Say You Still Love Me

by Tucker, K. A.

  A chorus of groans sounds out.

  “And then you’re up at the crack of dawn for an even longer day.”

  More groans.

  Darian holds her hands up in surrender. “I know, I know . . . But taking care of these kids and making sure they enjoy their week away is kind of why you’re here, am I right?” She pauses, waiting for a few sounds of agreement. “And you all need to get a good night’s sleep tonight so you’re ready for what’s to come. You catching my drift?” She casts a searching look around the group.

  “No shenanigans?” Eric calls out with an impish grin, earning a few laughs.

  “You got it, Mr. Vetter! No shenanigans! And I don’t want to have to treat you like children by watching your every move. Listen, I know there will be times when you need to unwind a bit after refereeing and corralling kids all day. I get it. I’ve been there, too. But I expect everyone in their cabins by ten tonight, snoring softly, so you’re bright-eyed and bushy-tailed when those parents and kids pull in tomorrow. Is everyone with me on this?” Again, her arms go above her head, her question seeming more like a practiced cheer.

  Kyle leans in toward me. “Darian tries hard to be ‘hip,’ ” he murmurs, his voice low, his mouth close to my ear as he air-quotes the word hip.

  I take a deep, calming breath to balance my spiking heart rate. “So I’m noticing.”

  “She usually misses the mark, big time.” He settles back, resting his elbows behind him on the picnic table, his long legs stretching out in front of him. “But she’s all right, as far as bosses go. No one’s allowed to be a dick to her.”

  It sounds oddly like a warning. Like, if you’re a dick to Darian, you’re going to have a problem getting along with the other counselors. Or maybe just with Kyle.

  “Okay! So on that note, we do have a few new people in our group. One who is brand-spanking new to Wawa.” Darian’s hand flies my way and I instinctively tense at being singled out. “So, I think it’s a good time to play our favorite ice-breaker game”—another round of groans carries—“and see what new things we can learn about one another. Come on! It’s been a year. Stuff has happened. Besides, I’m sure there’s still plenty you don’t know about even your closest friends here.” She claps her hands. “Okay! Two truths and a lie! Who’s going first? Don’t make me pick.”

  Someone shouts, “New girl goes first!” and a chant of “New girl, new girl!” begins.

  “Okay, then! Piper, stand up and try to fool us.” Darian nods encouragingly.

  “Are you kidding me?” I mutter under my breath, squirming in my seat as forty-odd sets of eyes land on me. Two truths and a lie? What the hell do I say? Couldn’t they have given me two minutes to prepare?

  My mind has gone completely blank.

  “I’m going first,” Kyle announces, standing and taking a step forward, steering everyone’s attention to him.

  Darian doesn’t object.

  I let out a shaky sigh of relief.

  “Let’s see . . . two truths and a lie . . .” He slides his fingers over his chin in exaggerated thought. “This is my second year as a counselor at Wawa, I got caught up in an armed robbery, and I just got my fifth tat last month.” He rhymes them off so smoothly, I’d think he had them long since prepared.

  “One . . . two . . . three . . .” Eric, who’s sitting on the other side of Kyle, counts out loud, his brow furrowed in thought. “Hey, Avery! Does Kyle have any ink on his ass? Or you know . . . ” He waves a hand at his own groin area.

  Laughter erupts.

  “Don’t pretend you guys don’t walk around butt-naked together every chance you get,” Avery throws back in a snippy tone, her face flushing to match her red hair.

  “Yeah. But we don’t get up close and personal.” Eric’s eyebrows waggle. “If you know what I mean—”

  “Thank you, Eric!” Darian cuts him off with a warning tone. “Anyone want to take a guess? What is Kyle Miller’s lie?”

  Even I know this is his second year as a counselor. A general consensus of “Number Two!” and “Armed robbery!” echoes around the campfire as Kyle waits patiently, his arms folded over his chest, a knowing smirk on his lips.

  “Well?” Darian watches him expectantly, though, I note, with a touch of apprehension in her gaze.

