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“I’m an adult,” I reminded him.

“So?”

“So adults are perpetually angry.”

Trevor looked towards the cabin, where Mason had just appeared in the window holding one of Darius’s shirts triumphantly above his head. Then he looked at me and my grin, and I sighed.

“Fine. Maybe a teensy bit.”

Trevor smiled. Little shit.

I sat on the picnic table across from him. The porch was visible from there and so were the blankets and shit Darius hadn’t bothered putting away. Bright-blue sheets he yanked off the bed in his haste were wadded on the step. A tiny cotton monument to what an asshole he was.

I looked away, unable to handle the jabbing emotions. Last night, I’d gone inside expecting to just be at peace with each other. I didn’t want to bunk with the dickbag any more than he wanted to bunk with me. Obviously.

I didn’t give a shit where Darius D’Angelo slept. He could sleep upside down in a fucking cave for all I cared. But there were two beds. Two. One for him. One for me. We were fucking adults. He needed to act like it.

We’d spent nearly every summer of our childhood sleeping six feet apart in shitty camp bunks, but apparently sharing a cabin with me now was where the constipated fucker finally drew the line. He’d grabbed his bag and those stupid sheets and stormed outside.

Hope the bugs ate his ass all night.

He didn’t even look at me from the window. Wouldn’t catch my gaze once. Just happy as a fucking clam with his wooden porch.

Classic fucking Darius. He’d always been good at making rejection look reasonable, hadn’t he?

“What did he do?” Trevor’s voice dragged me back, and I glanced at him.

“Who?”

He gave me a knowing look. Apparently quiet children saved all their personality specifically for judgment. “Mr. D’Angelo. What did he do to make you so angry, Mr. Carter?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re throwing his clothes in a lake for nothing?”

“Allegedly.”

Trevor looked towards the cabin again when Mason came sprinting out holding a pair of jeans. “Jackpot!” Mason grinned.

“Excellent work!” I yelled, clapping excitedly while jumping up and down. Trevor raised an eyebrow, and I lowered my voice. “Fine. He was a royal, grade-A douche nozzle.”

“Last night?”

My jaw tightened. “Historically, but last night more so.”

That made Trevor laugh, and I smiled despite myself.

“What happened, though?”

“Nothing.” And that was exactly the fucking problem. I leaned back on my hands. “He ignored my olive branch by firmly chainsawing it to the fucking root.”

“Why’d he do that?” Trevor continued. Children were so tedious with the whys.

“Excellent question.”

“You didn’t ask?”

“Absolutely not.”