“Nick!” Uh-oh. Looks like the jig is up. Korie’s head pops through the neck of her shirt, and she’s got a death stare lasered in on the guys she’s just out-titted. “Oh my God. What’re you doing here?”
He can hardly look his cousin in the face. I’ve never seen him so off kilter. “I did not want to see that, Kore. Jesus, haven’t you ever heard of a bra?” The two-hundred-fifty-pound drummer is beet red and not making eye contact.
Slowly her eyes bounce from Nick to Lyle, and finally to my bassist, Aiden, at which point they stop moving all together. Her lips mouth the words “oh, no,” and ever so hesitantly they creep in my direction.
“Oh, yes,” I offer, removing my now filthy ball cap and tossing it to her feet. My eyes slowly scan her body, pausing at the free-range nipples which are now clearly visible through her thin top. “They’re even better than I’ve been imagining, Stick.”
KORIE
* * *
This is not happening.
“Oh my God, is that—”
I roll my eyes at Raven’s giddy expression. “Yes,” I deadpan, crossing my arms over my chest while trying to ignore the way my heart is thundering against my ribcage. “And we are not happy about this.”
Raven scoffs. “Girl, speak for your damn self.”
Unlike me, my best friend is fascinated with all things celebrity. She’s been begging for the chance to meet Nick and the rest of the Rhett Taylor Band since the day she discovered we were related, back when we were roommates during our freshman year of college.
My father was the drummer for Diesel Rose, an old rock band that was pretty popular while Nick and I were growing up. Women threw themselves at him, and he was all too happy to take advantage, leaving me to piece my heartbroken mother back together time and time again. I have nothing to do with that man anymore and want no part of a lifestyle that caused us so much heartache.
“Well, I guess the cat’s out of the bag,” Joe announces with a radiant smile.
Great. Even the counselors are starstruck.
“Ladies and gents, we’ve got some very special guests with us this week.”
It takes everything in me not to visibly gag at the hero worship these clowns do not deserve.
“Everyone, say hello to Rhett Taylor and his bandmates.”
Essie goes on to speak about respecting their privacy and treating them like regular people. It annoys me to no end that it even needs saying. They are just regular people. Disgusting, spoiled people, at that.
“Careful,” Rhett breathes against my ear, causing the hairs at the nape of my neck to stand on end. His breath is minty fresh with a hint of coffee. He smells delicious. Too bad I hate him. My fists clench at my sides as a chill works its way from the top of my head to the tips of my traitorous toes. “Keep that up too long, and your face’ll get stuck.”
The heat of his body so close to mine sears my skin. My good sense is lost, drowning in the scent of his expensive cologne. Stupid hormones.
“That’d be a shame,” he adds, trailing his nose up the curve of my neck. “While I quite enjoy the way you scowl at me, that’s not the face I wanna see when I make you come.”
My shoulders stiffen as I finally regain some semblance of control over my body and take a step away, glancing back at the insufferably handsome jackass over my shoulder. “You followed me here,” I accuse, narrowing my eyes his way. I pull in a few deep breaths, trying to calm the flush that’s rising in my cheeks.
He shrugs. “That sounds so stalkerish.” Rhett runs a hand through his golden brown mop, which, thanks to his paltry disguise, was barely touched by the mud. I cannot believe I didn’t recognize them sooner. “It is entirely possible I may have seen your plans on Facebook and decided to join you. You know, to make sure you get your money’s worth.”
“So fucking cocky,” I grit out, forgetting our audience, who are hanging on our every word.
His answering smirk simultaneously stirs butterflies in my tummy and has smoke shooting from my ears. I wish like hell I wasn’t so affected by him and even more that the arrogant bastard couldn’t see it. “Some things can’t be helped.”
“Right. Do girls actually go for—put me down!” I scream, when suddenly my feet are swooped out from under me as he scoops me into his arms.
“My pleasure,” he croons before taking a few steps forward and tossing my ass right into the center of the pit.
