Page 27 of Not So Happily Ever After (British Bad Boys)
“The pods are farther on.” I nod in the direction of the lake which borders the edge of our campsite. “They were only installed this past spring. Mainly for couples who’d rather glamp than camp, although they cater for kids, as well.”
“Huh.” She shields her eyes from the sun and gazes at the imposing mountains in the distance. “It’s a lot of infrastructure. I wonder if it’s profitable.”
I hide a grim smile. That was always my parents’ concern when I used to talk about doing this after Uni. Although, as long as we don’t go under and are pulling ourselves out of the red,profitableandsuccessare subjective. “It will be. This was never going to be a get rich quick scheme.”
“You know a lot about it.” She bumps my arm, and I nearly drop her bloody bag. Was that an accidental bump? Didn’t seem like it.
“Yeah. I’m great at constructing business plans.”
The path slopes down into the valley, and after a few minutes, the pods come into view. Nestled among the trees and a stone’s throw from the lake, each one has a fair degree of privacy from its neighbors.
“Number Four’s at the far end.” We walk along the stony edge of the lake, and she appears fascinated by the pods.
“They’re so adorable. Like little hobbit homes.”
“They’re a lot more basic inside,” I warn her as we reach the vacant one and I unlock the glass-paneled door. Despite my best intentions, my glance falls on the double sofa bed against the wood-paneled wall, and flash memories of tangled sheets and one forbidden night crash through me.
Not going there.
Shut the fuck up.
Chapter Eight
Mackenzie
Will wasn’t joking when he said the accommodation was basic. There’re bunks on one side, and what I guess is a sofa bed on the other, and the walls curve up to the ceiling. Cozy for a couple, but I can’t imagine squeezing a whole family in here.
And we’re sharing this tiny space for the whole weekend.
My stomach churns, and I don’t know if it’s through nerves or excitement. No way did I think we were going to share our sleeping arrangements. Not that it changes anything. He’s not the kind of guy who’d try and make a girl feel awkward.
Despite our Monday night kiss, he hasn’t touched me since, not even by accident. He’s obviously one hundred percent committed to keeping everything platonic between us.
That’s good. After all, I’m committed, too. But it doesn’t stop the wistful regret squeezing my chest.Stop right there.I have to get over my infuriating obsession with him. It’s an effort, but I manage to sling him a careless grin. “I stand by my adorable hobbit home comment.”
He grunts, puts my bag on the sofa, and takes his from me. “I brought some provisions.”
“Okay.” He dumps his bag on the tiny workbench next to the sink at the far end of the pod. A fun idea hits me from out of the blue. “Did you bring marshmallows? We can toast them on the fire pit tonight.” I’ve never done anything like that before, but how cool would it be to sit under the stars together, huddled next to our very own fire pit?
“No, I didn’t.” He sounds as though I’m mocking him, and my grin slides off my face. “Just tea and coffee.” He pulls the boxes from his bag. “There’s a village not far from here. The pub does great food. Thought we could eat there, save having to cook.”
“You can show me your mad skills when it comes to the kitchen. I’ll buy, you cook.” Could I sound any more desperate to spend time with him?
He leans his back against the sink and gives me a slow, sexy, smile. A thousand butterflies collide low in my stomach, sending spirals of need between my thighs. I really need to work on not melting under the lethal heat of his gaze. “Hard-boiled eggs and cold beans?”
I give a fake shudder in the hope it hides my stupid grin. “No way. You can barbecue something.” I’m guessing that’d be easier than using the tiny two-burner stove behind him.
“Okay. Tomorrow night I’ll rock your world.”
His comment hangs between us, like a molten promise sliding over my skin. The limited oxygen in the compact space heats up to combustible levels, and it’s getting harder to breathe without panting.He’s just flirting.He wasn’t being literal. Friends flirt all the time. But because we’re working on the whole platonic side of things, I squash my natural response to give him a teasing comeback.
Then he blinks, as though he’s only just got the double entendre and can’t believe it slipped out.
I keep a fixed smile on my face, as a hot wave of mortification sweeps through me.It’s only awkward inside my head.Stay cool, and with a bit of luck, he won’t guess where my mind descended. What a relief I didn’t say anything out loud. Although, since when has he evernotgot the dirty double meaning of anything before it leaves his mouth?
“Right.” He grabs his bag and squeezes by me, as though if we accidentally touch the whole place will go up in flames. “I’ll leave you to sort yourself out. I’ll come back in half an hour, give you a tour?”
It’s a question, but what the hell is he talking about? “Where’re you going?”
