But if I walk through that office door, I’m definitely an asshat.

  I return to my cabin and let myself in. It feels strange not to have to unlock the door. Although my house isn’t in a crime-filled neighborhood, I wouldn’t dream of leaving the front door unlocked. It seems like asking for trouble.

  Maybe there’s a way to satisfy both parties without subterfuge. I could try to have a real conversation with Cricket instead of trying to cram a check down her throat.

  I strip off my clothes and brush my teeth. It’s too hot for anything more than boxer briefs. The fan is doing its best, but it’s only capable of circulating the hot, humid air that already plagues the cabin. Too bad Cricket doesn’t have the funds to invest in air conditioning for the cabins. I wonder whether she sleeps in her underwear too.

  I try to block any further thoughts of Cricket in her underwear, but another feeling is making that difficult, and this one is of the physical variety. Groaning, I return to the sink and splash cold water on my face. Courtney Abernathy is a thorn in my side. An obstacle to mount. A mountain to climb.

  Nope. Not helping.

  I try to focus on a different subject, like partnership and the fact that Matt’s deal suffered a setback. I still have time to work my magic on…

  Forget it. I refuse to think of her. She’s already permeating my every waking moment. No need to add her to dreams too.

  I’m still deep in thought about Cricket when I climb into bed—which is why I don’t immediately notice that I’m not alone under the sheet.

  My side brushes against something and my body reacts faster than my mind. I launch out of bed, not quite screaming but not exactly mute either. More of a Muppet sound.

  I peel back the sheet to reveal an ugly-ass doll with menacing eyes. Is that the Chucky doll from the horror movies? In addition to his blue overalls and striped shirt, he’s wearing a green tie. On closer inspection, I realize it’s a Philadelphia Eagles tie. Nice touch.

  At first, I place Chucky under the bed, out of sight, but after a few minutes with my eyes wide open, I realize I won’t be able to sleep with him right underneath me. I get up again and relocate Chucky to the bottom dresser drawer and shove the chair in front of it. One can’t be too careful.

  Admittedly, I don’t sleep well that night. I dream that Michael Myers, Chucky, and Jason Voorhees show up at the camp. We ride in a pontoon and drink beer together, but the whole time I’m wary that they have an ulterior motive.

  * * *

  The next morning, I pull on a T-shirt and shorts and add the Eagles tie. “Never let them see you sweat,” as both the deodorant commercial and my father always say. Take that, nerds. I can quote things too.

  I venture to the cafeteria and load my plate with scrambled eggs and bacon, then head to the picnic area where most campers are enjoying breakfast.

  “Go Birds,” someone says with a fist pump as I approach the group of tables.

  I offer the natural response. “Go Birds.”

  Cricket is seated at a table with the usual suspects. I plant myself at the end of the bench. Cricket’s gaze goes straight to the tie, and I notice her mouth twitch.

  “Fly Eagles fly,” says Ben.

  Olivia squints at the tie. “It isn’t football season.”

  “The Eagles are always in season,” I tell her.

  “Sleep okay?” Cricket asks with a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

  “Best night I’ve had yet,” I answer. “Camp is infinitely more fun with a bunkmate.”

  Ben spits his coffee back into his mug.

  “You got a bunkmate?” Angela asks. “Lucky you.”

  “I am,” I say with a wide grin. “So lucky. It’s great when you can borrow each other’s clothes, and he said later he’ll show me how to use a knife. Apparently, my grip is all wrong. Who knew?” I shrug and bite a slice of bacon.

  I glance at Cricket and see that she is smiling ear to ear. Warmth spreads throughout my body. I want to give credit to the coffee, but I haven’t had any yet.

  “I’m glad you two hit it off,” Cricket finally says. “I’m sorry I didn’t run it past you first, but we’re fresh out of beds.”

  “No worries. I had no idea how badly I needed a cuddle buddy until last night.”

  Cricket buries her face in her hands, shoulders shaking. Making her laugh feels good. I realize I want to do it again.