“What the hell?” I sputter, swiping mud from my eyes. I didn’t get the luxury of going in feet first like the guys. Oh, no. My entire body is covered. Goddamn it. I worked hard not to get mud caked in my vagina. Jesus, I even flashed my own fucking cousin.
“Just putting you in your proper place…” His eyes circle the pit. “Stick.”
Stick in the mud. Fuck him.
Rhett
* * *
“Dude, if you really want in that girl’s panties, I’m not sure acting like a kindergartener with a crush is gonna cut it,” Lyle offers, plopping down beside me on one of the logs positioned around the bonfire. “You need to be more…” He rotates his hand in the air, like he’s searching for the right word. “Charming.”
“What? You don’t find me charming?”
“Good one,” Aiden barks, clapping me on the back before laying a blanket down in the sand beside us for his lady of the night. He helps the busty redhead down between his legs, pulling her back so she’s resting against his chest. Then he looks over at me and motions to his current position. He cocks a brow as if to say, “See? This is how you do it.”
I roll my eyes, flipping him the bird when she isn’t looking.
They’ve been giving me shit all afternoon over how clueless I am when it comes to wooing a woman. The truth is, I’m just not accustomed to having to work so hard to get one to want to fuck me.
After tug of war, we were given the rest of the day to mingle and to do as we pleased. I haven’t seen her once. Not that I haven’t been looking—I searched the kayaks and water slide while we were in the bay. Didn’t see her at archery or zip lining. She must be purposely avoiding me. I can’t for the life of me understand why. Okay, so maybe tossing her in the mud was taking things a bit far, but the added challenge only makes me want her that much more.
Tonight, we’re all meeting around the fire to sing camp songs, tell ghost stories, and roast marshmallows. I’m trying not to be too obvious with the way my eyes are constantly searching for any glimpse of her.
“Don’t say I never did anything for you,” Nick says, shoving an acoustic guitar at my chest.
“What’s this for?” I ask, but I’m already strumming a few chords and adjusting the knobs, tuning it by ear.
“It’s your chance to impress, Korie.” He gives me a look that says, duh. “Joe usually plays on campfire night, but I suggested since we have a real live star here that maybe you should assume the task. He was more than happy to agree.”
Just then Joe and Essie walk up, carrying boxes of skewers and ingredients for smores. They’re sporting matching smiles when they find me tinkering with the old guitar. This is the response I’m used to from people: Respect. Adoration. This I know how to work with.
“I draw the line at ‘Kumbaya,’ ” I warn, strumming the beginning chords to “Hotel California.”
Essie giggles, snuggling up beside her husband in front of the fire. “That’ll do.”
I channel my teenaged self, running through a few of my old favorites, and put on an impromptu concert. Informal. Just a guy and his guitar and a bunch of strangers gathered like friends ’round a bonfire, drinking and goofing off. When I’m half through “Ain’t No Sunshine” by Bill Withers, Korie and Raven finally stagger over, drinks in hand, giving me a momentary pause. They’re loud, carefree, and happy. I don’t even remember what that kind of freedom feels like. Every move I make is watched, recorded, and plastered on the media. Twisted to sell magazines and increase ratings.
“How ’bout ‘Take Me Home, Country Roads?’ ” Joe a
sks, passing the girls a marshmallow-tipped skewer. I pretend not to notice their arrival. Try not to miss a note when my heart skips a beat. Try not to drool at the sight of those long, slender legs and the way her ass is filling those denim shorts like a second skin.
When I reach the chorus, the group joins in, singing loud and completely out of key. I honestly haven’t enjoyed playing this much in years. There’s no pressure. No cameras. No fear of disappointment.
At the end of the song, Essie walks over to hand me a s’more. I prop the acoustic against the log and sink my teeth in to the treat, moaning at both the decadent taste of the chocolate and the sting of the molten fluff burning my lip. When I go in for another bite, I feel the brush of the guitar against my leg and turn to find Korie slipping the strap around her neck. I damn near choke; I didn’t know she played.
