“For real.” He nods, and though it’s almost completely dark outside, his smile is a flash of white teeth against the gloom. “We’re eatin’ tonight, sugar.”
I laugh at his yokel impersonation. “Please never call me sugar again. It’s disturbing.”
“Bring the hotdogs, woman.”
I frown and pick up the hotdogs, marshmallows, chocolate, and crackers, and carry my loot outside into the freezing evening. Styx jumps down from the table, but he still manages to gloat by striding up to me, taking my head in his hands, and kissing me hard. I lose my grip on dinner. The items fall to the forest floor, and I couldn’t care less. I slide my hands around Styx’s neck and press my body against his. Heat arcs through my chest, down to my core. It spreads to every part of me, engulfing me in flames. We’ve spent so much time kissing today, it’s a wonder we made it this far at all.
It’s too cold for crickets, but around us, the night sounds envelop us like a shroud. The fire hisses and crackles. Underneath our feet, the forest floor cracks and pops with every movement. When I pull away, our heavy breaths drown out the rest of the forest and the empty campground, and my hunger has been replaced by a deeper need.
“Me, make fire. You, cook sausage,” Styx says with a grin, like a total caveman.
“You are entirely too proud of this feat.”
“Oh, I’m gonna be milking this for a while yet.” He bends down to pick up my dropped grocery items.
I throw my head back and stare at the stars winking into light. “Hazel Grace never had to contend with a caveman. She had champagne and a fancy French restaurant.”
“Who the fuck is Hazel Grace?”
I roll my eyes and sigh. “As if you don’t know.”
He winks. “I’m starving. I created fire, now make my dinner, wench woman.”
“Screw you. Cook your own damn sausage on a stick. Your fire sucks. I’m going back inside where the fire is warm.”
“Fine,” Styx relents. “I’ll cook your dinner.”
“Keep talking.”
“And make your s’mores.”
“See?” I lean in for another kiss. “Better already.”
We roast our dogs and eat s’mores until we’re sick. I sit on his lap by the fire, despite having my own chair. We drink the beer that Styx stole from his dad’s fridge, and my head gets buzzy and dizzy when our kisses turn from sweet pecks to hot and heavy and his warm hands travel my body.
“Should we go to bed?” Styx’s teeth tug gently on my earlobe.
“Uh ... yeah.”
“I’m not trying to pressure you. I don’t need sex.”
A nervous laugh bubbles up my throat. “O-kay.”
“I mean, I want sex. I really, really want sex. It’s not that I don’t want you, I just ... well, we’ve gone this long without it, right?”
I clear my throat. “Right.”
“And hey, we have two beds, so you don’t have to sleep with me.”
“You don’t want me to sleep with you?”
“Yeah, of course I want you to.” He rubs a hand over the back of his neck in a nervous gesture. “I just ... again, with the pressure.”
I smile. “You should see your face.”
“Goddamn it, Stones. You’re really busting my balls right now?”
“I want to sleep with you, both beside you and in the Pornhub sense.” I scrunch up my nose. “But ... can we just take it slow?”