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“You didn’t bother with logs on Extreme Alone,” I say.
Cam’s face brightens, and he grins at me. “You saw it?”
I grunt an affirmative. Camden’s shelter on the survival show was pretty damn impressive, if you ask me, but I’m not gonna spout off about it. He doesn’t need a bigger head from me.
Brooklyn cocks her head, looking curious. “What was it like?”
“Well, it was definitely an experience,” he answers, downplaying it. He looks almost embarrassed to talk about it, which makes me roll my eyes.
He ducks his head, but I see his cheeks turn red. Holy shit, he’s blushing. “I only did it for fun,” he says.
“Enough with the modesty,” I say. “This guy beat out 15 survivalists in the middle of winter in Alaska. Blizzards, sub-zero temps. They were competing with wolves for prey. Cam outlasted ’em all and got five hundred thousand as the prize.”
“That’s amazing!” Brooklyn beams at him, and she looks so gorgeous it’s like goddamn sunshine. I should be jealous of the way she’s looking at him. Surprisingly, I’m not. Most guys who achieved what Camden did would brag about it all the time and generally be insufferable. Hell, I’d be using it to get free drinks on the rare occasion I go out to the bar. He deserves a little attention for it, and I don’t mind teeing him up to get some.
“Yeah, well, I didn’t realize Memphis was such an Extreme Alone superfan,” Camden ribs me. “Did you even come here for the money? Or was this just some excuse to get close to your idol?”
I shrug. “It’s a good show. Sue me. Besides, there’s not a lot to do at night at my place. Extreme Alone marathons beat regrouting the bathroom tile in terms of entertainment value.”
“Where is your place?” Brooklyn asks.
“Outside Memphis,” I tell her and she gives me a lifted brow. It was Denver’s idea for us all to go by our city names and I think Brooklyn here just caught on, but she doesn’t ask about it, just seems to file the information away for later scrutiny. Not for the first time, I wonder what it might be like to hear my real name from her lips. Preferably while my cock is buried eight inches deep in her slick pussy.
I clear my throat, shaking the imagery from my mind, and swallow. “I, uh, got some land and a house out there, actually. It’s pretty rural.”
Too far from society for most women. How would Brooklyn feel about it?
I try to picture her in my home. There’s plenty of room—four bedrooms, a good sized kitchen and living room. I’ve got a big family, even if I don’t see them much. My oldest brother convinced me I could use the guest rooms for the nieces and nephews. So far, I’ve been able to hold off my growing army of siblings and kids, but there’s been some talk about doing Thanksgiving at my place this year. I’m already exhausted from just anticipating all the noise.
Hands down, the best part of my house is the wraparound porch. There’s not much light pollution out there, so you can sit on the porch with a beer and stargaze. I imagine sitting in a rocking chair, Brooklyn in my lap, a blanket over us both. Just sitting and staring at the sky.
I shake my head. It’s too soon to start picturing her in my space, my life. I have no idea if she even likes me, or just tolerated me during the worst of her heat.
“What about you, Sunshine? You must be excited to be going home?”
All the blood seems to drain from her face. My muscles tense, ready to catch her, because she looks like she’s about to collapse. Even at the depths of her heat, she didn’t look this unwell.
I watch her carefully. I didn’t want to bait her, but I’ve sensed that something is off about this whole mission from the start and I need her to confirm it. It’s the only way I might be able to do anything to help her.
“I’ll be glad to be home,” she says. Her tone is flat, like she’s reading words off a page.
Camden and I exchange looks. Clearly, he thinks this is just as weird as I do.
“Your dad looked in good shape when I met him,” Cam offers. “You excited to see him?”
“I love Papa. I know he’s been looking hard for me.”
The same robotic tone. She doesn’t ask any follow-up questions. Maybe she and her father aren’t that close, but I sense there’s something else going on.
“We met Grayson, too,” I say, as casually as I can.
Brooklyn doesn’t waver. “He’s still living at home, then. Is…is he doing well, too?”
That’s it. I’m convinced—something’s happening with her family that we don’t know about. If she wanted to get home, she knows these woods well enough that she could have done it.
Camden takes her elbow in his hand, turning her to look at him. “What’s wrong?” he asks, voice low so Denver can’t hear us.
She blinks those big eyes, and for a second I think she might actually tell him. Instead, she shakes him off, her expression shuttered again.
