Stealing Third (6 page)

Long
day. Longer night.

Between
the adrenaline rush of saving Emily, and the subsequent sleepless night
monitoring her concussion, I’m beyond tired. And seriously freaked out.

It’s
bad enough I hooked up with the coach’s daughter, but now she’s here—all
summer—in a bikini.

This
is not good. At all.

I
blow out a lungful of air as I collapse on my bed. The small bedroom, if you
can even call it that, has just enough space for a twin bed, a set of dresser
drawers, and a night stand. Upside—it’s better than having to stay in the main
room on a bunk bed. Downside—it has no door, so I can still hear what sounds
like a locker room out there as the high school guys swap conquest stories and
fart jokes. Great.

“Dude,
she was like a buck ten—tops. I could bench press three of her one armed
without breaking a sweat.”

“Wait.
A buck ten soaking wet? Or dead?” some guy asks, causing the whole group to
erupt with laughter.

“Ha.
Ha. Very funny,” the first guy retorts. “If she wasn’t trying so hard to get
off my shoulder and onto my jock, maybe she wouldn’t have hit her head.”

Hit
her head?

Glancing
out my doorway and into the main cabin of guys I’ve practically just met, since
I spent the entire first day of camp in the nurses office with Emily, I see
it’s that Todd guy, with the roided out body and fake tan who’s talking. And
apparently is the one I’ve been listening to brag about his ‘souped up car,’
his ‘raging parties,’ and his ‘football groupies’ for the last hour.

I
shake my head. I swear I was never this bad when I was his age. Which I should
know, since it was only three years ago, even though it feels like a whole lot
longer after listening to these kids talk.

“Dude,
you wish she wanted on your jock,” the red headed kid I think is named Andy
says, snapping a towel in Todd’s direction. “You blew any shot you had with
her. Might as well move on, man. That ship has sailed.”

“More
like capsized,” a guy, who I can’t see from my room ribs, eliciting another
round of laughs from the peanut gallery.

“Laugh
all you want, losers. I’ve been working that girl for years, and I bet all you
alls that I bag her by mid-sesh.” Todd flexes his biceps, and then kisses each
bulging muscle, WWF wrestler style. “No girl can resist Todd-the-bod.”

I
roll my eyes. As if speaking about himself in the third person isn’t bad
enough—Todd-the-bod? Really?

“Dude,
are you sure you didn’t hit your head?” the kid I still can’t see from my angle
asks. “Emily Evers isn’t getting near you with a ten foot pole, man. You nearly
killed her.”

“Yeah,
well, I got another ten foot pole that might just change her mind,” Todd says,
flopping down on his bunk, tucking his hands behind his head, and plastering a
cocky ass smile on his face. One I’d like to knock off at the moment.

“All
right.” I hop off my bed, tired of listening, and walk into the main cabin.
“That’s enough.”

“Yo,
Todd, you should ask Tyler what it was like to mack on Emily, since you never
will.”

My
eyes go wide and my mouth feels like it’s stuffed with the entire jar of cotton
balls back at the nurse’s office. How in the hell do they know about us hooking
up?

Todd
grabs his pillow and tosses it at Andy, smacking him right in the face.

“CPR
doesn’t count, dickwad.”

I
take in a deep breath. CPR.

“Well,
mouth to mouth is more than you’re ever gonna get,” Andy says, tossing the
pillow back and laughing.

“All
right, guys,” I say, hovering my hand above the light switch and letting
everyone get settled. “Lights out.”

I
flip the switch, but the chatter doesn’t stop on my way back to my room.

“Hey,
Tyler?” Todd asks as I pass his bunk.

“Yeah?”

“So?
Was it hot?”

“Hot?” 
I ask for clarification, confused by his question.

“You
know, mouth to mouth with Emily?” He chuckles.

Man,
this kid, is seriously starting to drive me up the wall with all the Emily
talk. I clench my fists, both annoyed and weirdly jealous thinking about him
and her together—which it shouldn’t—considering she’s way off limits to me
anyway. I mean, she’s a camper, and worse, the coach’s kid, but I can’t stop
myself from trying to get his goat.