  “Historically I haven’t been into redheads,” I continue, “but I’m open to it now.”

  Angela tilts her head. “As it happens, I keep a red wig in the trunk of my car.”

  “I bet that’s not all she keeps in there,” Gloria mumbles.

  “Why do you keep a wig in your car?” Olivia asks.

  “I like to play dress-up,” Angela replies smoothly. “Keeps life interesting.”

  “I stopped playing dress-up when I was six,” Olivia says.

  “Did you enjoy it?” Angela asks.

  “I guess so.”

  “Then you’ll come back around to it eventually.”

  Ben clears his throat. “Olivia is into books and science, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “And animation,” Olivia adds. “I love Omori.”

  “What’s Omori?” I ask.

  “An RPG about a boy and his alter ego. You get to explore the real world and his dream world.”

  “Wow. Games sure have changed since I was a kid. I think my generation either shot things or jumped over them. There was no story.”

  Olivia fixes her expressive brown eyes on me and it’s like I’m deep in conversation with Bambi. “What games did you like to play?” the doe asks.

  “Sports,” I reply.

  “No video games?”

  “I wasn’t allowed to play video games.”

  There’s a collective intake of breath at the table.

  “None at all?” Olivia asks.

  I shake my head. “My parents consider them unhealthy distractions.”

  Olivia reaches across the table and gives my arm a ‘there, there’ pat. “You’re a grown-up now. You can do whatever you want.”

  “I wish,” I say with a wry smile.

  “You never played games at a friend’s house?” Adam asks.

  I shake my head. “If my parents found out, I would’ve been punished.”

  Angela gasps. “It’s the video game version of Footloose. You poor deprived child.”

  Cricket jumps to her feet and extends a hand. “Come with me if you want to live.”

  I notice her T-shirt. “Geek Chic today, huh?”

  “I mean, honestly, it’s every day.” She wiggles her fingers, encouraging me to take her hand.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I know a place.”

  “Is it a place that involves yarn and needles? Because that’s what’s on the schedule.”

  “Forget arts and crafts. I’m taking you somewhere more important.”

  I feel an instant jolt as I slide my hand in hers. Her skin is smooth and soft. I’m slightly disappointment when I’m on my feet and she lets go.

  I grab my banana off the table and follow her outside. Her pace is quick and determined and I’m forced to lengthen my strides to keep up with her. She’s a woman on a mission and somehow that mission involves me.

  Cricket stops outside a cabin not far from her office and opens the door. “This, my deprived friend, is the arcade.” She flicks on the light switch. Inside the cabin are multiple computer screens with game consoles, as well as two traditional arcade games—Pac-Man and Donkey Kong.

  “This is nerd-vana,” I say, almost speechless. “Why didn’t I see this on the tour?”

  “Because I skipped it. It’s a free space, so anybody can come in here to play between the hours of noon and eight p.m.” She motions to the Pac-Man machine. “But I’ve decided to make an exception for you this morning.”

  “Because of my sob story?”

  “Yes. Which one would you like to try first?”

  I hate to admit that I have no idea how to play any of them.

  “Games aren’t really my thing,” I start to say, but she pushes me toward the consoles.

  “You’ve told me how competitive you are. You’re tailor-made for these games. Pick one now or I’ll pick for you.”

  I almost tell her that her bossy attitude is a turn-on but manage to swallow the words before they come out. This isn’t a date. I’m supposed to be mining this place for information, not wasting time on frivolous games. My parents were right. In under five minutes I’m letting them distract me from more important matters.

  “I appreciate you showing me this cabin, but I’m not really⁠—”

  She grabs me by the shoulders and steers me to another machine.

  “Sit.”

  I sit and she squeezes into the seat beside me. “This is a race. You take the wheel and drive the car first, then it’s my turn. Fastest time without crashes wins. Got it?”

  She’s so close that I can smell her skin. Rose petals. Not that cloying sweetness like some rose scents. This one is only a touch. It’s nice.

  “Earth to Charlie.” She knocks on the side of my head. “Ready?”

