“Thank god Brady is smart and only put out half the beer last night.” Cameron yawns, flicking on the generator.
“You mean thankfully he learned from experience to hide alcohol or be ready for a sober night two?” I laugh, arranging a few logs into the dead firepit.
“That is exactly what I mean.”
Cameron gets the coffee going while I take an empty Corona box over to the pile of brush, scooping some up and tossing it over the logs to help kickstart it.
“Smart.”
I look up and over my shoulder, smiling at Noah. “Hey.”
“Hey.” He grins, looking around and coming back with the long-wicked lighter.
He crouches beside me, but hands it over, and I glide it beneath the brush, between the logs.
“Camp a lot, huh?” He watches.
“Four or five times a year, yeah. More if you count all the times we put up a tent on the sand at the beach house,” I share. “It was always funny when we’d head to the mountains because my dad would have me help him collect wood or climb the ladder to hang the towel line while Mason would be cracking eggs for my mom or helping her peel potatoes.” I pause, chuckling as I look at Noah. “Now that I think about it, they were probably afraid I’d somehow burn the forest down if I helped with the cooking.”
Pushing to his feet, he tugs me with him. “Good thing you’re learning your way around a stove then, huh?”
“Fantastic thing.” I go for the dramatics, fluttering my lashes.
Noah shakes his head with a grin, and heads for Cam. “Can I help?”
“You can.” She pushes him a few feet left, dropping a couple of Ziploc bags of already cut potatoes in front of him. “Toss them in some oil and—”
“Season them?” he cuts her off.
Cameron smiles, digging the creamer out of the ice chest. “I forgot. Bobby Flay is boning my bestie.”
“Cameron!” I laugh, and while Noah’s doesn’t reach my ears, his shoulders shake slightly, giving him away.
“Sorry, I meant dreaming of boning my bestie. Better?”
“Oh my god.” I cover my face.
“I bet that’s exactly what you’ll say.”
This time, Noah’s head falls back with his laugh and all I can do is flip her off when she turns my way. The only reason I don’t cuss her out is because she’s bringing me a Styrofoam cup of steaming coffee.
“Asshole,” I whisper.
“Love you, too.” She does not whisper.
A tent’s zipper opening sounds around us and a few stragglers tumble out with wild hair and sleepy eyes, the smell of hot coffee likely the only reason they didn’t roll back over.
“Noah, my man,” a big, burly guy steps up, snagging a water from one of the ice chests. “You a jack-of-all-trades, or what?”
“He is, Georgie,” Cameron calls him by what must be his name. “The C isn’t only for captain. It’s for capable cook and considerable—”
“Cameron!” I warn and then large arms are around me.
I look up to find Brady.
He kisses my hair and finishes Cameron’s sentence like the shithead he is. “Cock.”
“Don’t encourage her.”
“I’m just speaking truths, Ari Baby. I’ve seen it in the showers,” he teases, laughing when Noah’s head snaps our way.
“That’s it, Lancaster, you’re last to hit the locker room,” Noah jokes.
“I’m good with that, brother. I love to be the last thing them reporter girls see. Makes it easier to remind them who I am when they show up ready to party later that night.”
I roll my eyes, saying hello to the guys who start to pile around the morning fire.
A few others fire up grills of their own, some passing off breakfast items to Cameron and Noah to contribute to the meal they’ve got going.
Chase and Mason emerge from their tents then, and neither climb out alone.
A small frown builds along my brow before I can help it, and I look away, confused by the numbness the sight offers.
Facing the fire, I taking small sips of my coffee, and Mason squeezes his chair between me and a guy named Hector. My brother drops his head back, giving me a pouty lip.
My sigh is playful as I climb to my feet.
Noah’s eyes flick my way, watching as I grab two cups, filling them with coffee, one with a splash of creamer, the other with a spoonful of sugar. I toss a grape at him, and he grins, going back to mixing pancake batter.
I move toward Mason, passing his off first before walking over to where Chase sits on Brady’s tailgate. He runs his fingers through his brown hair, nodding at something the guy to his right says.