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I didn’t recognize the way George made me feel. Like a teenager but worse, because simply being in his vicinity inspired me to act in ways that were downright juvenile. I couldn’t help but pull his proverbial pigtails. I also couldn’t stop the surge of protective energy I felt when I thought about him and Brendon, or the apprehension that’d flickered when he’d mentioned all the things he didn’t like about the great outdoors.

It said a lot about him that he was here despite this.

That he’d chosen to spend a week outside—doing activities he abhorred, more than likely—so that he could reunite with his family. I didn’t know why exactly it had been so long since he’d been home. I still felt guilty about the watch incident and wasn’t going to press for answers from George when today had already been stressful enough.

Protectively, I held his shoulders tight as I herded him toward the tent we’d be sharing. Though June had let me in on her evil “carpool” plan, the tent had been unexpected. Funny, seeing as I was the person that had planned the whole damn event.

She had tricks up her sleeve.

Wily, sneaky, evil tricks.

Luckily for me, somewhere between the “Hell is Real” sign and the florist we’d visited in Columbus, I had reached the conclusion that I no longer minded her meddling. As mortifying as my apology had been, it had done wonders for the uncomfortable tension between George and me.

I emphasize uncomfortable, because there was certainly still tension left behind—but the sexy sort. The kind that made my skin feel buzzy, and my dick half hard.

George remained stiff despite the way I rubbed circles into his tense shoulders. He was genuinely freaked out. Anxious puffs of air escaping. Wide eyes. His chest barely moved with each shallow breath. Part of me was tempted to take him back to Chesterton. Or maybe to my house? Where I could tuck him into bed, force him to watch The Hobbit , and order us steak.

But this was June’s wedding.

And I wanted to be here.

Besides, I got the feeling that George didn’t actually wish to go. He was the kind of man that didn’t mince words. He took action. If he really didn’t want to be here, he would’ve found a way to leave, with or without my help.

When we arrived at our destination, I pushed those thoughts aside. Mournfully, I released George’s shoulders and leaned around him to unzip the tent door. Our tent was fairly large. Yellow, thick-walled, with a see-through panel in the ceiling to peek at the stars at night. It definitely had enough room for two people, though not much else. I’d bought it when June had made it her mission in life to trick me into going camping with her and Roderick on the weekends. Even considering our long legs, George and I would have plenty of space to stretch out. Sure, we’d be somewhat pushed together, but that was only part of the thrill .

A fact I’m sure had fueled June’s decision to commandeer our sleeping arrangements. I swear to God she was getting ideas straight out of the books we’d buddy-read.

“You first,” I said, forgetting for just a moment what a jumpy little rabbit he was.

George turned alarmed eyes on me, his lips wobbling as he pressed them in a thin, distressed line.

“You want me to go first ?” The deep, throaty quake of his voice had my cock instantly perking up, despite how inappropriate that was. My mouth went dry. Fuck . For such a slight thing, George’s voice was wildly deceiving. Low and delightfully melodic. You’d never expect a sound so deep to leave a man so delicate.

“You’re right—I’ll go first,” I said immediately, stepping through the open flap and inside the dark tent. Stop acting so horny, I chided my dick in the privacy of my own mind. He needs comfort.

After checking the darkest corners for bugs or animals, and concluding the tent was safe, I turned back to the open flap where George was lingering.

“No snakes, bugs, or creatures of any kind,” I reassured. “Come on in.”

To hopefully put him at ease, I adopted an air of casual indifference. With a grunt, I flopped onto the camping mattress I’d set up while George had been off with his mother. It gave beneath my weight. Like I was coaxing a wild animal closer, my lips twisted into a friendly smile—that unfortunately felt like a leer despite my best efforts.

George didn’t move.

I patted the space beside me in a way that I hoped was inviting.

After some tense deliberation, George finally reacted. He ducked his head in through the flap, his steely eyes narrowed on me and the surrounding space. He studied the tent’s interior with his brows drawn into what could only be described as a suspicious scowl. He didn’t step a foot inside, obviously still holding some reservations .

Okay, so patting the bed hadn’t worked.

Maybe he needed more reassurance?

“I promise it’s safe,” I said, raising my pinky and wiggling it to remind him of our earlier pact. I wasn’t about to go back on my word. Clearly, George trusted me well enough, because it was the pinky wiggling that finally broke through his fear. Stiff as a board, the long line of those oh-so-sexy legs slipped through the gap in the fabric. He stood just inside the tent with his back to the open flap, eyeing the interior distrustfully.

George looked two seconds from bolting.

His hands were twitching, his nose scrunched up in disgust as he eyed the musty sleeping bag his dad had foisted off on me in preparation for the night. The thing looked like it’d seen better days—scratch that… decades , really. All torn at the bottom, and stained, from years sitting on a shelf in his basement.