  “I don’t know what to do.”

  “I just told you, silly.” She takes my hands and places them on the steering wheel. Leaving her hands on mine, she nudges my foot aside and taps a pedal. “Now drive!” She guns it, and the video car skids into action. In truth, I figure out how to play in about three seconds, but I enjoy touching her too much to say so.

  When it’s her turn, she bumps me aside with her hip. I loom over her, watching as she races with abandon, cursing at the other cars and acting like a general menace.

  I love every second of it.

  “I don’t see myself getting in a car with you anytime soon,” I say, once the game ends in a crash of fatal fury. “Do you always make up your own curse words?”

  “I like to be creative.” She tilts her head back to look up at me. “They get my point across.”

  I laugh. “Without a doubt. Those other racers didn’t know road rage until you screeched onto the scene.”

  “Do you want to play something else?”

  I realize with a start that I do. Thanks to Cricket, the competitive juices are now flowing freely. I spin around to investigate the other options.

  We play Pac-Man, then Donkey Kong. As I dodge my last fireball, the door swings open and Olivia appears. “It’s twelve on the dot,” she says.

  It’s been over two hours already? I check my Apple watch to make sure. Yep. It’s noon.

  “Come in, Olivia. Charlie and I were just finishing up. Is there something you’d like to play with me?”

  “No thanks. Grandpa is on his way. He wants to play Pac-Man again.”

  I hook a thumb toward Cricket. “Word to the wise: do not ever race this one. She’s a maniac.”

  Olivia musters a smile. “Everybody knows women are the best drivers.”

  “Did you see that?” Cricket whispers as we leave the cabin. “She actually smiled.”

  “I know. I wasn’t sure if it was a trick of the light.”

  She nudges me with her arm. “I know you don’t think so, but you’re very funny, you know.”

  “I’m a comedic genius. Why do you think I became a lawyer? We have more jokes than any other profession.”

  “I’m dead serious about how funny you are.”

  “That’s kind of you to say. Thank you.” I bow, uncertain what the appropriate response is in this situation. Women don’t generally find me funny. Sexy. Smart. Successful. But not funny. I wonder if it’s a bad sign. Maybe funny is what puts guys in the Friend Zone.

  Why would I care if Cricket puts me in the Friend Zone? I have to shake this off—whatever this is. She’s clouding my judgment worse than any video game ever could.

  “Are you ready for lunch?” she asks. “I have it on good authority that the hotdogs today are all beef.”

  As tempted as I am, I force myself to decline. “I should probably take a nap. I’m pretty beat from last night.”

  Another smile appears. “From your all-night cuddling sesh with your namesake?”

  “What can I say? He’s very fidgety. He nearly pushed me off the bed more than once.”

  “I don’t doubt. I hear he has an aggressive nature.”

  I grin at her. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

  She gives me a playful shove. “That was a video game. You’re supposed to act ridiculous.”

  “I’ll see you this afternoon,” I say, lengthening my strides to increase the distance between us. Against my will, I register her scent as I walk toward the residential area. I glance at my hands, remembering how good skin-on-skin contact felt. Her skin, specifically. I seriously doubt I’d be having the same response to Ben’s hands. Her laugh is something special. Wicked, bawdy, triumphant, and sexy as hell. No wonder she thinks I’m funny. I now seem hellbent on triggering that laugh at every opportunity.

  I catch sight of Gloria and Angela over by the ring toss and give them a friendly wave, but I keep walking at a brisk pace. I don’t trust myself to have a casual conversation right now because I know exactly where it will lead.

  To Cricket.

  At this camp, all conversations lead to Cricket. They’re either about her, instigated by her, or include her. She isn’t under my skin; she’s everywhere, like the Force.

  Fuck me. I just made a Star Wars reference.

  If a Star Wars reference is made in Endor Woods, does anybody hear it?

  By the time I arrive inside the safety of my cabin, I am falling to pieces. More to the point, I am falling for Courtney Abernathy.

