The Player Hater (Accidentally in Love 1)

Well, not as bad anyway.

Tonight during the bonfire, she didn’t give me “the look” once; didn’t shoot a single poison dagger at Thad—intentionally or unintentionally.

I call that a win.

Crack.

Bang.

If whatever is lurking outside would go on its merry way and wander back into the forest, that would be swell.

I cannot sleep knowing something might bust through the flimsy door.

Tossing and turning, it takes hours to fall asleep.

The fact that I don’t have a pillow doesn’t help matters. The fact that I still smell like a bonfire makes falling asleep even harder.

It’s a nearly unbearable night of too little sleep when the sun comes up far too soon for my liking.

In the morning, I wake to the smell of sizzling bacon after dreaming that I AM bacon. Dancing, frying bacon in a pan. Oh yeah—and in the dream, I have a red bow around my bacon neck while dancing on the frying pan stage, surrounded by lights and butter. Butter? Butter makes no sense, no one fries bacon in butter, how unhealthy does that sound?

I’m awake now, but also still dreaming. Suddenly I am Pepé Le Pew, the infamous Warner Brothers cartoon skunk, feet rising from the ground to follow the heavenly trail of meats, racing toward it to beat the rush of—

“Davis?” A groggy voice hovers over me as I give the air a long whiff. “What on earth are you doing?”

“Huh?” I crack an eye to see Juliet standing over me, hair falling in waves around her shoulders, wearing a feminine tee shirt with lace and black leggings. It’s not an outdoorsy outfit, but it’s pretty.

“It looks like you’re running in your sleep.” She pauses to think. “I had a dog who did that; looked like he was chasing squirrels.”

I shield my eyes from the light blaring in all the windows. “I smelled bacon.”

“I smell it too.” She yawns and stretches, not looking the least bit hungover.

What the fuck?

Anytime I’m hungover, I look like absolute shit.

“Are you sick?” Juliet wants to know, still hovering.

“No?”

She doesn’t look convinced, scrunching her nose in my direction. “You look so hungover. Just how drunk were you last night?”

How drunk was I last night?

How drunk was I?

Her tone makes it sound as if I were the one puking in the tree line last night and not the other way around.

“Pardon me? How drunk was I?”

Juliet crosses her arms. “Yeah—how drunk were you? You’re in here dreaming about bacon and running in your sleep.” Her eyes trail over my body as I lie here. “How did you sleep?”

I slept just fine; I am not the one who passed out rip roaring drunk for a baby bit of moonshine.

“Do you remember anything about last night?” I move to a sitting position, back cracking on its own when I stretch, resting my back against the window above the makeshift bed which feels more like a wooden bench.

I’m stiff as a damn board.

“I remember the campfire and eating lots of marshmallows.”

I narrow my eyes. “And?”

I’m sorry, but I held her hair back as she threw up in the bear laden woods—ergo, I risked my life, so she could barf and not have it clog our septic.

“And…” She shrugs.

“Juliet.” I say her name to punctuate the point I’m about to make. “I hate to break it to you, but you ate at least fifteen s’mores last night, had three glasses of moonshine, and capped the evening off by blowing chunks in the woods.”

She stands silently blinking at me. “Blowing chunks?”

“Puking? Retch. Spew. Yak. Refunded your snacks. Round trip meal ticket. Vomcano—”

“I get it, I get it.” Juliet blinks again as if mentally piecing the evening together and coming up short. She scoffs indignantly and from my vantage point, I can see straight up her nose. “I think I would remember if I threw up.”

Her fingers touch her lips.

“You and I both know you woke up fully clothed—the same way I did—because you were sauced, but also: can we talk about how impressed I am with myself right now for coming up with all those acronyms for barf?” I feel like a bloody genius actually.

The smug expression is wiped off my cellmate’s—I mean, roommate’s—face. “I did not actually throw up.” Her hand is still at her mouth. “Did I?”

“You did. Which is probably what attracted the bears last night.” Yes, they could have been raccoons, but it’s more dramatic to go with bears, and I’m feeling woodsy and festive, so bears it is.

Juliet’s eyes are huge. “Bears?”

“Yes, something was outside last night circling the camper.”

I think.

I mean—it’s just a guess and it could have been a skunk, but still. Something was outside.

“What was it?”

I shake my head solemnly. “Don’t know. All I know is that it wanted in.” I pause for dramatic effect and throw off my one, thin cover. “It wanted in really bad.”