Grouch has not stopped frowning. He steps over to Grant and leads him to the back of the garage. The acoustics inside, however, allow me to hear everything they’re saying.
“There are a lot of vacationers up at Big Stone during the summer,” Grouch begins.
“Yeah?” Grant is confused and so am I. I’m beginning to think it’s not about the solo sleeping bag at all.
“You can’t leave your sister on the beach alone.” Grouch shakes Grant’s arm.
“I’m not leaving her on the beach. We’re going to share…the tent.”
“Son, you’ve been in for a long time and I wouldn’t blame you for wanting to get up to Big Stone and spend some time chatting up pretty girls, but Chelsea is your sister. And if you’re taking her with you, you can’t abandon her on the beach where some lowlife could take advantage of her. There are Henchmen up that way. Maybe you oughta leave her home.”
Grant scowls. “Appreciate you looking out for Chelsea, but I’m not going to leave her in the tent and go off and fuck some chick. I can keep it in my pants for a day.”
Grouch falls silent and then gives up on Grant and turns to me. “Wrecker’s antsy so it’s a good thing that you’re going with him, but if he decides to spend the night at someone’s place you need to check into a hotel for the night. Hear me?”
“I hear you.” I smile at him and then lean over to give him a hug. He’s trying to watch out for the both of us. He drives off, shaking his head, no doubt thinking we are stupid and young and his pearls of wisdom are wasted on us.
The ride to Big Stone is everything. The wind whips by our bodies and Grant handles the bike as if he is one with the machine. I press my face into the heavy leather of his cut and breathe in his male scent, the spice of the leather, and the tang of the fresh air. I don’t want to stop in Ortonville and I can tell by the reluctant way he wheels the bike into the campground, he’s not ready to call it a night either.
“Want to go to Canada?” I suggest, only half joking. Our helmets have radio communication but we rarely use it on the open road.
He nods emphatically but we stop anyway.
Grant has rented a drive-in site so we can keep the motorcycle close to our tent. Big Stone is over eight acres of trees and trails and rocky lakeside beach. At the campsite, there is a tent pad, fire pit and a picnic table. The lake is only a few yards away.
We pitch the tent and Grant pulls out the food in his saddle bags along with a six-pack of beer.
“Bottles, huh? Fancy,” I tease.
“Don’t ever say I can’t show a girl a good time.” He grins.
We gather some tiny branches for tinder and larger logs for fuel and hunker down to start our fire, which is mostly to protect us from the mosquitos rather than provide warmth. The summer night is sultry. I sit on top of the picnic table and Grant sits on the seat, between my legs. Periodically he turns and presses a kiss against my thigh.
Now that we’re somewhere totally private, neither of us is in a hurry to get the other naked. There’s something…wonderful about sitting here, with his arms slung over my knees and my hand in his hair as we drink beer and stare at the lake.
“You need a haircut.” His hair is nearly down to his collar. Before he went in, he’d worn it short, almost a buzz cut because he claimed it was easier. Inside, he let it grow. A small rebellion because prison regulations required hair to be no longer than a certain length and no beard growth. Grant let it grow out until he was ordered to get it cut and then allowed the cycle to repeat itself.
“Yeah, but I thought you could do it.”
“I could wash you but I don’t think you want me cutting it.” I’m a nail tech and hadn’t bothered to learn the art of hair cutting.
“Then I’ll let it grow. That bother you?”
“Nope. We can take turns French braiding each other’s hair then.”
Without turning around, he reaches up and gives my tit a squeeze. “We going to have a pillow fight and then rub lotion on each other?”
“Is that what you think girls do at sleepovers?” I bat his hand away.
“Nope. I think you guys have a lesbian orgy fest after the lotion rubbing and the pillow fight.”
I laugh even harder. “Then there’d be no reason to sneak out and find the boys, right?”
“A guy can dream.”
I ruffle the top of his hair a little too roughly and he mock bites the side of my knee.