  Chapter Seven

  After a lakeside lunch, Gloria and I heed Esther’s call for ‘all hands on deck’ in the arts and crafts cabin. We collect our trash, careful not to leave anything that might attract wildlife, and amble through the residential area.

  I slow my pace to listen. “I hear singing.”

  Gloria’s brown eyes widen. “I think it’s coming from Charlie’s cabin.”

  We exchange excited looks and creep toward the source of the sound. Sure enough, it’s Charlie’s voice raised in song.

  Even better, that song is “Defying Gravity.”

  We lean against the exterior wall outside his bathroom to listen. Gloria whips out her phone and hits record.

  “Do you think he’ll go for the high notes?” she asks.

  “We’ll find out soon enough.”

  His voice strains and squeaks.

  We burst into hysterical laughter. “He’s taken that song to new heights,” I say.

  “Should I share the video in the group chat?”

  “That seems cruel.” I pause. “Yes, let’s do it.” At the very least, we can hold on to it as leverage in the event we need any. No matter what he says, I don’t fully trust him. He’s a man, after all, and a lawyer to boot.

  “Angela will be very pleased with herself,” I say. “That seed she planted has borne fruit.”

  “He was really belting it out,” Gloria adds. “I think he was enjoying himself.”

  I snort. “I guess we know what his karaoke song will be.”

  “If he doesn’t sign up, we’ll do it for him.”

  My stomach pinches. “Do you think this is hypocritical of us? Camp is supposed to be a safe space.”

  “And Charlie came here to take that safe space away from us. We could do a lot worse than sharing his impressive vocal range.”

  My resolve strengthens. “You’re right.”

  We enter the arts and crafts cabin to find a small crowd gathered.

  Wendy pushes a basket toward us. “Come on, ladies. These plushie penises aren’t going to crochet themselves.”

  “I overcommitted, I know,” Esther says. “I won’t do it again, I swear.”

  I hold up my hands. “We all know micro-coordination isn’t my thing.” The smaller the movement, the harder I find it.

  Hunter glances up from the table with his usual intense expression. “If I can crochet a dick, anybody can.”

  Esther studies me. “Cricket’s right. I remember the time she tried to use the emergency sewing kit on Ben’s shorts.” She offers me a curt nod. “You’re excused from duty.”

  I don’t wait to be told twice. I exit the cabin and head straight to my office to get through a few more administrative tasks. I constantly put them off, which means they continue to build up into an insurmountable mountain of work.

  Not for the first time since he arrived, Charlie’s face flashes in my mind. Gone is the cocky, hitched-up mouth, replaced by something far more earnest and, as much as I hate to admit it, far more appealing. The more vulnerable Charlie gets, the more dents he puts in my emotional armor, that bastard.

  I will not soften toward Charles Widmore Pennyloafer VI. He isn’t one of us. In fact, he’s worse. He’s the antithesis of us. Charlie represents the establishment. The status quo. He’s the kind of guy who would’ve mocked us to his jock friends in the high school cafeteria for sport. For the hundredth time, I remind myself that he’s only pretending to be interested now because it’s the means to an end. I refuse to be fooled by another man pretending to be someone he isn’t. Been there, got the oversized Mumford & Sons T-shirt he left behind.

  I open the drawer to the filing cabinet, and my eardrum is punctured by a scream. I quickly realize it’s coming from me and clamp my mouth shut.

  From the depths of the drawer, two evil eyes stare back at me, glassy and unrepentant.

  “What the hell, Chucky?” I wrench the doll from his hiding spot and glare at him as though he might actually offer up an explanation. If any doll was capable of such a feat, it’s Chucky.

  I tuck him under my arm to return to his rightful owner. I sort of wish Chucky could talk, if only to tell me about the Charlie he glimpsed when no one was looking. Was the rest of his body as rock-solid as his chest, not that I was scoping him out? Everybody here has noticed his physique, and Charlie has talked about his athletic past.

  “Why am I trying to justify having a set of working eyes?” I ask Chucky.

  The doll only stares in response.