“I’d like to dedicate this performance to all the men out there who think they’re God’s gift to women,” she slurs, propping a foot beside me on the log to rest the guitar on her knee. “I’m looking at you, Rhett Taylor,” she says with a thick twang, as she tucks her long locks behind her ears.
What follows is an absolute train wreck rendition of “What Part of No” by country legend Lorrie Morgan. She can’t play. Can’t carry a tune. She doesn’t even know half the lyrics, but the ones she does are sung with such conviction that she somehow has every one of these drunk fools entranced.
“I’ll be glad to explain, if it’s too hard to comprehend,” she wails, abusing the strings like a toddler who’s just been given her first plastic guitar. “Rhett Taylor, what part of no don’t you understand?” Korie stretches the last word out in a dramatic finish before taking a bow and passing the instrument back over to me.
I’m stunned speechless. What the hell was that? I really want to laugh, but the triumphant look on her face tells me that might not be wise. I’m already skating on thin ice with her and need to tread carefully.
The boys and I exchange looks of sheer horror and confusion.
“Well,” Nick finally says, clearing his throat, “that was…ummm, that was something, Kore.”
“Thanks, cuz.” She’s positively beaming with pride.
His eyes grow round, and he turns his head in my direction, mouthing, is she serious?
“Wooooo!” Essie yells, rushing over to wrap her arms around Korie. “That was amazing and so brave!”
The girls laugh and hug, and I honestly don’t know what to make of it. This must be one of those girl power things that I and the rest of the male population do not understand.
“I believe my girl just issued a challenge,” Raven taunts when the theatrics wind down. “Let’s hear it, country boy.”
It’s suddenly pin-drop quiet, but for the crackling of the fire. It only takes me about thirty seconds to think up a response…I jump right in at the chorus, “You’re crazy bitch.” It’s a little out of my vocal range, but I own it like a true fucking rock star.
“Buckcherry,” she snorts, throwing her head back in laughter before belting out the lyrics right along with me and everyone else.
KORIE
* * *
“It’s too early for this,” I gripe, still rubbing the sleep from my eyes as Raven drags me, along with Kline and Lisa, our roommates and the other half of the Lush Puppies, out to join the troops.
“Listen up, bitches. The winner of today’s color wars gets a liquor bar in their cabin at five p.m. That’s two hours before the party starts.” She eyes each one of us. “Don’t come between a lush and her booze, ya got me?”
Kline and Lisa are built like athletes. Tall, muscular, fit. We certainly have an advantage with them on our side, although I’m not sure they’d feel the same about the two of us. Raven and I are lanky in comparison, but we’re both fiercely competitive.
“I’m not sure how I feel about the bikini,” Lisa gripes, adjusting the straps beneath her tee. “Can we keep our shirts on at least?”
Raven scoffs. “Do we want to win?” she asks. “You saw how those boys fell all over themselves at the sight of a pair of titties. We need to work with what the good Lord gave us!”
“Look, we play basketball… we don’t prance around half naked,” Kline snaps.
“Well, camp is all about new experiences…breaking out of our comfort zones. And besides, if you wanted a say in the suits, you should’ve gotten your asses up early enough to choose them yourselves.”
Well, that settles that, I think to myself as we approach the rest of the group.
“Good morning campers!” Joe shouts into the megaphone. “I hope you’ve all had a good night’s rest and came prepared to compete. Today we have our water wars. The relay starts with a canoe race across the bay. Once you’ve made it to the dock, tag your team member, who will then crab crawl across a fifty-foot Slip ’N Slide.”
“Sounds easy enough, right?” Essie asks. “Wrong,” she answers herself. “Because each of those Slip ’N Slides is coated in twenty bottles of baby shampoo.”
“If you fall,” Joe adds, “you go back to the beginning and try again.”
“When you’ve successfully made it across, you’ll tag your teammate, who will then climb up a forty-foot rope to the top of that water slide and go down on his or her stomach. Once you’ve reached the end, you’ll tag your final teammate, who will join Joe at the zipline. He or she will zip over to the other side and capture the flag, securing the booze cart for their team!”