“You okay with camping?” he says, sounding slightly uncertain. “You aren’t mad we didn’t stay in a hotel?”
“First, I can’t imagine what Judge would say if we stayed in a motel an hour away from Fortune, but second, why would I mind?” I slap at a mosquito and take another drink.
“Don’t know. The fishy smell, the bugs, the hard ground. Take your pick.”
“I want to be with you, Grant.”
He sighs and kisses the place he’d bitten. “I didn’t want to be cooped up in a room. Feels good to be outside with no one watching you, no limits, know what I mean?”
“You were born for the road,” I answer and he tips his head up for a kiss. Leaning over, I press our upside down lips together. It’s a weird sensation. He moves aside and pulls me down on his lap.
“Worked for Spiderman,” I quip.
“That was only for a second. Besides, I like you pressed up tight against me when you’re tonguing me.” His grin is wicked and sends hot spires through my bloodstream. His hand runs up underneath my top. “No bra today.”
“What’s the point?” I push my ready breasts into his chest and rub the hardening tips against the leather of his cut. He’s wearing only a thin, white V-neck T and the cut that his dad had given him at the age of eighteen. On it there are a few patches, one a generational one and another, more morbid, marking his kill. Judge had me sew it on when Grant was inside.
He shoves both palms under my ass and lifts me high against him so that he can nuzzle his nose between my breasts.
“I missed the girls while I was gone. Did you miss me, babies?” He sucks on one and then the other through the tank, leaving a wet spot over both. My hands rest against his shoulders, both balancing and bracing myself. When he lowers me to his lap, his erection provides a sweet friction against my jeans-clad clit.
He presses his lips against mine in lazy desire. We don’t have to worry about anyone interrupting us or anyone discovering us. We could kiss for hours and we do. His hand wends itself into my hair and his mouth opens wider as if he can’t get enough of my taste. I take the time to explore his body. He must have lifted weights in prison. His traps are defined and hard. His biceps are big enough that he could hold me in one hand and I’m not a light girl.
“What are we going to do, sweetness?” Grant murmurs.
I don’t want to think about that. I want to enjoy our time together.
/>
“I don’t know. We didn’t know when you would be released…honestly, I didn’t know if you still would want me when you got out.”
“Chels,” he groans, running his mouth along my neck. “How could you think that? I thought about you every day and night. I thought about this.” He thrusts his hard length against me.
“Still, where would we go? I don’t have a degree or anything. I can’t pay rent with my nail tech earnings.”
“So? We can live together. I make good money at the shop.”
“You think Judge is still going to keep you on if you’re screwing me?”
He sighs, a puff of air skating across my skin. “I think we’re adults. Dad doesn’t own the only chop house in the county. We could go down to Mankato and you could take classes at MSU.”
“You’d leave the club?” I can’t hide the shock.
“I don’t want to, but if I have to…” he trails off. The pleasure in his face has faded and been replaced with some kind of tension.
“Let’s not talk about it anymore,” I say with a grimace and pull him against me, covering his tight lips with my own. After a moment’s hesitation, he gives in. Our tongues slick against each other and our hands find more sensitive places. Mine dig into his shoulders while one of his hands delves into the back of my jeans to palm the top of my ass.
We rock together as we kiss, our bodies enjoying the slow heat building, hotter than the campfire that flickers behind us. But the fire attracts more than moths.
A loud ahem causes us to break apart at the mouth but Grant’s hands in my hair and on my ass prevent me from sliding off. I twist around, still on his lap, still in his embrace and see other campers—a white guy with dirty blond dreads and his equally pale girlfriend—standard Minnesota Scandinavian stock.
“Hey!” The girl waves. “I’m Becca and this is my boyfriend Dane. We’re camping down at the group site. There’s a big party down there if you’re interested. We’ve got a couple of kegs, some food…” She licks her lips as she eyes Grant with interest. “Some fun.”