  Kyle reaches up and tugs at his shirt collar, stretching it to reveal a slender but muscular shoulder and the fresh outline of a tattoo in progress. “This will be number four when it’s finished.”

  Eyebrows pop and looks are exchanged, and then a flurry of curious questions about the robbery erupt.

  “We’re going clockwise,” Kyle announces, ignoring them all, settling back into his seat beside me. He nudges a surprised-looking Eric beside him with his knee.

  “Dude,” Eric mutters, peering at his best friend. “Seriously? When?”

  Kyle shrugs nonchalantly. “I can’t remember. Two truths and a lie, Vetter. Go.”

  Eric shakes his head and then, just like that—as if Kyle is the camp director running the show—he stands and rattles off his own three lines.

  But Eric’s words don’t register for me. My focus is on the boy beside me, his elbows resting on his knees, his attention locked on the dancing flames. I have so many questions.

  Golden eyes turn to me suddenly and I avert my gaze to the sparse grass at my feet, but it’s too late.

  “You come up with anything yet?” he asks casually.

  “Almost,” I lie. “Thanks, by the way, for buying me some time.”

  He shrugs. “Being the new guy sucks.”

  I guess that would have been him last year, after so many years away.

  Eric is done and everyone’s shouting out numbers, most of them having chosen “one.”

  Kyle discreetly holds out three fingers for me and winks. “He’s a shitty swimmer.”

  I guess he was listening to his friend, after all. Meanwhile, my attention is now on his wrist, on the ink peeking out from beneath the tan leather band. I jut my chin toward it. “What’s that?”

  Kyle smooths his thumb back and forth over the bracelet for a moment, his mouth working over words that don’t seem to want to come. And then he unfastens the snap and stretches his arm out to settle on my bare knee, palm up. Waiting for me to see for myself.

  I struggle to ignore the feel of his hot skin against mine as I take in the tattoo. Two rows, two numbers, with several decimal points following each. The second number is a negative.

  “They’re coordinates.” I look up in time to see the small, satisfied smile on his profile as he watches the fire. “To where?”

  A few beats pass before he pulls his arm away and refastens the leather band, covering the tattoo. “Nowhere special,” he says casually, leaning back on his elbows once again.

  “You permanently marked your body with coordinates to a place that isn’t special?”

  The smile grows wider. “Maybe I did.”

  I shake my head but chuckle. I can’t get a read on this guy, other than that he’s lying and we both know it.

  The ice-breaker game is rolling through the group swiftly and I really should be listening, but I can’t seem to pay attention to anyone except Kyle.

  “So, what’s your lie going to be?”

  “If I tell you, it kind of defeats the purpose of the game, doesn’t it?”

  His tongue slides out to flick his lip ring absently, drawing my attention to it. I’ve kissed three guys in my life and none of them had a lip ring. I wonder what it would feel like, to kiss Kyle.

  My blood begins rushing at the thought.

  “I’ll know which one it is, anyway.”

  “Really . . . And what makes you so sure?” I ask playfully.

  Another lip ring flick. “I’m a telepath.” He turns to look at me, catching my gaze on his mouth. “I’ll bet you.”

  “How much?”

  Kyle shifts ever so slightly, bringing himself closer to me. “Loser has to eat five Fun Dips in under a minute. Winner buys.�
��

  “What?” I laugh through a cringe. “Is that even humanly possible?”

  “Eric did it when he lost a bet with me. And he always loses when he bets me, by the way.” The smug smile touching his lips is downright devilish.

  I set my jaw with determination. I love Fun Dips. I love winning even more. “The doubles or the singles?”

  “I’ll let you get away with the singles.”

  “You’re on.”

  An excited gleam sparks in his eyes.

  It’s Avery’s turn now, and she hops off the picnic table to stand, showing off a set of long and slender but shapely legs. Everyone’s attention is on her as she scoops her glossy red locks back with both hands, then tucks strands behind each ear.

