Free Island Girls (and Boys) by Rachel Hawthorne Page B

cut the engine. The silence and stillness were disorienting for a second. I took off the helmet.
    Dylan twisted around slightly. �So what did you think of the ride?�
    ï¿½Totally awesome.�
    ï¿½It gets addictive. I really get claustrophobic when I ride in a car now.�
    ï¿½I hope you don�t have to drive a tank for the Army.�
    ï¿½Me, too.�
    I slid off the bike, pulled the key out of my jeans� pocket, and started up the steps. It was eerily quiet and dark around us. Using the key, I opened the door. Once we were inside, I locked it. The light from the streetlamps set around the campground poured through the windows, softly illuminating the inside of the building, along with the overheads on some ofthe appliances in the snack bar and the flickering lights of the video games.
    ï¿½We won�t be able to turn on the main lights,� I said quietly. �We�ll attract too much attention, and night owls will want in. But there�s still plenty of light to see once your eyes adjust.�
    It was very shadowy in there, but we could still see what we needed to see: mainly each other and the pool table.
    I watched Dylan walk over to the case that held the cue sticks. He took down two cue sticks, handed me one, and ambled to the pool table. �Where do we get the balls?�
    ï¿½You drop a quarter into the slot.�
    He looked over his shoulder at me. �We have to pay to play?�
    I suddenly felt a little daring as I sauntered over to the table. �Well, if you were an ordinary camper you would. But since you�ve hooked up with the unofficial assistant manager�� I jingled my keys, crouched down, unlocked the coin slot, and flipped a switch. The balls tumbled out into a tray at one end of the table.
    Pleased with the results, I straightened andgave him what I hoped was an I-am-good-at-this smile. �I�ll break.�
    Because of the shadows, I couldn�t see clearly into his eyes, but I could feel him studying me. He moved to the table and started arranging the balls in the rack. �So what are we going to play for?�
    His voice sounded low and secretive and left me wondering what game we were really here to play.
    ï¿½The joy of winning?� I asked, my confidence suddenly sliding down to my toes.
    He moved the full rack to one side, then the other, up a bit, then down, before centering it in place. �That�s no fun.�
    Very carefully, he lifted the rack, leaving the balls in place. Although we were on opposite ends of the table, I felt his gaze home in on me.
    ï¿½There has to be some element of risk to make the game interesting,� he said. �Otherwise, we�re just smacking balls around.�
    I liked smacking balls around. I�d done it a lot last summer. Still, I couldn�t help wondering what I�d gotten myself into here. �What did you have in mind?�
    ï¿½Home-baked chocolate chip cookies.�
    A bubble of laughter escaped with my relief. I was expecting him to suggest a kiss, or maybe even strip pool! Something that went with the shadows and his sultry voice.
    ï¿½Hey, don�t laugh. I didn�t expect to miss my mom�s cooking so much.�
    ï¿½But chocolate chip cookies?�
    ï¿½My weakness.�
    ï¿½I thought only girls craved chocolate.�
    ï¿½Whatever. But if I win, you bake me some chocolate chip cookies.�
    ï¿½And if I win?�
    ï¿½You bake me some oatmeal raisin cookies.�
    I laughed harder. �No way are you coming out ahead either way.�
    ï¿½Not totally ahead. If I win, I get something I really like. If I lose, I get something I sorta like.�
    ï¿½Not happening. If you win, I�ll bake you some cookies, but if I win�I get an unbroken sand dollar�one that isn�t bought at a tourist shop. You have to find it on the beach.�
    Holding his cue stick to the floor like a staff, he