Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 9

with a splat. At least it was Thursday and tomorrow I could get home and clean everything properly—myself included. How I was going to endure another couple of weeks of Logan and his piss-poor attitude was something I didn't want to dwell on.
    That evening, our last in camp until the following week, we had a cookout. We grilled some burgers and followed that up by toasting marshmallows over the campfire. I love toasting marshmallows. In one way it seems so childish, but I don't believe you should ever grow out of enjoying the sticky, sweet goo that strings between your fingers and lips.
    There's also something incredibly timeless and romantic about a campfire; the crackling embers that bathe everything in a soft, glowing light, shadows dancing across faces.
    I sat on a log and twisted my stick around like an expert, careful not to let the marshmallow melt too much on one side. I tested the temperature of it with my tongue before sliding the outer layer off with my teeth. Damn, it was delicious. I sucked the sticky center off of my stick and glanced across the campfire to see Logan watching me. Predictably, he had a girl sitting between his legs, his arms draped around her shoulders as she held a stick into the fire on the side opposite from me.
    I held Logan's gaze as I finished my marshmallow. We hadn't spoken since the mud fight earlier and I was more than happy to keep it that way. Besides, Logan was far more bearable when he kept his mouth shut. Dressed in faded jeans and a dark t-shirt, his blond hair hanging loose to his shoulders, he looked good. Very good. I had no doubt he knew it, too.
    Maybe it was the slightly magical situation we were in, or maybe it was just the beer, but I found myself wanting to toy with him. I skewered another marshmallow, cooked it and then ate it with as much deliberate sensuality as I could. I wrapped my tongue around the stick, slowly sucking the marshmallow off into my mouth. I licked my fingers clean, all the while keeping my gaze fixed on Logan. His face was like stone and I don't think he blinked once. I reached down to grab another marshmallow to toast and out of the corner of my eye I saw Logan quietly excuse himself and stalk away from the campfire, hands jammed into his pockets.
    I ate a little more and drank way more beer than I probably should have, but the object of my entertainment sadly didn't reappear. The alcohol gave me a restless buzz and I felt bored with the mundane conversations around me. I decided to call it a night and headed back towards my tent.
    I wound my way carefully through the dark trees, trying not to trip over any fallen branches in my somewhat inebriated state. I had almost made it back to the main campsite when my foot landed in a shallow hole and I wobbled dangerously. "Shit," I cursed loudly, then started to giggle at my own stupidity. I flailed and grabbed onto the nearest tree to avoid doing a face-plant onto the stony ground.
    I was so consumed with trying to keep upright that I failed to notice a tall, dark shadow closing in behind me.
    "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Logan growled into my ear.
    Oh crap. I tried to swing around but my body didn't obey my brain. "Uh… going to bed?" I turned my head to look at him, but he leaned into my back, pushing me closer to the tree, one arm resting next to my head.
    "No. Don't look at me," he said in a low voice.
    "Why not?" I tried to duck under his arm but he pinned me against the tree. "Get off me, you dick," I said angrily.
    Logan ignored me and leaned closer. "Why were you doing that?"
    "Doing what?" I tried to wriggle away from him but just found that I was scratching my face against the tree trunk. I gave up trying to free myself and played along, hoping Logan would eventually get bored and wander off again.
    "Back there." I could picture Logan jerking his head in the direction of the fire.
    "What do you mean?" I said innocently.
    "That thing you were doing. What was all that about?"
    "What was what about?"
    Logan shifted his weight away from my back and for a moment I feared he was going to punch me, trip me, or shove me to the ground. Instead, he grabbed my arm and whipped me around so that I faced him. My eyes roamed his face. His chest was heaving, and he looked angry, sure, but his hazel eyes also glittered with something else. Frustration? Desperation?
    "You know what I mean," he bit out.
    "Not really," I said. "Can I go now?"
    Logan seemed unaware that he still held onto