Page 13 of Wild Skies

“Greg,” I hiss, elbowing the body behind me in the ribs. The professor lets out a sleepy grunt, then tugs me closer and starts to kiss my throat. It feels so good, so natural, but that’s no consolation when panic is rising in me like floodwater. I elbow him again. “Greg.Wake up.”

It’s funny: I canfeelreality set in. Can feel the man behind me realize where we are and what we’ve done: that we’ve accidentally fallen asleep together in his tent while the other students are nearby. The professor goes from relaxed to rigid inthe space of a few seconds, his arm around my waist turning wooden.

“Maybe they’re still asleep,” I whisper.

His strained breaths puff against my ear.

“Unzip the tent,” I urge him, my own stomach curdling with nerves now. “Poke your head out and check if the coast is clear.”

Maybe this doesn’t need to be a big deal. Maybe I won’t cost this incredible man his career.

God, how could we be so careless? How couldIbe so dumb as to sneak into his tent in the first place? It seemed like such a good idea last night, when the fire was crackling and everyone’s spirits were high. Last night, it was like we all lived in a different world. A different reality.

But this morning, the harsh light of day is building outside the tent, and there’s no escaping this: I’ve put everything at risk. Greg hasn’t even said a word to me yet, just gone rigid with horror, and I don’t blame him.

Last night, this man kissed me forhours,wrapping me in his arms like he’d never found anything so precious before. He groaned and sighed and rocked against me with frustrated hunger, but refused to go any further. Protecting me from that stupid half-a-beer.

Now there are deep shadows under his eyes as he sits up, and his normally perfect hair is all ruffled. The professor casts one dread-filled glance in my direction, then tugs the tent zipper up slowly. I hold my breath as he peels back the tent flap and peers out.

For a moment, there’s no reaction. His shoulders are tense and bunched up, still clad in the plaid shirt he wore last night, and his jaw is tight.

Then navy eyes flick in my direction, and the professor gives a terse nod.

“Quickly,” he says, voice low.

My limbs have never scrambled into action so fast. I’m clumsy as a newborn calf, kicking over a battery-powered lantern and a water bottle in my hurry to exit the tent. Greg doesn’t touch me as I launch past him out into the clearing; he just holds the tent door open for me in strained silence.

Out in the cool morning air, the other tents are quiet and still. Well—mostly. Someone is snoring like a chainsaw, the sound blending strangely peacefully with the birdsong, while voices drift toward the campsite from the direction of the showers.

Legs trembling, I lurch away from the professor’s tent to stand in a less incriminating spot. The zipper scratches closed behind me.

“Hey,” Rex calls when he steps through the trees, his wild hair damp but not tamed at all by a shower. There’s a towel slung over his shoulder, and beside him, Tommy’s scrubbing at his own damp head and grinning at me around the fabric. They both look bright and clean, way too lively for two guys who drank practically a whole crate of beer between them last night. “Maren! M-Dog.”

I smile weakly and wave. There’s no good reason for me to be standing in the middle of camp, hair mussed and still in my clothes from last night, but either these guys don’t notice that fact or they’re too cool to care.

“Ready to head home?” Tommy asks, flipping his own towel over his shoulder. He grins at me suggestively, but there’s no harm in it. Honestly, if I weren’t so head-over-heels for our professor, I might feel a tiny flutter of pleasure at Tommy’s attention, but as it is, I really have been ruined for all other men.

“Yup,” I rasp. Sunrise is really breaking now, with golden rays of light spearing through the trees. It’s so beautiful on this mountainside that my chest aches with longing, and it’s crazy, but part of me wants the impossible. The ridiculous.

I want to stay a while longer. With Greg.

“First thing I’m gonna do when we’re back on campus?” Rex says, strolling past toward his tent. The flap sags open, and his belongings spill out onto the ground in a messy wave. “Get a family size pizza. Double pepperoni with mushroom.”

My stomach growls in approval and Tommy snorts and nudges me as he walks past.

“Atta girl. Let me know if you’re ever hungry for something else, Maren.”

I press my lips together and force a smile.

The professor’s tent behind me is deadly silent.

I linger for another minute once the boys are back at their own tents, pretending to watch the birds rustling around in the treetops, but Greg doesn’t come out. He clearly doesn’t want to risk it; doesn’t want to be seen with me so early in the morning. Or maybe he’s had enough of me for one day, after kissing me into a breathless muddle all night and finding me still there in his tent come morning, an unwelcome guest. Or hell, maybe he’s fallen back to sleep, unbothered and oblivious.

And I know it’s smart and reasonable to keep his distance, but my stomach still sinks as I finally trudge to my own tent to start packing. It’s lonely as I crouch down and tug open my own zipper, the morning breeze cool on my cheeks.

Sneaking around was fun last night. Hushing each other and laughing softly; stifling our desperate sounds. Rolling around in that small space on the professor’s sleeping bag, limbs entwined and hearts pounding. It was like something from one of my daydreams. Honestly, I still can’t believe he wants me back.

But in the harsh light of morning, as I stuff wrinkled clothes into my backpack… it doesn’t feel great being someone’s dirty little secret.

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