Page 57 of The Falcon and the Foe

Eventually, the fire died down, lights out came, and it was Russ and me again in our tight quarters. The second I opened the tent, I pitched my own tent. The thought of sleeping close to Russ drove me wild.

“Well, we should get to sleep,” he said behind me, giving me my own jump scare.

“Yeah. Long day.”

“I’m tired.”

“Me, too.”

That was a total lie. My body was exhausted, but my mind was wired, sifting through possibilities that I dared not think about. We finally had a good dynamic. We were getting along, and the troop was having a good time. I knew my past, and how every time I fell for a guy, it ruined everything. I lost jobs, money, and friendships chasing the D in my past life.

Russ squatted down, and of course, I checked out his ass as he made his way into his sleeping bag. His shirt rode up, and I savored the sliver of skin of his lower back. When I got home tomorrow, I was sending Josh to Edith’s and masturbating these thoughts out of my head.

I climbed into my sleeping bag. Our elbows knocked together, and it sent a spark of electricity down my arm to my head—both of them. His chest rose and fell with breath, his strong body adjusting to get in place.

“Today was a good day,” he said.

“Really good.” I couldn’t put into words how much this trip surpassed my expectations around camping. It was active and fun, and Josh had the time of his life.

Russ turned to me, his hair falling into his eyes. “You know, you really scared me around the campfire.”

“That was revenge for splashing me in the canoe.”

“So we’re even,” he said softly, something definitive in his voice.

He had kissed me, and I had groped him, and we wordlessly agreed to forget either thing happened. Yep, even. Our friendship was back at zero.

“Good night.” I clicked off my lantern.

Only I woke up an hour later, wide awake. I stared at the tent ceiling, thinking of the man next to me who I couldn’t touch. I rose slowly, performing choreographed ballet to sneak out of the tent without waking Russ.

The campsite bathroom was empty with a dusty yellow light bulb flickering above the sinks. I splashed ice-cold water on my face, the faucet creaking to life over the sounds of nature at rest.

I looked at myself in the mirror. I was forty years old. I had a son. That was my life. And here I was, like a schoolgirl fantasizing about Russ Ettinger. “Get it the fuck together,” I told myself through the mirror.

I wiped my face clean with a paper towel. Drops of cold water clung to my beard and hit the cool air when I left the bathroom. Russ stood outside, hands deep in his sweatpants.

Our eyes met in a thick moment.

“Hey, I couldn’t sleep,” I said.

He didn’t say anything back. His eyes seemed to be doing all the talking, pinning me in place. Russ closed the gap between us, first with his body, then his lips.

This time, I didn’t push him away. Not like he would let me. He used every muscle in his arms to hold me against him. His rugged stubble and warm breath sent heat surging to my dick. His lips were hungry, his breath was hungry, and I gave him everything I could.

He stepped back, his cheeks red from the cold and scratching against my beard.

“Why’d you stop?” I asked.

“I—I don’t know. I didn’t want to.” His smile was wide and innocent, like he was coming to the same realization as me.

This time, I closed the gap and continued our kiss. His hardness poked through his sweatpants. I pried open his lips with my devious tongue and entered his mouth. He moaned into me as waves of pleasure crashed against my body.

He caught his breath. “Is there somewhere more private we could…”

“There is the tent.”

“Cal, I don’t think our tiny tent could survive the things I want to do to you.” He stroked a hand down my chest.

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