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Not until I’m inside do I realize I should probably pee, maybe brush my teeth… Fuck it. I drop face-first onto my sleeping bag and pull the hood of my sweatshirt up to block the sound of voices.

It takes a while, but eventually my body overrules my brain and delivers me to sleep.

22

MOON-BRIGHT

DAY 18

A painful, pressing need in my bladder jolts me awake at an undermined hour. Kinsey and Tiffany are passed out beside me and the camp is quiet. The walls of the tent glow, backlit, and it takes me a few seconds to realize it’s not the lamps but the moon.

Carefully maneuvering to my feet, I step over Tiffany’s legs and unzip the door. Thankfully, the tent is new and the sound muted. Outside is a different world from the one I left. Brightened by moonlight, the landscape is both beautiful and alien, like something out of a science fiction movie. Shadows abound, giving wavering aspects to small, spiny plants and making giants out of boulders. At least there’s no need for a flashlight.

Warmth still radiates upward from the sun-baked ground, but the air is delightfully chilly. I pick my way through the sparse brush to a location safely distant from camp and quickly take care of business. As I’m walking back, I hear something that stalls my feet.

The gurgle of water.

Do I think about coyotes? Snakes? Getting lost? No, I don’t. There’s no voice of caution. No monitor of reason. No fear at all. My mind is as empty and dark as the space between stars.

It’s not hard to find the small trail, worn by many feet over the course of years. My steps are unhurried, my heartbeat steady. Everyone’s asleep. What’s the harm in exploring? Maybe taking a skinny-dip in the hot springs? It wouldn’t be the first time.

As my eyes adjust fully to the night, the moon becomes an inverse sun. So bright. So clear. The scent of sulfur increases, teasing my nose and ramping up my excitement. I make my way up a short incline and around an outcropping of rocks. Before me is a perfect, dark pool of water, maybe seven feet across. Steam rises from the surface.

A startled intake of breath tells me I’m not alone. When I see the sole occupant, his broad, bare shoulders glistening wetly, I’m not surprised. Why am I not surprised? On the heels of that thought is another: Of course, I’m dreaming.

“Amelia,” he says, voice rigid.

I don’t ask for permission before I toe off my sneakers and socks and whip my sweatshirt over my head. There are sounds in the night, but all I can hear is his breathing, suddenly loud. All I can feel is the assault on my sensitive skin as my jeans come off, then my shirt, and finally my bra and underwear.

Dream-Leo looks down and mutters, “Could have used a warning.”

Dream-me replies, “Where’s the fun in that?”

Water swirls and laps as he moves through the pool and offers me a hand, his gaze carefully averted. “It can be a little slippery.”

The contact of his fingers is a revelation. Another follows when first one foot, then the other, hit the water.

Oh my God, I’m not dreaming.

“Holy shit, that’s hot.”

Despite his firm grip, I slip. And since this isn’t a dream, I don’t slide magically into his arms. Leo tries to catch me, but I fall sideways, accidentally kicking him in the junk—crap, he’s naked—and going headfirst underwater.

I come up coughing, expelling a nose-full of water. “I’m so sorry,” I gasp.

Leo is as far away from me as he can be while still remaining in the pool. His shoulders are rounded defensively, and I’m pretty sure he’s checking to make sure his balls are still there.

“Glancing blow,” he wheezes. “I’ll live.”

“Sorry,” I repeat feebly.

He doesn’t say anything else, his eyes closed in a prolonged wince. I shift on the natural rock seat, unable to recall a time I felt this unbelievably awkward. At least my skin doesn’t feel like it’s melting off anymore. The downside is I’m achingly aware that I’m naked. And. So. Is. He.

“Sorry to crash your party,” I murmur. “Believe it or not, I really thought I was dreaming.” Not until Leo goes unnaturally still do I realize what I’ve said. I force a laugh. “Whoops. Let’s pretend I didn’t say that.”

He drops his head back against a smooth rock, arms falling to his sides and eyes opening to the sky.

“Fucking fuck. Fuck. Son of a… fuck.”