Total pages in book: 12
Estimated words: 11130 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 56(@200wpm)___ 45(@250wpm)___ 37(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 11130 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 56(@200wpm)___ 45(@250wpm)___ 37(@300wpm)
“Gotta go,” I say, bolting to my feet and stepping back into my slide-on sneakers. “Bathroom emergency. It’s coming on fast.”
“Oh shit,” Sam says, popping up beside me and gathering the unopened POG and marshmallows into a makeshift sack made of the balled-up quilt.
“Literally,” I say, his snort as we hurry back toward camp easing the clenched feeling in my chest.
Yes, poop jokes. That’s who Sam and I are together.
We’re playful and a little gross and most importantly, just friends.
Anything else would be…horrible.
It would be hella weird and very bad.
The inner voice is on crack with that “all grown-up” stuff. I’m not grown up! I’m only seventeen and still look like a twelve-year-old if I forget to put on my push-up bra. I’m not ready to tingle with anyone except myself, in the privacy of my own home, when my parents are both at work, with my bedroom door locked and the fan on high to cover the sound just in case the neighbors are eavesdropping from their backyard and have really good hearing.
The thought of sharing that side of myself with anyone else makes me feel like I swallowed an ice-cold bowling ball.
And my gut assures me it would be even worse with Sam than with a stranger. A stranger, I could hold at an emotional distance. A stranger wouldn’t know me, inside and out, and be able to read every thought zipping through my head. With someone I’ve only known a little while, I’m pretty sure I could have sex, see what all the physical hype is about, and move on without freaking out about it too much.
But with Sam…
It wouldn’t be casual or chill or “just physical.” It would be intense and honest and…scary. He would see even more of me than he has already, so much that there would be nowhere to hide if things went wrong. I would be laid bare, more vulnerable than I’ve ever been in my life.
“Too bad you didn’t figure that out before you made a stupid sex deal,” I mutter to my reflection as I’m washing my hands in the bathroom, shaking my head at my Dora the Explorer self.
How can such a dorky looking person stir up so much sex drama for herself?
It would be funny if the thought of our “bargain” weren’t suddenly making me have a panic attack.
“You can call it off,” I assure myself. “It’s not too late to say it was just a joke and tell Sam to forget about the whole thing.”
“What was that?” Sam calls from outside, making me flinch. “You okay in there?”
“Yes, but move away from the door,” I call back. “Don’t be the creep who listens to bathroom stuff!”
“I’m not listening to bathroom stuff,” he shouts back. “I’m making sure you’re not dead. The toilet flushed a long time ago. I was afraid you’d fallen in and drowned.”
Drying my hands on the back of my shirt, I emerge from the bathroom, willing myself not to be weird. But when I tell Sam, “I’m not that small,” my voice is still husky and a little breathless.
He smiles, and my belly flips, making me wonder if things will ever be normal between us again. What if this tingling garbage becomes a chronic thing? What if I’m never able to look at Sam again without thinking his lips are nice and I might like to taste them?
“No, you’re just snack-sized,” he says, taking a laughing step back as I raise a fist between us. “Kidding,” he says, lifting his arms in surrender. “I’m just kidding. I would never say anything like that for real, you know that.”
“I’m not sure what I know anymore,” I mutter beneath my breath.
“What?” Sam asks, his grin fading as he focuses on my face. “Hey, are you sure you’re okay? You were in there a long time. If you’re really sick, I can go get help. Food poisoning kills people, you know. You can literally shit out your soul.”
“I’m not shitting out my soul.”
“It’s okay if you are. You can tell me. Don’t be embarrassed.”
I roll my eyes and growl through gritted teeth, “I’m not embarrassed. I’m just…tired.”
He frowns as he echoes flatly, “You’re tired. After at least ten marshmallows and a POG, you’re tired. That doesn’t sound like the Sugar Rush Cho I know and love.”
Love…
I know he doesn’t mean it that way, but for some reason the word still makes my pulse race and anxiety sweat break out on my upper lip.
“Yeah, well, it was a big day,” I say, starting across the clearing toward the cabins on the girls’ side of camp. “And I didn’t sleep well last night. Natasha was moaning again.”
He grunts. “Hard to imagine she had energy for moaning in her sleep after all the moaning she and Chandler were doing in the equipment shed before lights out. You didn’t touch any of the yoga mats today, did you? I meant to warn you that they probably have sex goo on them, but I forgot.”