Chasing the Sun Page 11

  A truck rounds the corner and headlights blind us. Neb steps in front of me to shield me from the lights and I burst out laughing.

  “You weren’t kidding.”

  He tugs me off the road and into the grass to let the truck pass. “What do you mean?”

  I nod at the truck. “About protecting me from the blinding light.”

  The corner of his mouth lifts as he laughs. Then his eyes settle on mine and his face grows serious. His fingers are back in my hair and his thumb gently strokes the side of my face, making me forget the truck and the campsite and everything except the way he’s lowering his head until he’s so close I can feel his breath on mine. His eyes drift shut, then his lips part. “The trick is to close your eyes when faced with a bright light,” he whispers.

  I snort despite the mental whiplash, and he opens his eyes.

  He smirks. “I’m just saying.”

  “You’re very helpful.” I reach between us and run my fingers over his jaw, and his eyelids lower. “And adorable. And—”

  He closes the space between us before I can finish. His mouth is on mine, his strong arms slide around my waist, and he pulls me against his chest. I stretch my body against his, my hands settling at the nape of his neck as our lips move together. He’s taller than Pax and when his stubble brushes my chin, I can’t help thinking how much more of a man Neb is. He holds me firmly against his broad chest, but I don’t feel trapped or controlled—I just feel.

  His hands roam over my back and I sigh against him, locking everything about this moment to memory. The way his mouth moves over mine, gentle but firm. The scent of the campfire clinging to both of us. How safe I feel in his arms. Like nothing bad could ever happen.

  A chorus of screams pierce the night air and I break the kiss. “I definitely made the right decision.”

  He rubs his cheek against mine and my skin tingles. “Are you saying this is just a distraction from the scary stories?”

  I smile against his cheek. “Are you saying it’s not?”

  His shoulders lift beneath my hands. “This might be the best way I’ve ever gotten out of it.” He turns his face and kisses the tip of my nose. “Thanks for helping me keep my man card.”

  I pepper kisses along his jaw until I reach his ear. “What would you have done if I hadn’t wanted to leave?” I whisper.

  “Suffered quietly, then cried myself to sleep, only to have nightmares all night.” He looks me in the eye. “So thank you for saving me.”

  We hold our gaze, the low light from nearby campfires making his brown eyes seem black. But unlike Pax’s dark eyes, which always scrutinized, making me feel judged or like I did something wrong, Neb seems vulnerable. Like maybe there’s less teasing to his words than I thought.

  And I can’t help but think that maybe he’s the one saving me.

  20

  Neb

  Sage watches me like she wants to say something but is either too scared or too embarrassed. Or maybe both. The way she looks at me makes me want to tell her all my secrets. To make her understand how I think. What I want out of life.

  But that’s too intense for a walk around a campground. Instead I run my fingers over her cheek and kiss her again. It must be the right thing to do, because her lips part, inviting me to deepen the kiss.

  Which I do.

  Another scream echoes through the trees, and I lower my hand until I find hers. “Want to keep walking?”

  Her smile nearly undoes me. “Yeah, there are probably better places to make out than the side of the road.”

  My heart thuds in my chest. A couple kisses is one thing, but knowing she wants more puts all kinds of thoughts in my head. Most of which require a level of privacy we won’t find here. I’d love to sneak her into my tent—it wouldn’t be difficult with everyone scaring the piss out of each other at the fire—but I don’t want to rush things, no matter what she’s saying now.

  She slides her hand into the crook of my elbow and we walk along the narrow drive with her hand on my bicep. Most of the other campers ignore us, and when we near a playground, she freezes. At first I think something spooked her, but she tightens her grip on my arm.

  “Swings.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Let’s go,” I say, and she takes off toward the swings on the far side of the playground. The slides were always my favorite, but I haven’t been down one since I passed the six-foot mark.

