Page 65 of Wildfire
“Forgot my vibrator.” I freeze and make the smart choice not to look at him and see the aftermath of my words. His ears are definitely pink; I don’t even need to look at him to check. I just know. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”
“Want me to walk you back to your cabin?” he says, thankfully ignoring my comment. “The weather is crappy.”
“No, it’s okay,” I mumble, looking out at the black sky. “I’m going to stay here until everyone goes to bed.”
“Do you mind if I stay, too?”
“I’d really like it if you did.”
THE THUNDER IS LOUDER INthe cabin than it was in the movie room and I’m considering taking Xander up on his offer. Three-person night duty can become a thing, right?
I’ve tried music on my headphones. I’ve tried calming meditation. I’ve tried distracting myself with a book, but the weather is so bad not even sexy billionaires with a theme park are enough to distract me. Every time the thunder booms, I swear the cabin shakes. I’ve talked myself out of heading to Russ’s cabin three times. I was like someone from a movie when they stand up, walk to the door and put their hand on the handle, before dramatically shaking their head and walking away.
Nothing good can come from me going to see him—and yet the idea sticks. He can’t make the storm stop and I can’t go into his cabin, so there’s no point in my venturing out in the dark.
Knowing my luck, I’ll step outside and get struck by lightning.
I’m arguing with myself for the fourth time when there’s a knock on the door. What are the chances that Russ has been having the same argument with himself? When he finally closes those final few inches and kisses me?
Pulling back the door, I realize the answer to that question is zero.
Zero chance.
“Wow, you two are messy,” Jenna complains, poking her head through the doorway. She looks at the clothes on the floor and frowns. “How do you guys move around in here?”
“Can I help you, Ms. Murphy?” I grumble, not even attempting to hide my disappointment that she isn’t a six-foot-five hockey player with pretty blue eyes and a tendency to blush.
“Wow, she’s grumpy today. Still not over the storm thing, I see.” She reaches into her bag and pulls out a flashlight. “In case the power goes out.”
The power might go out. Fantastic. “Remind me, why did I choose working for you over hanging out on a yacht or something equally douchey, but cool?”
“Because you love me,” she says proudly. “And sure, yachts are cool, but you ever had to deal with so much rainwater everywhere floods? You can’t get experiences like that in Dubai.”
“Living the dream, Jen.”
“You know it,” she says, grinning. “Okay, you’re my last delivery. I’m going to bed because I don’t have to work tonight and this weather fucking sucks. Don’t stress, okay? It’ll be over by morning.”
When has telling someone not to stress ever helped them not stress? Climbing back into bed, I try again with the book before givingup after five minutes. For the first time in my life, I’m not feeling romance books.
As someone who’s perpetually single, I think it’s probably more shocking that I like them to begin with. It’s a bit of a conundrum now that I think about it, how I have such faith in fictional happy endings, but have never considered what my own might look like.
Another knock comes. Pulling back the door again, I find Orla on my doorstep. Now I definitely know the universe is fucking with me. I mentally recap everything I’ve done since I got here that could have landed me on Orla’s radar, but nothing stands out. I’ve only been slutty in my head, not in real life, and she can’t read my thoughts, so she has no idea I’m desperately pining after getting to first base like an absolute loser.
“Hi, sweetie. I think I’m in the wrong place.” She pulls out her cell phone to check her messages. “There’s apparently a leaking roof and I need to take a picture for the repair records. I swear there are no perks to being an old lady these days. Getting sent out in the rain and all kinds of nonsense.”
She hands me the phone while she takes off her glasses, cleaning the fog and water with the collar of the jacket beneath her raincoat. “This says twenty-seven, not twenty-two. Twenty-seven is next to the main lawn. I think it’s opposite the Hedgehog cabin.”
Orla tightens her hood around her face, accepting her cell phone back and putting it into her pocket. “Thank you, sweetie. Sorry to have bothered you, sleep tight.”
I’m staring at the ceiling listening to the rain slowing down, trying to fall asleep, when the thunder booms, sounding like it’s happening right above my freaking cabin.
“Okay, we’re doing this. It’s happening,” I mutter to myself, rolling out of bed and reaching for my sneakers. Flicking on the lights, I search around Emilia’s and my things—Jenna was right, we are messy. Where the fuck is my raincoat?
Admitting defeat, I pull on my Brown Bear sweatshirt, which paired with my shorts looks like I’m cosplaying as Russ from earlier.
This is probably a bad idea.
“Bad ideas are character building,” I say to myself out loud, just as the lights in my cabin go out. “Fuck my life. This is not a sign.”