“Hot
like you’ll never know, dude.”

“Oh,
burn,” someone says in the dark, drawing out snickers from the rest of the
cabin as I walk into my room shaking my head. Teenagers.

I
stop mid step and freeze. Oh, shit.

Teenagers.
Like the underage kind.

My
mouth drops open as a pit forms in my gut at the unexpected thought. Is. It.
Possible?

The
guy talk in the cabin becomes little more than background noise as I begin to
pace my tiny darkened room, my mind racing.

No.
She can’t be. Right?

My
heart picks up speed. I mean, she was at our party—on campus—and she said she
lived at Batterson Hall, the freshman dorm. I take a deep breath of relief. No.
There’s no way she’s still a teenager. Although…

My
lungs constrict as the doubt sets in again. Did she lie? She certainly omitted
the truth about being Coach’s kid, so why wouldn’t she omit the truth about
still being in high school, too?

A
feeling of dread hits me. So much for having to decide between going to the
minors or going to med school. I’ll be lucky to live if Coach catches wind of
me—and his underage daughter—rounding the bases, so to speak.

I
wipe my clammy palms up and down the legs of my cargo shorts, causing the key
in my pocket to jab me in the thigh. I yank it out, and start to toss it on the
dresser next to my bed, but stop short.

The
key to the office hangs off a long black corded loop and swings back and forth
in my hand, hypnotizing an idea out of me.

No.
I can’t.

I
throw the key down on the dresser and fall into bed, but as the noise in the
main cabin dies down and is replaced with a mixture of soft breathing and loud
snores the thought won’t stop running through my mind.

Easy
in, easy out.

I
mean, I was basically her treating physician last night, right?  And there’s
nothing wrong if I need to check her file for—you know—medical reasons.

Like,
what in the hell her age is.

I
hop out of bed and steady my breathing as I scoop up the key and tuck it back
into my pocket. Zipping on a hoodie to guard against the cool summer night, I
take quiet, but self-assured steps through the cabin and out the front door,
letting the screen close with a soft click behind me.

I’m
not sneaking out, I’m just checking a patient’s file, I keep repeating in my
head like a mantra to keep my heart from beating out of my chest.

The
camp is dark and quiet as I move through the trees and down the path to the
main building where I spent all of last night with Emily. It wasn’t quite as
amazing as the night before last with her, but a smile breaks across my face
thinking about it all the same.

Laughing
under my breath, I shake my head, not sure if my favorite part was the three
different times she called me ‘Hottie Mchottieface’ when I woke her for the
hourly concussion check, or when she changed into my sweats and sweatshirt and
blushed when she caught me sneaking a peek.

Stop.
Possible jailbait, remember?

I
move more quickly to the office now, having to know the answer. I pull the key
from my pocket when a noise startles me from behind.

Spinning
around, I expect to see one of the owners, but it’s not Gale or Walter. It’s
Emily.

She’s
in a pair of short shorts, with her hair piled high on her head in a messy
ponytail, and she’s still wearing my sweatshirt, which hangs loose from her
tiny frame. And she looks amazing.

Damn
it.

“What
are you doing?” I ask, barely above a whisper, the key dangling in my hand.

“Sneaking
out,” Emily says in her full voice, sauntering towards me, clearly not trying
to be stealthy.

“Well,
you’re not doing a very good job at it.”

She
laughs at my assessment, and judging by her volume, I can’t tell if she’s just
not adept at the art of sneaking out, or if she’s purposely trying to be overt.

“Shhhh.
Keep it down.” I glance around, not particularly wanting to get caught myself.

She
keeps a smile on her face, but her eyes narrow. “Better question is—what are
you doing?”

I
take in the girl, hoping the answer I’m searching for in the middle of the
night will be as obvious as a big red flashing sign that says ‘eighteen’ above
her head, but no luck. In the dim moonlight, surrounded by the flickering light
of fireflies, she looks as innocent and young in a pair of red flip-flops as
she looked out-of-control sexy in the red heels she wore a few nights ago.

“I
uh…” I stammer, not sure if I should just come right out and ask.