  A single streetlamp burns near a metal climbing apparatus, leaving the row of swings mostly in the dark. She’s already on a swing and pumping her legs by the time I sit in the one next to her. I push off with my feet and lean back to build momentum while she whips past me, her hair blowing behind her, then in her face, with each pass. I haven’t been on one of these things since middle school and my feet keep hitting the ground, slowing me down. My stomach drops the higher I go but I push myself to match her height.

  Sage laughs next to me. “It’s like riding a bike!”

  “Maybe for you,” I say. We reach an apex at the same time and she looks at me, and it’s like the world pauses. Her eyes shine in the edges of the streetlamp and her smile makes me feel like we’re the only ones out here.

  “I thought you’d be into this.” She points her feet at the sky on the next upswing. “It’s like we’re reaching for the stars.” She takes a breath as she flies backwards. “Literally.”

  My head tilts back and the universe erupts above me. I no longer care about how smooth of a swinger I am. My friends light up the night sky—Orion, Cygnus, the Summer Triangle of Altair, Deneb, and Vega, and of course the North American Nebula—and a feeling of contentment washes over me. Like I’m home. These stars have been here my entire life. Even when we weren’t camping, Dad and I would drag a sleeping bag into the backyard and we’d trace their shapes with our fingers. He’d quiz me on their names while he told the ancient stories of how they came to be. He was a man of science, but he also respected the mythology behind astronomy.

  “Why’d you stop?” Sage asks.

  I blink away the past and meet her gaze. “I got lost up there.”

  She slows next to me and I grab the chain closest to me, pulling us together. Her leg hooks around my calf and I squeeze her leg against mine to keep us connected. “On a scale of one to ten, how excited are you for Monday?” she asks.

  “Nine,” I answer automatically.

  “Not ten?”

  My fingers drift to the pendant beneath my shirt. “It’s not the same without my dad.”

  Her gaze lingers on my chest. “I’m really sorry.”

  I shrug away her concern. “I can’t change it. This is my life now. But it’s moments like this when it catches me off guard.”

  She leans forward and grabs the chain of my swing. Her knee slides between mine. I move my hand so it’s covering hers, and my pulse kicks up a notch. “I don’t want to keep saying I’m sorry,” she says, her eyes steady on mine. “But I don’t know what else to say. I don’t know what it’s like to have a parent die, and I don’t want to throw a bunch of meaningless words at you.”

  My thumb rubs hers. “I’ve had enough of meaningless words. And of people telling me he’s in a better place now. That’s such bullshit.”

  “You don’t think he is?”

  “That’s besides the point. People say crap like that to make themselves feel better. Like it’s somehow comforting that he’s not suffering. But he wasn’t suffering. One minute he was my hero, and the next he was lying on the ground. Gone.”

  Her hand slides up my arm and over my shoulder until it settles near my heart. Directly on the pendant. She fingers the shape through my shirt. “He’s still your hero. Dying shouldn’t change that.”

  The pressure in my chest builds until I’m either going to cry in front of her for the second time today, or drop dead on the ground like Dad. I never had a problem with anxiety before, but the therapist Mom sent me to after he died gave me a prescription for emergenc
ies. For moments like this. But I didn’t think to bring them with me.

  “Hey.” She leans forward until her face is just inches from mine. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  Tears burn my eyes but I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. Sage bites her lip, waiting for me to respond, so with our legs tangled together and holding onto her swing, I kiss her. Push away the aching in my heart and focus only on how she smells like vanilla and campfire, and how soft her lips are on mine. My hand lets go of her swing to move through her hair.

  When she breaks the kiss to catch her breath, I press my forehead against hers. “You do the opposite of upset me.”

  She shifts in her swing and suddenly our bodies spin away from each other. “Sorry!” she yelps. Her legs are shorter than mine so her swing twists in a circle while my feet keep me firmly in one spot.

  I grab one of her chains to stop her swing and whisper, “Come here.”

