Page 6

6

TRINSKY

I n spite of my dickwad partner and the fact that our team was slow as fuck, it was a good time.

We started out with a few swimming competitions—relay, freestyle, backstroke, that kind of thing. Buoys set the barrier between recreational swim and the deeper portion of the lake more ideal for boats and Jet Skis. A raised wooden platform with a slide anchored the middle area and made for a perfect focal spot to goof around while waiting for your turn.

Team Trinsky-Millidick came in third for relay, second on freestyle, and dead last on the backstroke. Howard was fit and enthusiastic, but keeping up with pro athletes and competitive teenagers wasn’t for the faint of heart. He got winded easily and stopped to take frequent breaks. I could tell he was relieved to move on.

Two boats showed up at lunchtime to whisk us off to the ridge in Pinecrest, where we ate a killer lunch catered by C’est Bon. We played a game of horseshoes and chilled for an hour before heading out on the water to go tubing.

Let me just say that if you’ve never gone tubing, you’re missing out. Hanging on to an inflatable tire tethered to the rear of a boat whipping across the lake at high speed was a seriously good time. We did this with the regular campers at Juniors’ Camp and it was always a big hit with teens. The adults enjoyed it too.

Howard was the only one who opted out. I didn’t think much of it. High-speed water shenanigans weren’t for everyone. His family seemed concerned, but he brushed them off and said he was happy to watch from the ridge. I took turns operating the boat with Denny and hadn’t noticed that Milo, the kid with the braces had retired from the action until Jake pointed it out.

“You’re down two campers, Trinsky,” he announced, trudging to the front of the boat.

I left the wheel to Denny and stood, swaying on my feet as we crested a wave created by the other boat. In the few seconds it took to regain balance, my brain catalogued a barrage of odd thoughts, like Jake’s hair was longer now and it curled at his nape. His body was toned and sleek, and the water sluicing over his pecs was sort of…mesmerizing. I caught myself staring at his abs and?—

“What do you mean?”

Jake pushed his wet hair from his face, the sharp line of his chiseled cheekbones exaggerated by the sun. My high school buddy, Chad Billings, had done some modeling for a local surf shop years ago. I used to give him a hard time, though truthfully, I’d been a little jealous that he’d gotten paid to smile in his swim trunks. Chad had been your average California bleach-blond surfer with blue eyes, golden skin and perfect white teeth…and Jake looked nothing like him.

But Jake sort of reminded me of a model just then. And yeah, that thought crossing my mind for even a smidge of a moment bugged the hell out of me.

Not that Jake noticed. He reached for a towel that was lying on a bench, dried his hair, and slung it over his shoulders.

“Milo’s pale and shivering. He says he’s fine, but he’s probably seasick or lake sick,” Jake commented, poking Denny’s shoulder. “Let’s go in. We can change clothes, have a snack, and get ready to hike.”

For the first time in…ever, we were in agreement. I grabbed a spare towel for Milo and discreetly slipped a plastic bag to him in case he needed to ralph before we got to shore.

“Don’t worry. We’ll be on land in a few minutes,” I assured the teen, setting a hand on his arm, flinching at the feel of his too-hot skin. “Dude, you’re burning up. You have a fever.”

“N-no, I’m okay,” he whimpered.

For the record, Milo was not okay.

Neither was Howard.

Both were feverish and obviously ill, and neither protested when we called a van to escort them to Elmwood. David and his son, Michael, opted to stay.

“I spent a lot of money to be here. We’re not going anywhere,” David said, strapping his backpack on.

I shot a questioning look at Jake, who shrugged imperceptibly as if to say, “What can we do?” I was too preoccupied with getting organized for the hike-slash-overnight-portion of the program to dwell on the weirdness of sharing knowing glances with the enemy. Strange stuff.

However, we’d now officially entered the “real camping” phase, and I had to keep my wits about me.

The Four Forest area consisted of four small towns whose borders were delineated by thick forests, winding roads, and the lake. The goal was to hike from Pinecrest to Wood Hollow along narrow trails and arrive at the campsite before dusk. This was wildlife central. We’d been told to stick with our assigned group and be mindful of deer, moose, bobcats, and black bears. There were rules about food storage and general forest etiquette. Don’t leave trash out, and don’t feed the fucking bears.

No problem.

I spent most of the two-hour trek with Michael and friends he’d made with some kids in Denny’s group. Pushing brush aside for the teens while chatting with Denny should have been the perfect diversion, but I was ultra-aware of Jake trudging behind me with David and our extremely slow videographer, who thankfully had brought a pair of sneakers with him.

