“Like drugs?” I asked, appalled she’d been left with a druggie.
“That would be better because at least the state would move her. No, her foster mom uses the foster care system. She takes in as many foster kids as the state allows and then refuses to spend any of t
he money the state pays her on the kids, which is why Parker shows up each summer without any adequate clothes.”
“How come she never got adopted if she was a baby when she was abandoned?” I asked, feeling my heart clench as I studied the petite blonde-haired beauty laughing with her friends. How was it possible no one wanted her?
“She was a drug baby,” Amy said, assembling the next stack of clothes.
“So?” I said, not getting why that would matter. I knew enough from the nutrition class I took in high school that taking drugs during pregnancy could affect the fetus, but that shouldn’t have prevented a loving family from adopting her.
“She was born with bad kidneys and urinary tract system. She needed a kidney transplant when she was three. Being in and out of hospitals half her life doesn’t bode well for adoption,” Amy said with malice in her voice.
“That’s awful,” I said, fighting sudden tears. What the hell was wrong with people?
“Yeah, sometimes you get a raw deal,” Amy said in a lackluster voice that made me wonder again what her story was.
“Oh shitz, I forgot the socks. Do you mind running over to the mess hall and grabbing four or five packages?” she asked in a more normal tone as she continued to sort through the clothes.
“Sure. Are they in the supply closet next to the kitchen or the one by Rick’s office?” I asked, heading for the door.
“By the office. Everything's labeled so you shouldn’t have any problems. Louise runs it with an iron fist.”
“Sounds good,” I said, heading for the door.
I followed the short path toward the mess hall, listening to the multiple voices ringing out around the camp. There was an exceptionally loud ruckus coming from around the building as I neared the back entrance. Peering around the corner, I was taken aback by the sight before my eyes. I shouldn't have been surprised to see Mason once again with his shirt off, he was just that type. The "I'm hot and I know it" kind of guy. The beach is filled with them. What surprised me though was the easy rapport he seemed to have with the half a dozen teenagers he was playing basketball with. I watched him give pointers to both sides as they battled three on three. By the hero worship in most of their eyes, it was glaringly obvious that he was well liked. I guess I'm the only lucky one that gets to deal with his douche bag attitude.
Lucky me, I couldn't help thinking. For some reason, the thought bothered me more than necessary. "They get the nice guy and I get the asshole," I mumbled to myself.
"What, sweetums?" Louise asked, heading out the door with her arms filled with linens.
"Oh, nothing. I was just contemplating the irony of my current situation."
"Situation?" she asked, raising her eyebrows questioningly.
"Just stupid stuff," I answered, feeling dumb for even saying anything. It was one of my character flaws that I let words randomly come out of my mouth. My mom had teased me about it for years, saying I needed some kind of sensor on my lips. I was just one of those people who could never hide what I was feeling. What you see is basically what you get. I wasn't a fan of confrontations, but I was always the first to stick up for the underdog in almost any situation. Mom liked to call me her 'open book,' and even gave me a cute charm for my sixteenth birthday that was a sterling silver book that was open.
"Mmm, I'm sure those problems start with an M and end with an N," she said, clicking her tongue. "Don't you worry yourself about him honey. Your father is over the high-flying moon that you're here. Mason just wants to make sure your dad doesn't get hurt. Those two have a bond like peanut butter and chocolate. It's always been that way. Mason came here our first year open, a sullen kid, pissed at the world that he had wound up in foster care. Your father took him under his wing and showed him he may have been dealt a man-sized bad deal, but he could man up and rise above it. By the time summer ended, there was no separating those two. You just give him time, he'll realize soon enough you're not here to hurt your dad," she said, shifting her load one last time before sauntering off.
Her words didn't have the reassuring effect on me that I know she was aiming for. Instead, I was hurt and jealous over the supposed bond my father shared with some belligerent guy who wasn't even blood related. I knew any outsider looking in would think I was a total bitch for feeling this way, and maybe I was, or maybe if Mason was halfway decent, I'd be more willing to accept it, but he was such a dick.
Sick of him once again dominating my thoughts, I moved on, opening the appropriate bin in the stockroom and pulling out five packages of white socks. There weren't any grocery bags around that I could find, so I stacked the slippery packages into my arms as best as I could, using my chin to try to keep them in place. As I headed back out into the hallway and through the dining hall, I was so intent on keeping the stack of socks from falling that I missed the obstacle coming through the door.
"Oof," I gasped, dropping the packages to the floor.
"Watch it, beach bunny," Mason said, bracing my upper arms with his hands to steady me before I could fall over.
"You watch it," I lashed back, trying to regain my footing. Why was it any time I was fumbling around like an idiot, he always managed to be around to see it. It was like I sent out some kind of incompetent radar signal or something. My traitorous heart betrayed me again, racing from our close proximity. I hated him. He ridiculed me, made me feel small, and yet, all I seemed to be able to do was think about how good he smelled. It should be against the law to be so freaking handsome and smell good at the same time. God could have at least cursed him with gross BO just to keep that ego in check.
His hands burned through the light long-sleeved shirt I was wearing. Glancing down, I was surprised he was still touching me. I looked back up at him, confused when his hands tightened their hold on my arms. His eyes were unreadable as he stared intently into mine.
"What?" I asked, confused about the feelings he was evoking inside me. My body seemed to have a mind of its own as I swayed closer to him.
His eyes darkened and moved to my lips that were inches from his own. My heart raced. Though it was completely crazy and utterly ridiculous, I wanted him to kiss me more than I had ever wanted to be kissed before. Our eyes met again and I felt drunk, trying to interpret what was happening.
"Nothing," he finally answered, abruptly letting go of me.
I stumbled into the doorframe, not realizing he had been practically holding me up. He looked like he was about to reach back out to help me, but thought better of it and stuffed his hands into his low slung jeans instead.