First Comes Love - Ashlee Price Page 0,29

away, we make love for the first time.

It isn’t sex. It isn’t hot or fast or rough. It’s slow and sensual and building. It’s part of the night and watched by the night. And if I didn’t know better, I’d think that this was what love feels like.

Afterwards, we’re curled up in each other’s arms.

“We can’t keep doing this,” she says, half to herself.

I don’t answer, because I don’t have the slightest clue what to say.

Chapter 12

Harley

I wake up with a jolt. I’m back in my own sleeping bag, but how? After last night with Greyson…

I let out a little groan. Last night with Greyson.

Not that it wasn’t good, ungodly so. Just that it’s starting to feel like we’re creeping into dangerous ground. New ground. Ground where I actually care about the guy and wonder what he’s thinking. Like now—what is he thinking?

“Get real,” I mutter to myself, forcing myself into a somewhat sitting position.

Number 1: It doesn’t matter what he’s thinking.

Number 2: He’s probably thinking about food. Or something that has exactly nothing to do with me, at any rate.

Maybe a generalization, but anytime Dad made one of his invariable fuck-ups or forgettings (forgetting my mom’s birthday for the fourth time, after multiple reminders on her part, was what precipitated the fight that ended up in them divorced), it was due in some esoteric way, to food.

‘Dinner with clients’, ‘Had to stop in for a bite because I was starving’, ‘They had a sale on these delicious nacho chips I saw on the way home and I had to get some’; these were the doomsday ticks of my childhood.

But I digress.

Number 3: How in the hell did I even get in my sleeping bag?

I strain my memory, wincing already in the expectation of some walk of shame or being caught, but unless I’m suffering from major amnesia… we didn’t.

Checking my phone finds the answer.

Carried you to your tent last night—Greyson

How he even got my number I’m not sure, nor do I care. I wince, wondering if I was full-on snoring at that point, the way Hannah always moans about.

I pause and prick up my ears, but I can’t hear anyone by the campfire yet. Nor do I have any desire to go out there.

The past few days, Samantha’s dirty looks have gone full-on volcanic, with her grumpy sighs and ‘go-die’ glares being caused more often than not by absolutely nothing at all.

Thanks, I text back.

His reply comes back lightning-fast:

—Noticed your sleeping bag isn’t in the greatest shape, want mine?

It’s not that bad, I reply. Nothing a good sew won’t fix.

Greyson does have a point. I’m pretty sure some weird mouse or opossum snuck into my tent the night I went on my ill-advised pot romp and chewed up the corner of my sleeping bag. Some mornings I wake up with my toe caught in the hole, but it’s more funny than annoying, and anyway, Greyson is a lot bigger than me and my sleeping bag might just be a skirt on him.

A real solution would be just to share his, an unwanted voice purrs in the back of my mind. I shove it aside.

I check my phone to find his response already there: I mean it.

What—don’t want me filing an abuse suit against Storm co? ;)

—Something like that.

—Seriously, Harley.

Seriously, Greyson. We have about two more days. And I’m a grown and capable adult.

—Don’t make me come over there and convince you.

I freeze. What the hell is he getting at, exactly?

Next second, my phone is ringing.

“I mean it,” he growls.

“Whoa, did you not get any sleep or something?” I tease.

“No, actually. And listen, I’ve got enough on my plate without worrying about you.”

“Well, sorry. I’m not forcing you to worry about me over a stupid sleeping bag, OK? So just forget it.”

Silence, then a measured exhale. “Will you just take the goddamn sleeping bag?”

“Will you just drop it? I don’t get what the problem is.”

“I…” Another silence. “You know what, you’re right. Not a big deal. It’s not like you’re my…” A cough. “How did you sleep?”

Despite myself, I find myself biting back a smile. “Good, thanks for asking.”

“I saved some food for you out there. Russel was dead-set on feeding it to some parrots, but once I threatened him with burning his sombrero, he backed off.”

I laugh. “Oh, what a relief. Guess I should go have some now, then?”

“Right, yeah, I… don’t even know why we’re talking on the phone when we can be talking in person.”

“Your leadership gets