She
takes another step forward, so close I can smell the soft scent of bubble gum
on her breath. “Yes?”

I
run my hands through my hair.  I might as well just admit what I’m doing, find
out the truth, and call it a night. Because standing out here in the dark with
her—all alone—is seriously tempting me to not give a shit. I want to kiss her
again. Bad.

“I
was going to check your file.” I shove my hands in my pockets, my shoulders
high and tense.

She
arches her brow, a mischievous smile on her face. “Why? Are you stalking me?”

No.
Yes. “I uh…I wanted to check…”

“Spit
it out, Slugger,” she says, clearly enjoying watching me squirm as the teeth of
the key, wrapped firmly in my balled up fist, digs into my palm.

“I
was going to check your file for your age, all right.” I blow out a long
breath, and immediately wish I wouldn’t have fessed up, because hearing the
idea spoken out loud definitely makes me sound like a stalker.

Her
eyes widen.  “My age?”

“Yeah,
your age,” I say under my breath, but failing. “It’s bad enough you’re my
coach’s daughter, but are you even eighteen yet?”

Emily
takes a step backwards and then another, her gait playful and light, unlike my
own stiff posture as I anxiously wait for her answer.

“Sooooo,”
she draws out, wearing a flirty smile, “you want to know my—”

“Miss
Evers? Mr. Ford?” a deep voice says, interrupting Emily, and sending my heart
careening into my throat.

I
spin around and squint against the blinding shine of a flashlight obscuring my
view of his face, but his voice is clear. Walter Robbins. Camp Director.

Pissed
off is an understatement.

I
throw on a pair of cut-off shorts over my bathing suit, slip on my flip-flops,
and glare at Tyler’s zip up lying crumpled at the end of my bed.

Scowling,
I snatch it up from where I tossed it after getting back last night, and stomp
out of the cabin and into the damp early morning. My attempt at getting strike
one, putting me one step closer to going home, a total and complete fail.
Thanks to Tyler.

The
camp is quiet and empty with the exception of the kitchen staff busy preparing
breakfast for nearly a hundred and fifty campers as I make my way down the
trail to the lake. My anger growing wilder than the dew covered shrubs I’m
cutting through.

“You,”
I growl, crossing my arms when I reach the dock, not even trying to hide my
contempt.

Tyler
glances up, seeming startled by my abrupt greeting, before he runs his hand
through his darkened hair and smiles. His green eyes crinkling at the corner as
he treads water.

Damn
it.

I
turn my attention to the mist coming off the lake to avoid my resolve
crumbling. I’m still mad at him. No matter how hot he looks dripping wet and
smiling at me like that.

“Let
me guess, not a morning person?”

“More
like, not a child who needs swim lessons—No thanks to you,” I huff, sounding
exactly like the child I’m claiming not to be.

Tyler
grabs the edge of the dock, and I can’t stop myself from watching the muscles
in his back and arms flex as he lifts himself out of the water. He snags a
towel and slings it over his broad shoulders, his smile never faltering.

“Well,
that’s not exactly the thanks I was expecting for saving your ass.” He grabs a
neon green swimming noodle from the top of a stack piled high on the dock. “But
rules are rules,” he says, lifting his brows, his smile more of a smirk now.
“So? Should we start with the basics? Like how to float? Or can we move on to a
more advanced technique called doggy paddle?” he teases.

I
roll my eyes. Apparently he’s not only a superstar on the baseball field, and a
do-gooder doctor in training, but also a comedian.

“Very
funny,” I say, hoping my sarcasm won’t be lost on him, just in case my face is
betraying me since it’s impossible to not check him out.

“Come
on, don’t be mad.” He drops his smirk, his face taking on a more serious
expression. “It was either tell Walter I was helping you retrieve your suit for
the swim test—which according to the rules you have to take if you ever want to
get back in the lake this summer—or bust you for sneaking out. I think I did
you a favor.”

A
favor? Yeah, right.

If
it’s up to me, I won’t be getting anywhere near this stupid lake the rest of
the summer since I don’t plan on being here for long. That is—if Tyler doesn’t
ruin any more of my plans to get kicked out.