My own sleeping bag was easily twice the size of his, practically brand new, and perfectly clean where it cushioned my ass from its position on top of my mattress.

I was a lot more prepared than George’s family had been. Not that they’d neglected him per se. He had a pillow too. Equally as old as the sleeping bag.

I suddenly wished I’d had the forethought to buy a second sleeping bag. Why I would have done that? I have no idea. My own setup was a lot more pleasant. The “nice” kind of camping mattress. The aforementioned six-hundred-dollar sleeping bag I’d bought because of its glowing reviews. Three puffy memory foam pillows, and a wireless space heater.

“You planned ahead,” George accused, even though it wasn’t my fault that everyone had opted not to warn him about the sleeping arrangements.

I couldn’t say I was sorry he was stuck with me for the foreseeable future.

“This is not…” George trailed off. His expression shifted into something forlorn as he turned back to the still-open tent flap and the cabins outlined in shadows at the top of the hill. Several yards away, I could hear one of my cousins—Martin maybe?—arguing with his wife over how to properly put st akes in the ground.

Their voices were muffled despite being loud, so I knew if I kept my volume down, we weren’t likely to be overheard.

“I know staying in a tent with me isn’t what you expected.” It was obvious he'd anticipated staying in the cabins. “I’m sorry.” I felt guilty. If the original booking hadn’t fallen through, he wouldn’t have had to deal with any of this.

“It’s…fine. I suppose.” George bit his thumb, whittling away at the skin as he focused his attention back on me. The weight of his gaze was heady. It made something hot and fizzy quiver low in my belly. Like arousal, but softer.

He was still on guard.

I had no idea if it was me or his surroundings—either way, I figured a distraction was in order. He’d feel better if he got his mind off the animals lurking outside the fences surrounding the property.

Tomorrow night, there’d be a bonfire. It was going to be a big deal—s’mores, music, the works. June had requested a playlist of almost entirely country—gross—and I’d acquiesced. She was the bride, after all. Tonight was slower. Everyone was too exhausted from setting up to do anything but take it easy. Cousins, aunts, and uncles—nephews and nieces—all were still arriving and would be late into the night. Most of June and my family lived in the Columbus area, so it wasn’t like it was a massive trip. A few, however, were flying in, just like George had.

The vast majority of the guests planned to attend the week-long festivities, but a handful, like my parents, were only going to be there for the rehearsal and ceremony.

Rising to my feet, I closed the distance between us. George’s pulse jumped, and I had to bite back the urge to lick his throat as I leaned around him, reaching for the zipper. Our chests brushed. More butterflies filled my belly. I could practically hear the rapid thrum of his heartbeat. As I lingered, George was a deer in headlights, a panicked breath escaping his lips.

Like he wasn’t sure what I was about to do .

His throat bobbed.

He was so cute.

Jesus.

I wanted to bite him so bad. To mark that pretty, pretty neck. To feel him swallow beneath my tongue, Adam’s apple shuddering.

George’s eyes were accusatory, questioning.

Right.

I was supposed to be doing something other than looming over him.

“Just shutting the door, Georgie Porgie,” I explained. I took my sweet time, lingering where I probably shouldn’t. He didn’t push me off, though he did scoff at the new nickname as my fingers dragged the zipper down. “Gotta protect his majesty from all the bad, bad bugs.”

“Bad, bad bugs,” he repeated, like he agreed that they were evil and out to get him—even though I’d been joking. My face was level with his shoulder, then his stomach, then his crotch as I pulled the zipper into place.

Licking my lips, I forced myself back up, even though I desperately wanted to shove my face against his pelvis and breathe him in. Wanted to mouth his cock through the denim. Wanted to distract him for real—with my tongue, and my throat, and maybe a finger or two if his little hole could take it.

I didn’t do that, though.

I was good.

Not entirely good—because I couldn’t stop myself from hovering my hand over the back of his neck like I had earlier. “This okay?” I confirmed.

“I already told you that you don’t have to ask,” George sighed, annoyed.

Permission granted, I closed a hand around his nape and gave it a tight squeeze.

He smelled fruity. No Versace today. Was it because I’d pointed it out and made him self-conscious? I hoped not. Either way, his scent was delicious. There was a sharp citrus note to it that reminded me of lemonade.

George melted incrementally, sinking into my grip as his lashes drifted shut .

It was leagues away from how relaxed he’d been in the car, sleepy and dazed—but I’d take it.

I’d take whatever he wanted to give me at this point.

Practice boyfriend or not.

