Till Summer Do Us Part(82)

The newest task seems like it’s about to start as Sanders shows up still wearing that godforsaken turkey hat; how the man is not roasting under it, I will never understand.

“Welcome, everyone. We’re starting a new practice that we haven’t done here yet at Camp Haven. This is a play on musical chairs.”

“Ha, you called it,” I whisper to Scottie.

“But instead of musical chairs, this is called sensual chairs.”

Uh-oh.

That doesn’t sound like a game for two people pretending to be married.

“I’m going to start you off by having everyone pick a chair. Any open chair.” When no one moves, he says, “Go ahead. Pick one.”

I lead Scottie to a chair far off in the corner where no one else is so we can discuss whatever this activity is going to be.

“I’ll be playing music in one-minute increments. There will be a card on the bottom of your chair. You are to read the card and complete the task on the card. I’ll have staff roaming around, making sure everyone is participating and participating correctly. When the music stops, you move to a different chair to take care of another task. The game will be over once every couple checks off every chair and task. Understood?”

Everyone seems to nod their head, and then Brad raises his hand. “Question about the chair. Is this something we’re both supposed to sit on?”

“Yes,” Sanders answers. “Both of you, at the same time. You position how you feel necessary, but you need to be facing each other.”

Which means Scottie is straddling my lap again. Just what I fucking need after the groping from this morning.

I turn to her and say, “Want me to sit on you?”

She cutely raises her brow, making me laugh.

“Yeah, didn’t think so.” It was worth a try.

So I take a seat on the chair, and Scottie slowly straddles my lap, facing me.

Fuck, she smells amazing. I think it’s the shampoo she uses that she brought with her. It has this flowery scent that kicks me in the damn crotch every time I get a whiff of it.

And she fits so perfectly on my lap, like I’m her own personal seat.

I place my hands on her hips and ask, “Are you comfortable?”

She rests her hands on my chest, her fingers splaying across my pecs. “Yeah. Are you? I’m not hurting you, am I?”

Mentally, this is straining; physically, it’s so fucking comfortable.

“Is that really a question you’re asking me?”

“I guess not,” she says as I playfully squeeze her hips.

“Now that everyone is in position, we’re going to start the music, and that’s when you need to read the card that’s under your chair and follow the instructions,” Sanders says.

“I hope they don’t do this at regular summer camps,” I say.

“Talk about a lawsuit,” she mutters just as the music starts, and it’s shockingly loud.

“Is that…‘Wicked Game’ by Chris Isaak?” I ask.

“I think it is,” she answers as I reach to the side for the card that’s Velcroed to the chair. “What does it say?”

I flip it open and read out loud. “Look your partner in the eyes, and tell them one quality that you admire about them.” I look up at her. “Oh shit, I thought this was going to be harder.”

She lets out a sigh of relief. “Me too. When he said sensual chairs, I was expecting…I don’t know…dry humping or something.”

I let out a laugh while she chuckles.

“Well, thank God we don’t have to dry hump in public.”

“Really saving some dignity this morning.”

“We are,” I say, unable to hide my smile, because she’s just so damn adorable.

“Okay, we can do this,” she says on a sigh.

“Want me to go first?” I ask.

“Sure,” she answers.

I look her in the eyes, and I say, “Scottie, I admire your vulnerability. I know you put yourself in a weird and awkward situation, and you had the chance to just give up and move on, but instead, you decided to see this thing through. You decided to open yourself up to these conversations and to sift through the weight of your divorce with courage. And I don’t think you see that sort of tenacity enough. I don’t think you see people open up their hearts and expose themselves the way you have. So I’m truly impressed by you, and you continue to impress me each and every day.”

Her eyes grow watery, and her hand gradually moves to my neck. “Thank you,” she says softly. “That was…that was really nice of you.”

“I mean it.”

She nods. “I know you do, Wilder. I know you do.”

And that right there, that makes me smile, because that’s change. That’s her coming out of this repressed shell that she’s been living in and recognizing the fact that she’s so much more than how her ex treated her. Sure, he might not have done anything physically bad to her, but ignoring someone, not showing their importance in your life, that is just as bad. Because that wears on you. It’s manipulative and mental abuse. And she deserves so much more than that.

“Okay, my turn,” she says on a deep breath. Her beautiful eyes match up with mine. “I admire your positivity, and I know you were probably hoping for something else—”