Page 5 of A Little Campfire Blues (Pride Camp 2025 #10)

Chapter Five

Axis

Damn, the cabins were far apart. As I navigated my jeep along the winding road that ran around a wide, shimmering lake, that was the first thing I noticed.

It was nice, though, the lake and the distance between cabins.

Mornings spent splashing around in it had already become part of the daily itinerary I’d been forming in my mind on the last part of the drive.

Not only was the cool water sure to wake me up, but there had always been something appealing to me about staring at a glistening body of water.

Maybe it was because there was always inspiration to be found in it.

Thirteen, fourteen, my cabin assignment was seventeen, so I pressed on along the road, excited to see if Roman had arrived yet.

If so, then my first suggestion would be fuck unpacking; let’s just dive in, soak up some sun, and enjoy the warmth of this perfect summer morning.

Now I was glad I’d left Portland as early as I had.

The idea had been to beat traffic, but it looked like I’d also beat most of the other campers, as there were only a few scattered vehicles around.

Including a blue Challenger that looked just like the one in the photo Roman had shared after he’d bought it.

He’d looked proud as hell, leaning against it, hand lovingly stroking the hood as sunlight shimmered off its gleaming cerulean surface.

I pulled up next to it and barely got the Jeep in park before I spotted him racing towards me.

Out the door I tumbled, my arm getting tangled in the seatbelt in my haste.

Laughing at my clumsiness, I fell into an embrace that was all broad shoulders and muscles.

The fact that he could still make me feel small felt amazing.

Relieved, I sunk into it and let myself be held.

“Tossed and turned half the night, waiting for this moment,” he murmured and squeezed me tighter.

“I didn’t bother trying to sleep until after midnight,” I admitted, my ear pressed to his shoulder as we just clung to one another like we both expected the moment to shatter and leave us standing there alone.

“And you’re still here this early?”

“I’m still good to go on five hours of downtime.”

“Downtime that I hope involved closing your eyes, at least for a little while,” he chided in that gently reproachful tone he’d always had.

“I slept for a full four hours and even made myself breakfast before I hit the road. Finally got the hang of folding an omelet over so all the filling stays where it belongs.”

“I’m sure your pans are eternally grateful that you’re not standing in your boxers by the stove, threatening to beat them with a spatula.”

The moment the image popped into my head, I dissolved into a fit of giggles, remembering the look on his face over the video chat feed as he’d attempted to talk me through making one after I’d complained that my favorite diner had closed.

Pan-fried potatoes I’d easily gotten the hang of, but those damned omelets, holy shit, I’d been ready to accept defeat at the hands of two defiant little eggs.

He'd been right; investing in a non-stick pan had helped my efforts greatly, along with the addition of a teaspoon of milk for each egg I used.

Use a wire whisk, not a fork, and season the poor eggs, for fuck’s sake. Oh my god, whip them; don’t beat the shit out of them, and make sure you pick any shell fragments out first.

How he’d known I’d gotten shell fragments in the fuckin’ bowl was beyond me, but I picked out three before proceeding.

“I’m sure they’d thank you if they could,” I said as we finally stepped back from one another, but not far.

I could still reach out and touch him if I wanted, but I settled for letting my gaze rove over his body, mapping the changes I’d only partially seen through the video feed.

The turquoise tank top he had on showed off the tattoo on his bicep.

The trio of pandas was sweet and comical.

One sprawled on its back, one standing on its head, and one dangling from a bent bamboo branch, feet poised like it was kicking.

“Is that still the only one you’ve got?” I asked.

“It is, and before you open your mouth to suggest it, don’t. I will not be getting a tattoo of Mighty Mouse on my ass.”

I made a show of zipping my lips and tossing the key over my shoulder, snickering at the memory of that conversation.

“Just remember, Mighty Mouse wasn’t my idea in the first place.”

“No, you just suggested the placement.”

“You wanted a spot where you wouldn’t risk your folks seeing it,” I reminded him. “With the Speedo you wore for swimming, there weren’t many options left.”

“How about my hip?”

“How about your cock?” I blurted and watched his eyes grow wide.

While he sputtered, I took a moment to admonish my inner voice, which had never managed to grow a filter. Wish the little fucker would; it was going to get me into trouble one of these days.

“Why would you even go there?” He finally asked.

Shrugging, I just kept on giggling at the horrified look on his face.

“Seriously, there has to be some reason your mind would even go there.”

“I may have watched Duce get a cobra’s head tattooed on the head of his,” I admitted, laughing harder as his horrified look morphed into one of abject terror and disbelief.

He raised a finger, started to say something, shook his head, then covered his eyes with his hand and just snickered.

“How am I only hearing about this now?”

“Guess we never got to that story or anything else that led into it.”

“You guess? Nah, dude, I’ve said for years that you’ve been holding out on me. Now I’ve got proof.”

“Maybe.”

“No, maybe. You have got to share the rest of that,” he insisted. “Including what the hell inspired it, who put him up to it, and how the hell he managed to sit for that.”

“Poorly,” I said, as I shoved the door to the jeep closed so the dinging would stop. “The tattoo artist had to stop every ten to fifteen minutes while Duce got himself together so he didn’t pass out.”

“Do I even want to know how long it took?”

“Almost three hours, and thank the gods it wasn’t bigger, because I think he’d have walked out with it unfinished if the artist hadn’t been done by that point.”

“Color or shaded?”