  She must read in my eyes what I’m thinking, because without a word she untangles herself from her swing and stands in front of me. Her hands slide over the sides of my face and settle in my hair, and she looks down at me with an expression that mirrors how I’m feeling. Excitement and desire and an unfamiliar boldness. I plant my feet on the ground and wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her closer. In the moment before we kiss, her eyes find mine and it’s like I know everything about her. Maybe not her favorite song or type of food, but everything that matters. How she sees the world and wants to be remembered. Then her mouth covers mine and all that fades away.

  The height difference changes how we kiss, and she seems more confident than before. Her lips part and her tongue meets mine with an urgency that steals my breath. I pull her even closer. My hand slides over her hip to the back of her leg, careful to keep my touches to safer body parts, but she lifts her leg over mine like she’s going to straddle me. Or climb on the swing.

  I break the kiss to make sure that’s what she wants. Her eyes never leave mine as she slips her leg between my hip and the chain, and my pulse races. I grip her hips to hold her up while she positions her other leg, but it gets caught on my pocket or the chain or the combination of the two and she starts to fall backwards.

  Her momentum pulls me out of the swing and we tumble to the ground. I do my best to twist our bodies, my hands still firmly on her hips, and we land with a thud on my side.

  “Oh my god!”

  “Are you okay?” I ask.

  She bursts out laughing and I take that as a good sign. Her laughter is contagious, and I can’t stop the grin spreading across my face, despite the pain radiating from my shoulder to my hip. She nods, still laughing. “I can’t believe I did that.” She pushes onto her elbow and runs her hand over my face and neck, settling on my chest. “Are you okay?”

  I shift on my hip. It feels tender but nothing like when I broke my arm falling out of a tree. “I’ll live.” My fingers run through her hair. “Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?”

  She nods against my hand and her eyes close. My belly tightens, as if suddenly aware of how her body presses to me, and I brush my lips against hers. She sighs, her breath tickling my lips, and her hand moves over my chest to my shoulder, pulling me closer. I roll off my hip so she’s on her back and cradle her head with my hand. Our kiss deepens, our tongues connecting the stars that burn deep within us.

  Her leg hooks around mine, but this time there isn’t a swing to get in the way. My arm supports most of my weight, but I let my torso press against her enough to feel her heartbeat through her sweatshirt. To feel the way her body reacts to mine. Her hands run down my sides, keeping me in place, but I still hold back. It’s easy to get lost in the heat of the moment, but I don’t want this to be a reaction to her seeing her ex—I want this to be one hundred percent because of me.

  My lips slide from her mouth to her jaw until I settle on her neck at the edge of her shirt. She sighs again, running a hand into my hair and gripping hard enough that I gasp against her skin. The fire simmering in my belly burns hot.

  “Sorry,” she whispers into the night air.

  I pull back so I can look her in the eyes, certain she can see the desire in mine. “What are you apologizing for?” My voice comes out husky and my lips feel swollen.

  Her cheeks darken in the faint light. Her gaze flicks to her hand, which is still locked in my hair, then back to my eyes.

  I wish I could tell her that her every touch makes me want to carry her back to my tent where we could explore each other without the risk of other people seeing.

  “Tell me what you’re thinking,” she says, and now I’m blushing.

  “I don’t think I should.”

  Her smile falters and I quickly press a kiss to her lips to reassure her.

  “It’s… uhhh… not the most gentlemanly thing.”

  She snorts, and I shake my head, smiling. “I thought you were plotting a smooth exit,” she says.

  “From you? Seriously?”

  She shrugs beneath me.

  I rub my cheek against hers and take a quick breath to find the courage to tell her what I want. “I was thinking that this isn’t the most private place. And that maybe…” I drift off. We’ve known each other for a day—or a few weeks before meeting in person—and I should not be inviting her back to my tent.

  She rolls her head to the side as if just now realizing where we are. “I guess we are a bit… uhh… exposed, eh?” She snorts again and I can’t help but laugh.