“I
know the rules, thankyouverymuch.” I cross my arms, jutting out my right hip.
“And don’t even pretend you weren’t trying to save your own ass. I bet Walter
would have loooved to hear what you were really up to. What was it again? Oh,
yeah…checking the medical file of your most recent hookup to see if she’s a
minor. Yep, that would have gone over well.” I laugh.

The
look of worry Tyler wore last night when Walter caught us, returns in full
force and it makes me feel bad for messing with him. He glances over his
shoulder, clearly paranoid, before looking back at me and stepping closer.
“Emily, please—”

“Whatever.”
I cut him off, before the look in his eyes and the nearness of his body makes
me admit two different truths. One, I would never throw him under the bus like
that. It’s not like I want him to get in trouble because of me; I just don’t
want him to prevent me from getting in trouble all by myself. And second, I
want to kiss him again. Bad.

“Your
secret’s safe with me, and anyways,” I say, trying to brush off the way he’s
looking at me, almost pleadingly, “it’s more fun this way.”

He
lets out a deep breath. “I’m not sure I’d call it fun.”

“Oh,
but it can be,” I say, ready for the seriousness of this conversation to lift
like the early morning fog, and the fun flirty banter from last night to return.

I
uncross my arms and slowly unzip his oversized sweatshirt before letting it
drop to the dock. Tyler’s eyes drag across my body as I unbutton my shorts and
let them fall to the ground as well, leaving me in only my bikini, and a rush
of goose bumps at the way his eyes darken, taking me in. The same way they did
in his room a few nights ago.

Yes.
This is definitely more fun.

“See?”
I say, biting my lip to keep from mouth-attacking him. “Fun.”

Tyler
takes another step forward, almost closing the gap between our scarcely dressed
bodies, and this time, I’m the one who glances around to make sure no one is
watching.

“You
know…it could be a whole lot more fun…” he trails off, his voice low and
gravelly, twisting my stomach in knots.

I
remember. And I’m game.

I
lean in, releasing my lip as his breath brushes across my skin. “Tell me,” he
whispers quietly in my ear, his lips so close my mind reels. Tell him? What
exactly? That he’s driving me crazy and if he doesn’t kiss me soon, I might
explode?

“I
want you so bad right now,” I admit. Want overriding all my senses.

He
pulls away slightly, our eyes locking, and I can see he’s filled with as much
passion as I am at the moment. “You know what I want?”

“What?”
I ask, my voice so soft it can barely be heard over the water lapping against
the dock underneath us.

“Your
age,” he says flatly, stepping away from me and crossing his arms. His smirk is
back and it’s big, bright and gloating.

The
warmth in my lower belly explodes, but not in the way I was hoping. And I thought
I was pissed before.

“You
jerk!” I push at him, but his body is like a rock, solid and unmoving. “I’ll
never tell you now.”

“If
you say so,” he says as I turn to snatch up my clothes and take off. But either
I’m too slow or he’s too quick, because he manages to grab me by the waist
before I can take a step.  Effortlessly, he lifts me up and carries me to the
edge of the dock, despite my protests.

I
try and wiggle my way out, but his arm is like a vice grip around my body. “Put
me down. I’m not doing this. Not with you.”

“Rules
are rules, Emily. Now, I’ll need you to start by doing three laps from the end
of the dock out to the buoy and back using one or more of the following
strokes: sidestroke, breaststroke, trudgen, or crawl; and when you’re finished
you’ll need to swim one more lap using an easy resting backstroke. Good luck,
kiddo,” he says before tossing me in the water with a splash.

…

Three
days of ignoring Tyler at all costs, and six trips to the batting cages has
helped take the edge off my anger, but the overwhelming embarrassment of
admitting how badly I wanted him to kiss me still hasn’t completely subsided. 
Something else that hasn’t subsided—wanting him. Damn it.

Since
the campers are at their daily activities, I take advantage of the cabin being
quiet and flop onto my bed, thankful junior counselors don’t have to
participate in the same scheduled activities as the campers anymore.

At
least that’s one perk for being stuck here. And right now, it’s the only perk,
besides getting to see Lucy at the counselor’s campfire later tonight since I
passed my rules test before lunch.

