Two Bar Mitzvahs (5 page)

She shook her head. “I don’t know her at all, so it’s hard for me to give you advice about it.”

“For the last hour, since I left the coffeehouse, I’ve been doing my best to see the good in her. She made the difficult attempt at contacting me and putting herself out there. I figure I could at least acknowledge that maybe she’s changed, or is at least trying to be better.”

Hannah blew out a hard breath, setting her mug back in the cup holder. “You’re a bigger person than I am. If my ex approached me, giving me excuses for why he betrayed me that made me question my ability to trust in myself and others, I’m not sure I’d be able to forgive him.”

I gave out a dry laugh. “I’m not sure I’m able to forgive her. Sure as fuck won’t forget what she did.”

Silence stretched between us for the next mile. I glanced at her. “You okay?”

She gave me a nod, then shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not sure if I like the idea of you and her being around each other. You were intimate with her. Wanted to marry her.”

That was the struggle inside my head too. When Madison had dumped me, I couldn’t sort out how a woman I thought I was in love with could be so cruel. Then after two years of being emotionally numb, I met Hannah, and none of it mattered. But the Madison I’d meet for coffee sent my emotions and mind back into a tailspin, and I didn’t know what to think about her.

I clasped my hand with Hannah’s, then brought our hands to my mouth and kissed her knuckles. “Don’t worry. I haven’t decided if I want any contact with her. Giving her the benefit of the doubt doesn’t mean we have to be friends, or that I want that even if we could.”

She squeezed my hand. “Okay, good. Just…please be careful. Women can be manipulative. What if she decides she wants you back? I’ve just gotten you. I’d like to keep you.”

Madison had said she wanted things “better” between us. Then she’d said, “maybe even great” with a hopeful tone. In retrospect, hidden meaning had likely been layered beneath her innocent words. But I wasn’t about to tell Hannah that and worry her. And none of it mattered, anyway. “Not gonna happen, Maestro. You have me. And I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good.”

“Now no more talk about exes. Or the real world. We’re camping. The only topics allowed are wilderness and all things related to roughin’ it.”

I pounded the last stake into the ground with the end of the folding shovel, satisfied that if gale-force winds decided to wipe Mase’s flimsy tent off the face of the earth, Hannah and I would have a fighting chance. Gray clouds hung in the sky to the west, but enormous pines ringing the campsite stretched toward a clear darkening sky above us. I stared up, hoping the stars would be as brilliant out here as I’d heard.

“Are you done with the macho He-Man stuff yet? You’re missing it!” she called out from behind me.

“Coming.” I chuckled to myself. Well, no one was coming yet. But soon. And often. I dusted my hands off, heading toward the crackling fire we’d started twenty minutes ago.

The moment I caught sight of her, I stopped. She took my breath away.

I watched her as she sat on a log bench crafted either by the campground hosts or some former guest who’d wanted a better place to park their ass than a nearby rock or boulder. Her hair was bound up in a high ponytail, the ends of which she didn’t quite pull through, leaving spiky pieces poking in every direction.

Two barbeque forks were perched through her arms, the long wooden handles tucked at her sides, their two-foot shafts extended along her forearms and cradled in her upturned hands. Stuck onto the prongs of the one on the left were two hot dogs, well-done to the point of almost burnt. On the right, two pierced marshmallows, held further away from the flames. Her brows were drawn together in concentration. The glow from the fire cast alternating light and shadow over her face.

When I took another step, a twig snapped, and she glanced up. A carefree smile lit up her face, and in that instant, I knew we’d made a wise decision to ditch everything for a couple of days to hang out together.

My gaze dropped to the charred science experiment in progress. “What exactly am I missing?”

“Setting them on fire!” She handed me the double marshmallow fork. The hot dogs also got a reprieve from their barbeque torture when she balanced their spit on the other end of the log bench.

