I push back the wet hair stuck to my forehead, laughing at how pissed she looks, which doubles when I send a wave of water in her direction with my hand. The laugh that erupts out of her is goddamn magical. Unfiltered, loud, raw. Her eyes pierce me as she smiles, droplets of water clinging to her eyelashes, freckles dusting the bridge of her nose.
She’s so fucking beautiful it hurts.
Oh, man. I’m not supposed to be this attracted to her.
Why do I love to make myself miserable?
Her hand rises out of the water and I preemptively brace, waiting for her to drench me again with water, until the horrified squeal she lets out has me grabbing her hand and pulling her toward me.
“Something touched my foot!” Her legs wrap around my waist and her chest presses flush to mine as she clings to me. “I’m going to cry.”
I’m pretty sure this isn’t the survival training anyone had in mind.
I’m pretty sure I’m not going to survive having her wrapped around me.
“It’ll be a plant or something, don’t worry.”
Aurora leans back, putting some distance between our bodies so she can look at my face, but keeping her feet crossed at the bottom of my back. “It could be a shark.”
I can’t help but snort. “It’s not a shark. We’re in freshwater. We’re also in California.”
“Bull sharks are diadromous, they can survive in freshwater.” My eyebrow quirks. “What? I watch shark week.”
“If it’s a bull shark, sorry to be the one to tell you, but you’re screwed.”
She grins as her hands link at the nape of my neck. “If it’s a bull shark, we’re both screwed because I’m dragging you with me. You’re bigger, you’ll taste better.”
“Trust me, you taste incredible.”
I stun us both. I didn’t mean to say it out loud. Her eyes flick to my lips, then back to my eyes and her breathing slows. “Oh,” is the only thing she says and that response is enough to pray it is a shark and it’s about to save me from myself.
Chapter Thirteen
AURORA
Two years away had made me forget how much I truly love Honey Acres.
After completing our week of training with minimal further incident or embarrassment, our campers arrived a few days ago, full of excitement and trepidation, but mainly sugar, and I feel like my feet haven’t touched the ground since.
I’ve traveled to so many different places with Formula One, experienced some of the best the world has to offer, and this dot on a map in the middle of nowhere in California is my favorite place on Earth.
It makes me feel so content, watching the people I’ve gotten to know become comfort counselors for kids, some of whom are away from home for the first time. It’s only been a few days, but I finally feel like I’m doing something with purpose. I’ve been so tired and busy it hasn’t occurred to me to check my cellphone and after Russ and I finally cleared the air, I spend my brainpower thinking about how to make things the most fun and not overthinking.
I’ve already replaced Emilia with two new best friends, Freya and Sadia, two eight-year-olds in our group, because they said they liked my freckles and I’m really tall. It’s nicer than Emilia has ever been to me, so she’s out. She totally understood when I told her and confirmed she’s also replaced me with Tammy, a nine-year-old fellow ballerina, who, in the few days she’s been here, has not attempted to hurdle the ballet barre.
Xander and Russ watched Emilia and I argue playfully for five minutes, heads moving between us like they were watching a tennis match until Xander finally wrapped an arm around Russ and declared he’d never replace him.
Russ has been the most relaxed I’ve seen him in the past few days. He’s amazing with each and every kid in our group, knowing exactly what to say or do to get them involved or bring them out of their shell. I’m careful not to stare in awe too much because kids at this age notice absolutely everything and the last thing I need is to be hounded about whether he’s my boyfriend.
There are twenty campers, aged eight to ten, in our Brown Bears group and, what I apparently didn’t consider before asking for this age group, is eight-to ten-year-olds are really fucking nosey. It’s tricky territory for me, a chronic over-sharer desperate for any kind of acceptance she can get, but I’ve managed to keep my mouth closed so far. Plus, Russ has no intention of being my boyfriend given his love of rule keeping. Not that I want him to be my boyfriend, but an only semi-celibate summer would be nice.