Free The Player's Club: Scott by Cathy Yardley Page B

stroked her cheek. “What?”
    “I just had to tell you I’m sorry,” she admitted through clenched teeth. “It was wrong of me to blackmail you. It’s…it’s not me.”
    He stared at her, silent.
    “I was just so… I just wanted this adventure,” she said. “But it’s not worth it.”
    Maybe it was a trick of the light, but he seemed to be smiling. “Thanks for that.”
    “Okay.” Feeling like an idiot, she started to turn, to leave.
    “Anything else?” he asked softly.
    She let out a choppy laugh.
    “And I hate frickin’ camping,” she bit out. “I’m starving, I couldn’t get my tarp up, the ground’s really hard, and I’d kill to be in a hotel.”
    He burst out laughing, a clear, ringing sound that echoed through the night sky.
    “Aww, honey,” he said, bundling her into his arms for a hug. She hugged back, hard. Then he leaned down and kissed her. She kissed him, hard and long.
    Then she pulled away, gasping, staring at him.
    “What?”
    “You taste like chocolate!”
    He looked guilty, then sly. “I could share.”
    “You’d better!”
    He led her to his sleeping bag, next to his backpack. “What’ll I get in exchange?” he said. “Out here, chocolate’s as precious as gold.”
    She smiled back. “What do you want?”
    He opened the sleeping bag. “It’s an extra-wide.”
    It would still be snug, she realized. Too hot. Then she saw the heat in his eyes and realized that perhaps that wouldn’t be a problem.
    “Only if you’re sure,” she demurred, but felt her lips curving into a smirk.
    “It’s for survival,” he said with mock solemnity, and she giggled.
    “I’m trading my virtue for a chocolate bar,” she muttered, unable to keep the smile out of her voice.
    “Bar, nothing.” He produced a gold-foil-wrapped truffle. “San Francisco’s finest.”
    She read the label on the foil.
    CandyLove.
    It was one of hers. That is, it was from her shop.
    And it was her favorite.
    She stared for a long moment, and he cleared his throat.
    “You okay?”
    “Holy crap,” she murmured, holding the truffle. “I’ve had a vision.”
     
     
    WELL, THINGS ARE DEFINITELY looking up.
    Scott had been lying on top of his sleeping bag, sweating his ass off, wondering what in the world he’d been thinking when he decided that he wanted to do this before he died. Somehow, the thought of a vision quest sounded more mystical and life-changing when he’d thought about it in the abstract, or saw movies about Native Americans who did it.
    So far, it was just sleeping on a rock and subsisting only on chocolate he’d packed on a whim.
    Then he’d heard noises. What the hell lived out in the desert, anyway? Burros, he was pretty sure, but that wasn’t really loud enough to be a burro. So what, then? Some kind of wildcat?
    If this is bad, what the heck are the bulls going to be like?
    Then Amanda had trudged up, looking hot and cute and grim at the same time. Her white-blond hair was pulled up in a high ponytail and she had a smudge of dirt on her high cheekbone. She looked like a cross between a Valkyrie and an Indian princess.
    He suddenly wanted nothing more than to touch her. Especially after her confession and apology. She actually seemed to believe that he loved “roughing it,” that this barren, burning piece of earth was a slice of heaven for him.
    Of course, she was now snuggled in his sleeping bag, so he wasn’t going to argue with her.
    She sighed as she slowly chewed the chocolate he’d given her, her eyes closed. She looked dreamy, a smile blooming on her face. “God, this is marvelous,” she said, nuzzling against his chest. “You are a lifesaver.”
    “Cooling off?”
    She stretched out on top of the bag. “Getting better.”
    He cleared his throat. “You know, the best way to cool down is to expose as much of your body as possible, I think.”
    She opened one eye, peering at him with amused skepticism. “That so?”
    “Scout’s honor.” He crossed his chest with