on my chest. Chocolate and batteries, chocolate and batteries . . .
Tyler realizes where his hand is and pulls back, and suddenly it’s his turn to be tongue tied. "Ah, well, ah . . . sorry."
"It's okay," I say, taking his hand again. "You weren't trying to feel me up, right?"
"Right," he says with a soft laugh. “I don’t know, I just wanted to. I've been thinking about it, that's all."
We start back on the trail, and Tyler sounds a little sad the next time he speaks. "So tomorrow's the last day."
"Yeah. You're going back to San Diego?"
Tyler nods. "I've got football practice starting next week. You're going home too, right?"
I nod. "Yeah . . . Canada's going to feel really cold after this summer. And London's not as much fun as here."
Tyler laughs, and I know why. Mixing that you're from London, Ontario instead of London, England can be worth a joke every once in a while. "Well, maybe before you leave, you can give me your address?"
"I'd like that," I say, and as we keep walking, he takes my hand again.