Pulling
out paper and a pen, I prop up my pillows behind me, and balance the box the
stationary’s stored in against my bent knees. I flip the pen back and forth
between my fingers, tapping it against the paper, while I re-read what I’ve
already written her.

Dear
Kat,

I’m
not even sure where to start! How about in order from OMG to WTF?

First
off, OMG Lucy isn’t my counselor this year and Jenny Osborne is. (Remember? The
girl who swears she didn’t show my training bra to the entire guy’s camp in
middle school. Yep. That girl.) It doesn’t matter at this point though. I’ve
barely had to see her since I got here and almost died.

Like
literally!! Almost died.

About
an hour after you dropped me off, Todd tried to toss me in the lake and I ended
up hitting my head against the dock and getting knocked out cold. Like,
floating unconscious in the water, face down, knocked out cold! OMFG, right?

See
what I mean? I just keep moving up the OMG scale.  But just wait…

Ready
for the WTF? (And it’s not even the fact I had to be resuscitated—which I
totally did.)

Tyler
Ford (baseball house-make out boy-extraordinaire) is the one who saved me.
Like, pulled me from the water, and gave me mouth to mouth (and not the good
kind like he gave me at the party) but the real CPR mouth to mouth kind.

And
as if that wasn’t bad enough, he had to stay with me all night long to monitor
the symptoms from the concussion I got, and I think I may have called him
Hottie Mchottieface, more than once.

See???
WTF?!?!

I
seriously can’t even!

Anyway,
everyone should be back soon, so I better wrap it up, but I figured out how I’m
going to get out of camp. The good old fashioned kicked out kinda way. Planning
to sneak out tonight and hopefully get strike one! Wish me luck!

Love
ya,

Em

Ps:
Update- Sneaking out was a fail. Got caught. By Tyler. And then we both got
caught by Walter Robbins, the camp’s owner! But Mr. Goodie two-shoes came up
with some excuse for us being out so late, and we didn’t get in trouble at all!
UGH!  But I’m not giving up.

Maybe
I’ll use Tyler to get kicked out…breaking the fraternization rule might be a
fun way to go.☺

“Emily,
there you are,” Jenny says, walking into the cabin, the screen banging closed
behind her. I fold the letter to Kat and slip it back in the box before shoving
it under my bed again. “What are you up to?”

“Just
got back from the batting cages. You?”

Jenny
smiles. “I went up to the baseball field with some of the girls after getting
done with crew.”

“Watching
the boys?” I ask, despite knowing the answer. It’s her favorite daily activity.

Jenny
bounces across the room, still in her spandex from practice, and sits down at
the end of my bed. I push further back against my pillows to put some distance
between us. Personal space, much?

“Just
one in particular,” she squeals, causing me to wince.

I
roll my eyes. This isn’t a hard one to guess. If ogling Todd were a sport, she
could have earned a first place ribbon last summer.

“Let
me guess, you were checking out T—”

“Tyler,”
she finishes, cutting me off.

My
breath catches. My Tyler?

She
must read confusion on my face because she clarifies. “You know, the guy who
saved you—the one with the crazy kissable lips.”

Yep.
That’s the one.

A
nerve in my neck pinches. “Yeah…I know exactly who you mean,” I say,
considering him and his crazy kissable lips is all I’ve thought about for days.

“Anyway,
I came to grab a blanket and some sunscreen and I’m headed back up to the
field. Some of the guys are about to have a pickup game.” Jenny pushes off my
bed, grabs her beach bag and starts to head out the back door before stopping
and tossing me a look over her shoulder. “Btw—you can come if you want.”

A
pickup game? With Tyler?

I
smile, knowing the invitation is superficial, but I could care less.

I
hop off my bed, throw on my tennis shoes and grab a hair tie. I’ve avoided him
for long enough. If it’s games Tyler wants to play, at least this one I know
the rules to.

“Oh,
great,” she deadpans. “You’re coming.”

I
sweep my hair into a ponytail and grab my lucky baseball hat.

“Nope.
I’m playing.”