We paused every so often to give them a chance to catch up. I used that “knowing glance” trick to taunt Jake and for good measure, tapped my watch to annoy him. He just rolled his eyes and cast a meaningful gaze in Ray’s direction. And suddenly, we were communicating again. He was telling me that Ray was out of his element in every way possible—out of shape and unprepared, and damn it, I understood.

And get this, I felt a twinge of remorse that I hadn’t shared the workload. I expected the feeling to fade immediately, but it didn’t. Odd.

“What’s with the camera guy?” I asked Jake once we’d reached the campsite, tipping the ball cap Denny had given me toward the disheveled man limping into the clearing.

“He’s allergic to exercise, and mosquitoes love him,” he deadpanned. “Also, I think we have to watch out for David. He’s either not as fit as he seems or…he’s not feeling great, and he doesn’t want us to know.”

“You think he has the flu too?” I whispered, inching closer to Jake as we observed the middle-aged man chugging a Gatorade.

“Dunno.”

I couldn’t tell you which one of us shrugged first, but it was the tenuous sense of connection I really noticed. Were we bonding over our campers? Undetermined.

We kept our usual distance during the hot-dog fest and the bonfire. Between games of charades and shoveling s’mores in my mouth, I was a busy guy.

But when it was time for bed, I was ready for some shut-eye. I stretched my arms above my head, said my good nights, and wandered to the tents designated for Team Trinsky-Milligan—two two-person tents and one single tent.

“Where’s the other tent?” I set my hands on my hips and surveyed the tents arranged neatly under a giant elm.

David and his son joined me. “I didn’t know there was supposed to be a fourth tent. Whoever claimed the single is already snoring away. Michael and I will take this one. Good night, and thanks for a great day.”

“Good night, Mr. Trinsky,” Michael chimed in, flashing a sleepy smile as he followed his father.

“Just Trinsky,” I mumbled, raking my fingers through my hair. “Just…fuck.”

Look, I was no mathematical genius, but I quickly deduced that we had a big problem. One tent and two guys left…Milligan and me.

I released an exhausted sigh—the kind that originated from my toes—as I mentally sorted through my options. First come, first serve, right? One of us would have to cuddle up elsewhere. Not me.

I grabbed my backpack, ducked inside the low-slung tent, and?—

“Sorry, this one is taken,” Jake said, eyes glued to his cell, head propped on his hand as he lay on his side.

My gaze stalled on his broad shoulders and the curtain of blond hair covering his forehead. I expected a flare of rage at his hoity-toity attitude and maybe at myself for not sussing out that the sleeping arrangements were fucked.

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” I huffed. “What the hell happened here? We were supposed to split up between our people. My people got sick, and that means I get this tent to myself and you get to snuggle up with those two…over there.”

I gestured wildly, frustration growing by the second. And why couldn’t I stop gaping at his biceps? His fucking T-shirt was too snug, and I was going to tell him that as soon as he showed his ass out the door.

Jake dropped his cell next to his pillow and cast a weary look my way. “Dream on.”

“Well…you can’t stay here,” I whisper-hissed. “This is mine. Get out.”

He groaned and mumbled something that sounded like, “I wish” as he turned off the lantern.

I blinked like a newborn owl in the dark. “I’m serious, Milligan. I’m not sharing with you.”

Jake chuckled humorlessly. “Sleep by the fire. It’ll be nice and toasty. And if any bears come around, you can be our alarm.”

“This is not a joke. I mean…how do I know you don’t fart in your sleep?”

“How do I know you don’t jerk off before bed?” he countered.

“I do. I definitely do. In fact, I can’t sleep until I jack the python, so…vamoose.”

Jake turned on the light again and leveled me with a scathing no-nonsense glare. “Very fucking funny. Do not jerk off or even pretend to jerk off. It’s been a long-ass day and I’m tired, so just…shut up and go to sleep.”

With one last fierce scowl, he rolled to his side. End of sentence.

Okay, well…it wasn’t as if I had a ton of options. Plus I had a feeling this was a test. No one had counted on two of our campers getting sick, but the new sleeping arrangement was undoubtably a topic of discussion. Sleeping with the bears would only feed unnecessary gossip and let’s be real, I had no desire to duke it out with a four-hundred-pound bear in the dark in my boxers.

So, I guessed I was rooming with the enemy. Fun times.