“Ohh, he opted for color but then cut down on the number of colors after the first one had been applied. Told him he should have opted for red 'cause green made it look like his junk was about to fall off. He’s got the forked tongue going around the slit and everything. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to touch it for like, a month afterward. Should have heard him yowl every time he had to take a piss.”

“I bet, holy shit.”

“There’s gotta be more to it though,” he said. “Why do it in the first place?”

“If you wanna hear that part of the story, why don’t you help me drag the inflatable island and air pump out of the back?

We can blow it up, float on the lake, and I’ll tell you all about why our badass drummer decided he needed to do something so outrageous just to try and prove something we already knew. ”

“That he was a glutton for punishment?”

“Mmm, I wouldn’t exactly say a glutton for it.”

“But….”

Raising an eyebrow, I deliberately stepped up to the back door of the jeep and opened it rather than answer.

“You’re seriously going to make me wait until we’re on the lake before telling me the rest of the story?” He said, shaking his head even as he held out his hands for the raft once I’d extracted it.

“It’ll be worth it, I promise.”

“In that case, we’d better bring the rest of your things in so whatever you’ve got in the cooler won’t wind up floating in melted ice, if it isn’t already.”

“It isn’t. I stopped at a gas station about an hour ago to drain out what little water there was and pack more ice on top.”

“Good to know, but that doesn’t mean we should leave it out here. Neither one of us has much time awareness when we’re on the water.”

Okay, so maybe he did have a point there, and I’d picked up steaks, burgers, chicken, and several bags of shrimp and scallops to cook on the grill.

Each cabin had one and a full kitchen inside, so I’d gone shopping, grateful for the opportunity to enjoy a few homemade meals that I wouldn’t have to eat alone.

“Fine, but as soon as we unpack, we get wet, deal?”

“Deal.”

While he set the inflatable island on the porch, I retrieved the cooler and carried it into the wood-paneled interior.

Rustic, but homey. The slanted roof and exposed beams were cool, but the thing I loved the most was the sofa and two loveseats I spotted in front of a flat-screen television mounted on the wall.

I’d brought my PlayStation and a bunch of games and couldn’t wait to break them out later tonight.

I immediately clocked the Xbox and games on the coffee table and grinned, pleased to see that he’d had the same idea.

It was the same thing when I reached the kitchen and opened the fridge to put away the things I’d brought.

He’d filled a shelf with fruit and vegetables that I added to as I started unpacking the cooler.

Looked like we were pretty stocked up, which was good, because I was still on the fence about the whole dining hall and chuckwagon meal options.

While I knew there would be plenty of people here to meet and interact with, I’d come for him and hoped for as much one-on-one time as possible.

“Have you checked out the rooms yet?” He asked as he carried in my duffle bag and guitar case.

“Nope, just finishing up in the kitchen. I want to dump the ice and let the cooler sit open on the porch to dry so it doesn’t start to smell.”

“I’ll just set this stuff here then and go back for the last of it while you look around,” he replied.

“You don’t have to do that; I can get it.”

“I know you can, but I’ve already had a chance to look around, so you look, and then we can figure out which rooms we want.”

“One is just as good as the other.”

“There are three.”

“Okay, so any one of the three will do as long as it’s got a bed and a place for me to plug in my phone charger.”

“Trust me, you want to look before you decide. They’ve all got en suite bathrooms, but one of them has a huge fuckin’ shower and a sunken tub.”

“You can have that one if you want. I don’t need huge or a tub, just a shower stall, some warm water, and a shelf to put my shit on.”

“If you insist.”

“I do,” I said as I headed out to bring in the rest of my stuff, Roman hot on my heels to help me.

“What’s the second cooler for?” he asked as I tossed a pillow on top of it.

But when I reached for the second duffle bag, he snagged that and the box of staples I’d brought, cutting me a look when I opened my mouth to once again insist that I could get everything.

“Don’t need you tripping on the way up the stairs, spraining an ankle, and spending the rest of camp limping around complaining that you can’t go hiking or take part in some of the rest of the activities.”

“One time, one fucking time, I tripped going upstairs, and you’ll never let me forget it.”

“Because you were being stubborn when it happened the way you’re trying to be stubborn now.”

He was right, not that I was willing to admit it when he was already wearing that smug look on his face. I just grumbled beneath my breath about how stubborn-ass people shouldn’t go around calling other people stubborn, which of course he heard.

“That’s exactly why they are the only ones with the right to call other people out for their bullshit,” he pointed out as we headed to the kitchen to unload the rest of my supplies.

“Because we know exactly what the hell it looks like when a case of stubbornness is about to come back and bite someone in the ass.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, opening the marshmallows and popping one in my mouth before I stuck them in the fridge.

“Dude, they go in the cupboard.”

“They go in the fridge so they stay cold and don’t stick together while they swelter in a plastic bag,” I grumbled once I’d finished chewing my sweet, sticky treat.

“Marshmallows don’t last long enough around either of us to swelter,” he replied, but he left me alone about them and turned his attention to the cupboards and unloading the contents of the box.

“They also glide onto the stick a lot easier when they are cold,” I said, grinning as I stuck the candy bars in there too. “With a lot less smooshing and sticking to the wood while you’re positioning it right. You’ll see.”

“Alright, we’ll table this debate until it’s time for s'mores.”

“Ohh, s'mores, I got here just in time.”

That voice.

If it weren’t for Roman removing it from my grasp, I’d have dropped the bottle of strawberry lemonade I was holding.

Blinking, I shook my head, certain my mind had conjured up a ghost. Only it was no spectral being that came bouncing into the kitchen with spiky blond hair tipped with bright fuchsia.

It was Ezzy.