She patted the flat section of wood beside her, and I took a cautious seat, worried about her unadulterated excitement near open flame. She dug her hand into the plastic marshmallow bag and speared two more fluffy white victims onto the end of a fresh fork. “When I was a kid, Granpop roasted marshmallows with me. His health didn’t allow him to take me camping, so we sat in the kitchen and held them over the gas burners on the stove.”

My marshmallows were lightly toasted on both sides, so I held mine back and watched her balance the long fork into the cradle of her arm again. “And you like to set them on fire?”

The multitasking chef extraordinaire grabbed the fork from the other end of the bench and took a large bite off one of the blackened hot dogs, then passed it to me while she chewed. “I did it accidentally the first time. Watched the entire thing as it was engulfed in orange flame. Beautiful, really.”

Tearing a gaze away from the questionable hot dogs to glance at her, I snorted. “Pyro.”

Ignoring my harassment, she smiled, staring into the flames. “You have to time it just right. Blow it out before it loses shape. C’mon, it’s fun. Stick yours in by mine.”

Not opposed to sticking anything in by her, I did as she asked, holding my marshmallows next to hers, which had begun to brown like mine.

She stared at the hot dogs I held, then glanced at me, arching a brow. “They won’t bite back.”

“Yeah, ’cause you killed ’em.”

Her shoulders shook with silent laughter. “Try it.”

Throwing caution to the wind, I took a bite of the burnt-to-a-crisp meat, figuring she cooked for me most nights and hadn’t killed me yet. The initial crunch was alarming but not entirely repulsive. The tough consistency was…interesting.

I chewed. I swallowed. Then I handed the fork back to her. “I’m good.”

Laughing, she nudged my shoulder. “Aw, it couldn’t have been all that bad.”

“You singed the fat right out of it. That’s where the taste is. I’m shocked at you, Maestro. Who are you, and what have you done with Hannah?”

“She’s gone camping!” She grinned.

I bent down, kissing her temple. “Have I told you lately that I love you?”

She leaned into me, humming her approval. “No. And I’ll never tire of hearing it.”

When silence followed, I arched my brows. “Do you love me a little too?”

“Nope.” She shook her head slowly and looked at me. “I love you immensely.”

I grinned, satisfied and happy as fuck we were alone—with only the two of us on our minds—to discover things like Hannah’s hidden food-pyro tendencies. With a content sigh, I stared at our toasting marshmallows. “So now what? Do we plunge our forks into the flames in a virgin marshmallow sacrifice ritual?”

Her eyes gleamed. “Nope. We edge them closer, holding them into the heat and away from the flames. The key is to get them to their smoke point and then watch them burst into flames.”

I huffed out a laugh, shaking my head. “Woman, you never cease to fascinate me.”

And so, safe in our campsite in the middle of the Pocono Mountains, beside the only person in the world I wanted to be with, we watched our poor innocent marshmallows give up tendrils of smoke in surrender right before they burst into flames.

The orange glow consumed the entire surface for a few seconds before Hannah leaned forward. “Now! Blow it out.”

Thoroughly intrigued, I did as commanded, resulting in two blackened crisps on the ends of my fork. She continued to blow on hers, and I did the same, but my gaze was locked onto those luscious lips as they puckered with a little hole in the center.

My dick twitched at the incredible image, my mind helplessly guttering. Yeah, I imagined sliding serious wood in there before the night was over. (I’m a guy; we go there. Not gonna feel guilty about it.)

Her fingertips tapped the crisp surface to test its heat. Nodding, she pulled the burnt blob off the end and popped it into her mouth. She moaned as her eyes rolled back.

I sighed, glancing at my unappetizing mess, then back at her. “That good, huh?”

She nodded, moving her jaw around as she mashed it in her closed mouth.

I took a fortifying breath. “Okay, here goes nothing.” I plucked one torched lump off of my fork and tossed it whole into my mouth. I lifted my brows, enjoying the surprising flavor before swallowing. It was good in an odd way. “Not bad.
Much
better than burnt hot dog.”