  But I’m stealing frequent glances Kyle’s way, trying to catch any flicker of interest that may linger for last summer’s fling. Did he sleep with her? Eric’s joke implies that they’ve gone pretty far.

  A tight, uncomfortable feeling stirs in my stomach with the thought.

  But I remind myself that he’s sitting beside me.

  He came to me.

  “Okay. So . . . let’s see . . .” Avery swings her arms at her sides twice. “I’m changing my major to herpetology—”

  “Lie,” he murmurs without missing a beat.

  “How do you know?” And what the hell even is that?

  “Because she hates reptiles.”

  Ahhh . . .

  “Especially turtles.”

  I frown. “Who hates turtles?”

  “Exactly.” His eyebrows pull together. “I need to be with the kind of girl who likes turtles.” He pauses a beat and then peers at me with intense scrutiny. “Are you the kind of girl who likes turtles?”

  I struggle to suppress what would no doubt be a stupid grin, as flutters stir in my stomach. “I love turtles.” The chocolate pecan kind. As far as the living kind go, I’m indifferent. I mean, I’d swerve if I saw one crossing the road, but I have no plans to join a “Save the Turtles” advocacy program.

  But this has nothing to do with turtles, anyway.

  I swallow my nerves. “Actually, I have a bunch of them at home.”

  “Really . . .” His eyes narrow and I can’t help but note the thick fringe of long, dark lashes. “How many?”

  “A hundred and one.” I struggle to keep a straight face.

  Kyle lets out a low whistle. “That’s a lot of turtles.”

  “We have a turtle farm.”

  His head falls back and he belts out a laugh that grabs everyone’s attention, including Avery’s, whose eyes narrow and dart from him to me.

  “Something you need to share, Kyle?” Darian asks through a tight smile, her annoyance thinly veiled. I wonder if she feels the same way about Kyle that Christa does.

  He holds a hand in the air, palm out. “I’m sorry, but have you ever heard of anyone having a turtle farm?”

  “What the hell’s the point of a turtle farm?” Eric mutters. “All they’d do is sit around in the sand all day.”

  “And swim,” Kyle offers. “But you’d need a big pool, especially for a hundred and one of them.”

  “A hundred and one? You mean, like the Dalmatians?”

  “Exactly like the Dalmatians, Vetter. Exactly.”

  Eric frowns as if considering that. “Are the spots on their shells or their bodies?”

  “Okay, boys . . .” Darian interrupts the Ping-Pong match of wit between the two friends. She points toward Avery. “Can we please focus?”

  “Yes. Of course. I apologize,” Kyle says somberly. “Please, Avery . . . continue telling us about your cats.”

  With another wary glare Kyle’s way, Avery continues. “Their names are Snow and Coal.”

  “Because one’s all white and one’s all black. She said the same thing last year,” Kyle mutters, and there’s no missing the boredom in his voice. Whatever Avery may feel for him—which right now appears to be a fair amount of resentment—there’s no love lost on his end.

  “Didn’t stop you from hooking up with her all summer,” I retort before I can stop myself.

  Kyle muffles another laugh through a fake coughing fit, earning a dirty look from Avery and a throat-clearing from Darian. “I see Ashley’s been busy filling you in on everything you wanted to know?”

  And now Kyle is fully aware of the fact that I wanted to know about him.

  My cheeks flush. But I shouldn’t be embarrassed, should I? Because, unless I’m horribly imperceptive, the signs are all there that this interest is mutual.

  Avery has finished and people are now shouting out their guesses.

  “I missed her third thing. What was it?” I ask.

  “Probably that she has a sister who looks exactly like her, or something equally lame.” Kyle waves a dismissive hand in her direction. “Do you have a sister who looks like you?”

  “No. A brother, who looks nothing like me.” He is my mother’s son, while I’m a much more feminine version of my father.

  Kyle smiles smugly. “Now I know one truth about you.”

  Shit.

  “Come on, Piper. I’m counting on you to come up with something more interesting than siblings and cats.”