The rest of the night went by in a blur. I helped George ensure his sleeping bag was bug-free, and we spent a good hour in our tent decompressing. Not that I really needed to, but every time I rose to go, he’d get this frantic look in his eyes, and I’d quickly sit back down and play it off like I hadn’t been about to leave at all.

June texted me a few times.

June

Soooo? How’s it going? Did you apologize? What happened?

We’d chatted a bit when I arrived, but it had mostly been logistics. I’d needed to set up my tent, and she’d given me hardly any time—considering she’d known all along that George and I would be “rooming” together. “Tenting” together?

Whatever.

Me

He accepted my pickles with grace.

June

!!!!

Me

Stop texting me. He’s right here and it’s rude.

June

Okay, okay.

Fine.

But you and I have a date tomorrow morning before the hike. I need to know everything.

Me

fine.

Second dinner was delicious. Potatoes in tin foil with mystery meat I was pretty sure was beef. He sat down at the table across from me with his family. June kept sending me sly looks, but was wise enough not to pry when we were within hearing distance.

Throughout the meal, Mrs. Milton asked George a plethora of questions. About his roommate, his cat, and about work. She seemed to be particularly interested in that. No doubt, so she could brag about him when she went back to work at the hair salon after the wedding had concluded.

With their freshly styled ’dos, the women in Chesterton would be returning home for the next six months with new “Golden Boy George” stories.

George was reserved as he spoke—going on and on about a campaign he was working on for a big-name company that he wasn’t “allowed” to disclose. Mrs. M ate that shit up, obviously. As did I. But for different reasons. It was somewhat surprising to discover that George was creative. I couldn’t tell if he worked in marketing, advertising, or design—but he seemed to know what he was doing.

Which was sexy.

Almost as sexy as his scrunchy, grumpy face.

Or his Type-A personality.

Apparently, he’d had to scramble to finish the project before he left. And when she oohed and ahhed, and Joe offered him a set of little brother heart eyes despite the lack of open expression on his face, I could see why George had been so desperate to come home.

Not once did he mention Brendon, or his creepy-ass texts.

Nor did he complain about his roommate, or the “shittiest year of his life.”

If he hadn’t outright said that to me, I never would have expected that he’d been having a rough time. He was the perfect older brother. Even Lacey looked impressed—and she was a tough nut to crack. The way his whole family hung on his every word fascinated me. He blossomed, practically glowing with pride at the positive attention.

It was pretty fucking cute.

And I could certainly appreciate how well loved he was.

Mr. Milton didn’t ask any questions, but that was unsurprising. I’d heard him speak maybe five words in the entire time I’d known their family. He too listened intently to what George had to say, even if his interest was silent.

When the sun had gone down and everyone else had retired to their respective sleeping arrangements, I steered George toward our tent. He’d found the bathrooms on his own, and I’d caught him exiting, hair damp from a shower, golden waves soft and free of gel. He was wearing the most distracting shorts in the history of the world but I kept my thoughts to myself. Careful to keep my grip on his shoulders firmer now that it was dark, I breathed him in. His mother had told me that he had a thing about being alone at night. I didn’t want him to feel scared. Especially not when I was around.

I’d already gotten ready myself—catching up with June and her gaggle of bridesmaids in the cabin that was reserved for them. They ate me up. They always did. Asking about my work, the wedding plans, and my hobbies—a never-ending ploy for attention.

June found it funny. She’d smirk at me every time someone would grope one of my biceps. It’d taken far too long to escape their clutches after liberally brushing my teeth and borrowing their shower. I was a bit worried I’d find one of them trying to sneak inside the stall with me, and made a mental note not to use that cabin’s bathrooms again for the duration of my stay.

The groom’s cabin would be less disastrous, but…I wasn’t sure I wanted to try.

Besides…George was using the one delegated for the campers. It was a separate building, all wooden logs on the outside like the others, but fully up dated inside. Clean too. Clean enough to pass even a “George inspection.” I had a far better chance of catching a glimpse of him shirtless if I stuck to that one.

Back inside our tent with the flap zipped up, again—after a fair bit of innocent chest bumping on my part—I gave George’s nape another, reassuring squeeze. He fit so good beneath my palm. An odd thought to have, yes, but no less true.

“Try to get some rest,” I urged, directing him to his sleeping bag.

It felt wrong to leave him on the floor when I had a mattress. But when I opened my mouth to offer to share my bed, he glared at me like he knew exactly what I’d been about to say.

“I’m fine,” he grumped. “Don’t baby me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” I wanted to baby him, though. Really fucking bad. Which was confusing. Part of me wanted to just go ahead and do it. But…he hadn’t consented to my earlier plan. And therefore, we were in this odd state of friendly-but-not-quite-what-I-wanted limbo.