Page 53 of Past Tents

Until Clay abruptly pulled away, looking a little surprised. Almost like he’d forgotten I was there with him.

“I’m sorry. I . . . shouldn’t have done that.”

“You didn’t. We did. I’m here too.” I wanted to be clear on that because that kiss was very consensual.

He looked at me, and I watched his eyes trace the contours of my face, warming my cheeks as his gaze rippled across them, making my lips ache to be touched when his stare finally landed on them. Hot, wanting. “So you don’t feel cornered?”

I’d been so certain he and I were on the exact same page, his words downright baffled me. “Cornered? No. Not at all.”

“You’re sure?”

“Clay, stop being so polite.”

“Ally...” His voice was low, gruff, aggravated mostly with himself. He shook his head slowly. “If you knew the things I crave when it comes to you, you’d never accuse me of being polite.”

“Try me.” It was a challenge, and his eyes grew darker, molten.

The next kiss was more intense, slower, dragged out as Clay’s tongue tasted every part of my mouth. His teeth came down on my bottom lip, and I let out a quiet moan. He soothed the skin with his tongue.

His forehead tipped against mine and we both steadied our breath. My cheeks felt flushed, and I left my eyes closed briefly to soak in the lingering imprint of Clay’s lips. When I blinked my eyes open, I saw softness in Clay’s eyes coupled with firm resignation in his jaw.

“We can’t do this. Not here.”

“I know.”

It was crossing every line of proper chaperoning, and my thoughts immediately turned to our responsibilities. I backed away from Clay until I was pressed up against the nylon of the tent. It felt damp from the chilly evening air, but I needed to cool myself down.

“But...we’re only here til Sunday.” The gruff insinuation of what might happen after Sunday sent a zing of awareness through my body.

“Sunday.”

Clay nodded and reached for the hiking boots he’d stashed in the corner of the tent. Roughly shoving his feet in, he unzipped the tent and pushed both feet outside. The brisk air hit me, bringing me back to my senses.

“I’m going to check on Jayne, make sure the Tylenol is working to keep her fever down.”

“Good idea.”

He zipped the tent closed, and I exhaled the remaining air from my lungs. My fingers went to my lips, tracing them and recalling the feel of Clay’s mouth over mine.

When Clay returned a while later, I’d rearranged our sleeping bags head to foot and was slithered down in mine, my back to the wall of the tent. Plenty of room between us. No chance of accidentally touching him.

“All okay?” I asked.

“She’s good. Try to get some sleep,” he said, shucking off his boots once more and zipping the tent shut.

“Will do. G’night, Clay.”

“Sleep tight, Ally.” Clay shoved his feet into his sleeping bag and zipped himself in. Then he settled in and stopped moving. After a while, his breathing evened out and I imagined he’d fallen asleep. I spent another good hour reveling in the proximity of him, even if I knew nothing could happen between us on this trip. Just the feel of him kept me awake, delighting in how it felt to kiss him. Until I dissolved into dreams of the same thing.

CHAPTER

TWENTY

CLAY

When I woke up in the morning, Ally had migrated toward the middle of the tent. I found her sleeping half on the foot of my sleeping bag and tried not to wake her as I extracted my feet and quietly unzipped the tent. I heard only silence in the direction of the students’ tents and I was tempted to wake Ally so she could experience one of my favorite parts of camping—the cool morning mist on your face and the first deep breath of still mountain air.

But watching her sleep peacefully, her blond wavy hair splayed everywhere, with the peaceful, syrupy smile of someone who was drunk with a good night’s sleep, I couldn’t bear to tear her out of it. Instead, I allowed myself to gaze at her for a couple minutes, marveling at how good it had felt to kiss her. Finally. The way I’d dreamed about for half my life.

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