  “Well, I’m sorry if I haven’t been involved in any robberies lately.”

  An odd, unreadable look flickers over his face, but it’s gone in an instant. “So then shock me.” His eyes roam my face. “Say something that you wouldn’t want to stand up in front of a group of strangers and admit to.”

  “Fine.” My stomach flips.

  “And let’s up the stakes. Ten Fun Dips, two minutes.”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine.” He smirks. He turns his attention back to the circle.

  I feel compelled to ask him something—anything—to keep our conversation going. “So . . . do you have a brother?”

  His fingers move for that leather band again, fumbling absently with it. “Yeah. One brother. Jeremy.”

  “Is he going to come here this year?”

  “Nah.” Kyle’s eyes roam the treetops falling into darkness, now that the sun has dropped past them. “So, what activities did you sign up for?”

  “Uh . . .” I struggle to think, his diversion away from his brother swift. “Knitting and badminton.”

  He cringes. “Knitting? That’s the worst.”

  “Options were slim. You?”

  “Kayaking and hiking.”

  I frown. “But those slots were full when I signed up, and you came after me.”

  “Pays to know people.”

  “Apparently,” I grumble. “I’ve never even held a knitting needle.”

  Kyle nods toward the counselors. They’re halfway around the circle. “Better start thinking up a good lie, unless you want to lose our bet.”

  We sit quietly next to each other—me, hyperaware of Kyle’s every shift, twitch, and glance—and listen as one by one, everyone takes a turn standing before the crowd, attempting to trick the group. Most tries are unimaginative—answers people throw out just to get their turn over with and the attention off them. Then there are people like Christa, whose truths are so blatantly obvious—“I’m a Type A personality, I like to be in control”—that it’s impossible to mistake the lie—“I drive Formula One race cars in my free time.”

  A few are good. A guy named Vince had everyone divided over whether he went skydiving last week or if a shark did in fact brush past his calf at Cocoa Beach during spring break. Turns out Vince is scared shitless of heights and would have to already be dead and tossed out of a plane in order to agree to skydiving.

  Tom stood up and outed himself as gay—to a round of cheers, proving that many already suspected that truth.

  And then there was Olivia . . . I got my first real taste of her and her “I spent New Year’s Eve in Paris,” “My dad said that if I keep my four-point-oh, he’ll buy me a Range Rover when I graduate” truths, along with her “I met Harry Styles last year” lie. Apparently she met him two yea
rs ago.

  As each person pauses to wait for the consensus, Kyle holds up one, two, or three fingers for me. And he’s right, every time. I’m beginning to think there is such a thing as telepaths. At the very least, he has a natural ability to read people.

  By the time my turn comes, my palms are sweating.

  “Okay! And last but not least . . .” Darian makes a drum roll with her palms on the back of the cardboard box used to shuttle over wood scraps for the fire.

  I stand, feeling everyone’s gaze on me once again.

  “Hope you like sour apple,” Kyle murmurs, and I can hear the smug smile in his voice.

  And I hope this doesn’t backfire terribly on me.

  “We have turtles at home, I’m crushing hard on Kyle, and I dumped my high school soccer team captain’s ass for trying to pressure me into having sex.”

  Probably not what Darian had in mind for this ice breaker, but there you have it.

  Eyes flash wide, mouths drop, and shocked, nervous giggles sound, and then people begin shouting out numbers. I stand with my head held high, like I’m unfazed, even as heat crawls up the back of my neck. Thank God for the cover of night, finally.

  “Okay, that was . . . interesting.” Darian’s own eyebrows are arched as she looks at me, her words failing her. “Well, Piper? What’s the lie?”

  Taking a deep breath, I finally dare look over my shoulder and down.

  Kyle peers up at me with a small smile on his lips, dipping his head once as if in approval. I guess I didn’t totally fail. He holds up his index finger.

  Number one.

  I feel the triumphant smile take over as I turn to the group. “I’d never date a soccer player. They’re a bunch of crybabies.”