  “Should I walk you back to your tent?” Disappointment pushes me back to my side, but I don’t miss the same expression on her face.

  “Do we have to go back already?” She leans on her elbow so our heads are at the same level. “It’s still early. And I’m not tired.” Her finger catches the string of my hoodie and she tugs it gently. Then her eyes meet mine and my breath catches.

  Maybe she does want the same thing.

  Or a version of it.

  Who am I kidding? We’re not having sex—even if Kit did give me a pack of condoms. We literally met today. So definitely no sex.

  She leans closer until her mouth tickles over my ear. “We could hang out in your tent. But just so we’re clear. I’m looking for more of this. Not…” she trails off. I don’t move, giving her time to finish. “I’m not ready to jump into your sleeping bag.” She leans back so she’s looking at me again. “Even if you are freakishly hot.”

  This time I laugh. “Freakishly? Is that a good thing?”

  She nods, burying her head against my chest. My insides warm and I want to pull her into my arms. But as I slide an arm beneath her to pull her into a sitting position, there’s a rustling in the bushes near the swings, followed by a high-pitched chatter, like two kids talking a secret language.

  Sage twists her back against my side and tucks her knees to her chest. “What was that?” she whispers.

  “Probably someone walking their dog.”

  The chatter turns to a snarl, and she slides onto my lap. “That’s not a dog.”

  My heartrate spikes, and not just because she’s in my lap. Odds are it’s a squirrel or raccoon—both are known for being chatty—but it could be a possum, and possums can be mean.

  “We might want to get out of here.”

  Her head whips to face me, eyes wide, as two creatures leap from the bushes.

  21

  Sage

  My scream stops the raccoons in their tracks. For a moment we stare each other down—me tucked against Neb’s chest, the raccoons standing on their hind legs with their paws in the air—then I scramble to my feet. They must realize we’re not a threat, because they saunter back to the bushes like they didn’t give me a heart attack.

  Neb grimaces when he stands.

  “Are you sure you’re okay? We fell pretty hard.”

  And I can’t help but notice that I’m falling pretty hard, too. Butterflies have taken over for my heart, sending my pulse skittering all over the place. My lips tingle from his stu
bble and the night air feels colder now that I’m no longer in his arms.

  He stretches his arm over his head before grabbing my hand. “I broke my arm when I was a kid so it sometimes hurts when I hit it. Or fall out of a swing.” His lips curl into a smile and I want to kiss him again.

  Control yourself for another ten minutes.

  Or maybe five.

  He’s got long legs. It shouldn’t take long to get back.

  The walk to our campsite is quiet, as if we’re both thinking about what we want to do but it feels weird to talk about it. Laughter from our classmates reaches us before we see them, and I tug on his hand.

  He stops quickly and rests a hand on my arm. “If you changed your mind, we can go back to the fire.”

  I shake my head. “It’s not that. But we probably shouldn’t stroll down the middle of the road. Mr. Mauro’s pretty chill but I doubt he’ll be okay with me going in your tent.”

  He stares into the night in the direction of the fire. The new moon leaves the sky completely black, and it’s almost impossible to see more than ten feet in front of us. “Good point. Let’s try this way.” He leads me off the road to the line of trees between the campsites and the creek we hiked near earlier. We duck behind a motorhome the size of a house and tiptoe around coolers and camp chairs, and we both jump when a small white dog lunges at us, yipping so loudly my heart lurches into my throat.

  “Why are the animals out to get us?” I whisper.

  “Who’s there?” A wrinkly woman in sweatpants and a winter coat peers around the motorhome. “Fritzy, get back here.”

  “We didn’t mean to scare you,” Neb says, holding up a hand in a part wave, part “don’t shoot” gesture, while the dog continues to bark.

  “Fritzy, come.” The dog trots to her side, a low growl vibrating from its throat. “Whaddaya doin’ back there in the dark?”

  “We went for a walk by the creek and got turned around,” I say, surprised at how easily the lie rolls off my tongue.