I shake my head and cross my arms. “I’m not kissing you,” I firmly disagree, crossing my arms over my chest stubbornly. She eyes me like a female lioness, stalking her prey.
“Why not?”
“You know why not.” Because I can barely tolerate being in social situations to begin with, let alone showing PDA to someone I’m even remotely interested in. No way in hell am I going to kiss someone else in front of Abby.
Not now, not ever.
Angelica’s full bottom lip juts out in a pout. “That’s not fair. Everyone else is playing by the rules.”
“I don’t give a shit what everyone else is doing.”
“You don’t have to be rude, you jerk. I’m not repulsive.”
Yeah, you kind of are. “Whatever, Angelica. If you really liked Miles, you wouldn’t be begging me to make out with you.”
She scoffs. “Oh, please. We all know that Miles is just using me for sex. Do you think I’m blind and stupid? He doesn’t give a shit about me.”
Alright, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel just a little bit sorry for her right now. Just a little.
Miles clears his throat and puts his arms around her shoulder. “Ha ha, good one, Angelica. If you’re trying to make me jealous, it’s working.” His pseudo-girlfriend is glaring daggers at me. “Give me a kiss or take the shot.” He leans over and whispers something in her ear that makes her eyes get wide, then a little teary.
“I’ll… take the shot,” Angelica finally agrees reluctantly, stiffening her spine and haltingly reaching for the glass. She tosses it back like a pro.
Shelby clears her throat. “Erm… I think this would probably be the perfect time to stop the game and switch gears, yeah?” Her question comes out somewhat apologetically. “Let’s get the bonfire going.”
Abby
The flames crackle loudly in the middle of the official stone bonfire circle, and we’re all gathered around the remarkable fire blazing in between our cabins, Bear Claw and Wolf Lair.
Let me just say that one more time: Bear Claw. Wolf Lair. How cool are those names?
Admittedly, it took a while to get the fire started. Stephan and Miles couldn’t get it lit but refused to give up. Finally, a sighing, irritated Chelsea pushed them both aside, restacked the logs into a small teepee/pyramid shape, shoved a bunch of newspaper inside the pyramid, and started what looks like a crackling, holy blaze.
Afterwards, standing back, hands on her hips to survey her work, Chelsea declares with a satisfied nod, “There are two things my dad always said I’d always need to utilize: how to start a fire, and the many uses for duct tape.”
Her fire-starting technique was quite impressive, and while Chelsea dusts her soot-covered hands off on her jeans, I can’t help but wonder what those many uses for duct tape actually are.
The night is quiet; our cabins sit at the very far edge of the vast resort property, the location surprisingly remote for a commercialized tourist destination.
Around the bonfire are red Adirondack chairs, logs styled as benches, and lots of warm, wool blankets provided by the resort. Just on the outskirts of the circle sits a large cooler filled with ice, beer, and a few bottles of cheap wine that are beginning to chill.
I admit I was much too shy to sit near Caleb, so I spent most of the evening surreptitiously sneaking peeks at him from across the fire, the high blaze occasionally obstructing my view, and, well… making my retinas burn.
I mean, I love a good bonfire, but I can’t stand the smoke.
Just keeping it real.
We sit outside for a few hours in the dark. At some point, couples start returning to the cabins, one by one, when Chelsea’s monster fire eventually whittles itself down to a smoky, crackling pile of embers.
Belatedly, I notice that Jenna has disappeared.
“I guess I’ll go jump in the shower,” I say to Cubby, Angelica, and Caleb, the only people remaining around the dwindling flames. I throw one last look over my shoulder as I walk up porch steps, catching Caleb’s dark and penetrating gaze watching me retreat.
Once inside, I make slow work of the shower, unhurriedly standing under the warm spray of water, massaging the smoke out of my scalp with Jenna’s delicious-smelling shampoo and conditioner. Because I don’t think she’d mind, I also lather myself up with her organic seaweed scrub and shave my legs with her razor before deciding a steaming hot fifteen-minute shower is long enough. It’s been heavenly, considering we have one water heater at our ransack rental, and our shower runtime before the water gets cold tops out at three minutes.
I step out, toweling off with a white, fluffy terrycloth towel, slather my body with lemon body cream, and blow dry my long hair so my bedhead in the morning will only be slightly less tragic, not outright horrific.