“Oh, we’ve so got this!” Raven is all business, pulling us into a huddle to assign positions.
“I think since you, Kline and Lisa, are our stronger physical competitors that one of you should take the canoe and the other the rope climb?” I suggest, trying to figure out which task each of us is best suited for.
“I’ll take the canoe,” Lisa offers. “Kline, how do you feel about the rope?”
“I’m fine with it.”
“Great.” Raven says. “That leaves us with the Slip ’N Slide and zip line.”
“I’ll take the Slip ’N Slide,” I offer, confident in my ability to maintain my balance across it.
Raven’s face pales. “But I’m deathly afraid of heights.”
Kline snorts out a laugh as she strips down to her yellow bikini. “Well, it’s a good thing we’re all here to break out of our comfort zones, am I right?”
I position myself at the end of the dock, and low and behold, guess who’s standing there for Team Tap That?
“Lookin’ real good in that teeny bikini,” Rhett purrs, ogling me behind his Ray-Bans.
“Thanks,” I say, trying not to stare at his perfectly sculpted chest. “Wore it just for you.”
“Figured as much,” he says. “I chose this suit with you in mind as well.”
I’ve barely given him a second glance, so it isn’t until this very moment I notice that he’s sporting a fucking red Speedo, and one he fills out quite nicely, I might add.
“You really shouldn’t have,” I murmur, redirecting my attention to the starting line, where our teammates are climbing into their canoes.
Joe fires the blowhorn and they’re off. Lisa is neck and neck with the four guys’ teams. The other girls are still trying to figure out how to row.
“Come on, Lisa!” I shout as she starts to pull ahead.
About halfway through, the green team’s canoe flips over, and the competition is down to yellow, red, and purple.
“Eat my dust,” I taunt Rhett when Lisa slaps my hand and I take off for the Slip ’N Slide. It’s harder than it looks, and I fall flat on my ass just feet from the finish line and am forced back to the beginning, where my nemesis is just getting started.
“Fancy meeting you here,” he says through a shit-eating grin.
“Pleasure’s all yours, I’m sure.”
“Oh, I’ll make it good for you too, baby.”
I can’t even with his cockiness, so I focus on the task at hand and try to ignore the literal pain radiating from my ass from the fall I just to
ok.
This time instead of rushing across, I glide my way slow and steady right to the finish line, tagging Kline before Rhett is even halfway through.
“Heya, cuz.” Nick. Oh dear God, if the discomfort of seeing him spilling out of what fits his big ass like a red thong is even a fraction of what he must’ve felt seeing me topless…
I can’t even form a response, so I’m more than thankful when Rhett finally crosses that finish line, sending him on his way.
I seriously question their choice to send Nicholas up the rope, but although Kline had a decent head start on him, they both reach the top at the same time.
The race for the flag comes down to Raven and Aiden.
And. She. Chokes.
Literally, on her vomit, at the top of the zip line, where Aiden steps around her, zipping his way to a cart of free booze.
Rhett
* * *
“Holy fuck, Rhett. You’re an idiot.” Aiden can hardly breathe through guffaws when I exit the shared bathroom dressed for tonight’s themed party, wearing nothing but a Domino’s Pizza box around the waist like a tutu, dick and balls tucked neatly inside. The back of the box rests on the shelf of my ass, which is looking especially nice tonight, I might add, being I had it waxed for the occasion.
“The theme is ‘anything but clothes.’ If she can show her tits, there should be no issue with me baring my hiney.”
“It is a pretty tight ass,” Nick agrees, adding a final layer of Duct tape to his Budweiser box kilt. “And it’s not like it’s anything all of America hasn’t already seen,” the asshole teases, making reference to a video that leaked just over a year ago of myself and Ana Michelle, an up-and-coming actress I hooked up with, who thought it would be a great career move to accidently release compromising photos publicly linking the two of us.
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