Page 114 of The Illicit Play
But something about it is so enticing,becauseit’s not my style.
I thought Teah and I were endgame, and what a fucking disaster that turned out to be. So the idea of just giving myself over to this forest fling with Blake actually feels pretty damn good.
It means I can’t think about the outside world for a second.
For the rest of this week, there is no Wily. There is no football, no school, nothing.
It’s just me, Blake, and the wild.
So rather than rushing her away from this amazing view, I linger, kissing her until we’re struggling to breathe, then spinning her around and pulling her back against me. We stand there, drinking in the view, and I let myself hold her the way I’ve been wanting to for weeks.
We end up swaying, our bodies merging with the gentle breeze as we stand in silence, letting the sounds of nature grow around us.
Damn, I could stay here forever.
But we’ve still got another hour or so of hiking and then setting up camp. It’d be great to do that before the darkness sets in, so I force myself to let her go.
“Come on, Bee. We’ve got to get moving.” I reach down for our shirts while she laughs at me.
“Bee? Where did that come from?”
“I don’t know.” I watch her secure her bra, then slip her clothes back on before I reach for her pack and slide it up her shoulders.
“Too lazy to say my full name? One whole syllable? You’re right, that is a lot of effort.” She grins at me when I move around her, checking her straps are still good.
With a soft snicker, I reach for my own pack and hitch it up my shoulders. “I can keep calling you Blake or Wilson if you want me to.” My waist belt closes with a click. “But I’m liking Bee for you.”
Her lips curl into the sweetest smile as she whispers, “I’m liking it too.”
“So, come on, then, Bee.” I hold out my hand. “Let’s go.”
With a melodic laugh, she takes my hand, and I pull her back into the forest. The trail gets narrow pretty fast, and I have to let her go, but all that ugly tension between us has disappeared and we’re now hiking along, happily playing the alphabet game, which she started.
The topic is book titles, and we’re smashing through it. I love that she knows all the classics. She’s obviously well-read, just like me. I don’t actually love the classics,though; I prefer political thrillers, espionage, stuff like that.
“What are you into reading?” I ask after she comes up withThe Zookeeper’s Wife.We decided “the” and “a” didn’t count for the game.
“Um…” I turn to watch her scratch her cheek, then blow away a curl that’s tickling her. “I’ll pretty much read anything. I really enjoy biographies and autobiographies.”
“Yeah, me too.” I nod. “Have you read Michelle Obama’s?”
“Yes!” Her voice rises with enthusiasm. “That woman is freaking amazing!”
“I know, right?” I smile. “I also loveA Long Walk to Freedom.”
“Nelson Mandela. What a legend,” she agrees. “And I also enjoyedI Am Malala.Have you read that one?”
“No, but I’ve heard of it.” I wince. “Makes me so fucking grateful to be born and raised where I am. I mean, sure, it sucks being a Black man in this country sometimes. But the stuff women have to face in some of those countries… Just horrific.”
She goes quiet, and I turn back to glance at her, noticing her pinched expression.
“What?”
“I hate that things can suck for you. This isyourcountry, and you should feel the same sense of freedom I do. It makes me feel incredibly white and rich and privileged, and I’m so sorry.”
“Hey.” I stop and turn to face her. “That’s not your fault. You didn’t choose to be born into what you are, just like I didn’t choose. We have to take what we get andmake the most of it. And you’ve never made me feel less than.”
“Because you’re not.” Her eyebrows rise. “Holy shit, Grady, you are a million times better than me. I’m the lucky one here just to be with you. Black doesn’t mean less.Ever.” She’s so emphatic. “There are a hell of a lot more shitty white people in the world than there are any other color.”