Her easy laugh rang out. “There’s something about the burnt part that makes all that sickeningly sweet palatable. It’s the only way I’ll ever eat a marshmallow. Totally hate Peeps.” She scrunched her nose and pulled her head back, shaking it.

I snorted. “Got it. No Peeps in the Easter basket.”

Our camping had been intended as something fun and intimate, which it was. But I’d never expected all the little things I’d learn about her.

She leaned over to the cooler and flipped up the lid. “Want a beer?”

“Absolutely. Beer goes with everything. Even burnt marshmallow.”

She handed me two Fat Tires and a bottle opener.

I glanced beyond her at the grocery bag sitting next to the cooler. “What else you got there?” I popped the last ash-covered marshmallow into my mouth.

Crinkling followed as she leaned over, digging in the bag, then pulled out a package of Double Stuf Oreos.

I raised my arms out. “Of course. We’re hitting all the major junk food groups.”

She held up the sad excuse for hot dogs. “Protein.”

I pointed at her remaining marshmallow. “Fruit.”

Tilting her head, she stared at it. “It’s a root that grows in the ground. We’ll allow it.”

“Carb.” I nodded to the Oreos.

She snorted. “‘Carb’ is not a food group. We can call Oreos a grain.” She paused. “And veggie. We got it covered.”

I coughed. “Wait. What’s the veggie?”

“Your beer.”

I shook my head. “It’s made with hops, Maestro.
That’s
a grain.”

She scowled. “Close enough.”

After a minute of staring into the flames, she leaned far back. “Damn. That fire’s getting hot. It’s gonna melt the soles of my tennis shoes.”

It
was
getting hot. I leaned back too. Her sudden movement caught my eye, and I blinked as Hannah tugged her shirt over her head. “What are you doing?”

Turning my way, she stood, a wicked smile curving her lips as she took careful steps backward. “I’m getting undressed. What does it look like I’m doing?” She pulled the hair tie from her head, sending the ends of her hair down to just above her black-lace-covered breasts.

“Shit!” I jumped up from the log but stood there, unmoving, torn between stalking her down and putting out the blaze we’d created with plenty of firewood. Protective instincts won out (which I hoped to be thoroughly rewarded for), and I rushed over to the small folding shovel, then scooped dirt onto the fire.

“Be right there.” I glanced over my shoulder right as something lacy flew out of the tent opening. My nostrils flared as I imagined all the skin being bared in my absence. “Feel free to start without me.”

“Oh, I am…”

I shoveled faster, images of Hannah naked in the wilderness, pleasuring herself, motivating me. I didn’t know where the hell the water was, so I dumped the rest of my beer over it to completely douse the flames. At the last second, I grabbed the groceries, threw them into the cooler, and stowed it all into the Jeep.

Charging toward the tent entrance, I tore my shirt over my head, unbuckled my belt, and ripped open the button fly of my jeans. In the darkness, with only a partial moon lighting the night, I barely made out her shape lying on the sleeping bag.

Her legs were spread wide, her lustful gaze tracking me. Dark waves of hair tumbled down her shoulder, curled ends brushing above her peaked nipples.

Fuck.

I swallowed hard as I stepped into the tent, chest heaving as I watched her drag lazy fingers between her breasts.

Perfection.

Mine.

Hours. For what seemed like hours, I buried myself into everything Hannah offered me—her talented mouth, her welcoming body. And the more she gave, the more I wanted.

By the time she’d hit multiple orgasms and I’d had my first, we collapsed onto the sleeping bag, panting, covered in sweat. She exhaled, blowing out a hard breath from between pursed lips. “Wow.”

“Exactly.”

Nestling into my side, she draped a hand over my chest. “I love camping.”

“Best camping trip ever.”

A lazy silence followed as our breaths slowed. She threaded her fingers into mine, a perfect calmness surrounding us. “Do you ever wonder what they thought of us?”

Confused, I tipped my head toward her in the darkness. “Who?”