Since Sammy is coming along on our guys' trip this year, we won't be camping; we'll be glamping, cabin and all.

I'm fuming.

But when Rudy pulls into the station where Bret and I've been waiting after our shift and only greets me, my heart legit somersaults and I forget all about my woes. I know it's probably just because he sees Bret all the time, but I tell myself: you're the only one he sees; he looks forward to seeing you more than his own son.

We pile into Rudy's Ford F-250, and he promptly turns on the oldies. He's particularly fond of Kenny Loggins' Playing with the Boys, and other eighties classics. Bret is clearly suffering, but I find absolutely everything about Rudy attractive just by virtue of it being him, so I sing along.

When I'm not doing that, I'm writing. As someone with a depressed, absentee mother, a dead father, and an impossible, taboo crush on a married man twenty years his senior, I came to understand very early on the importance of finding an escape hatch from reality. Whiling away the hours in a book is how I survived life.

"How's the story going?" Bret intrudes on my thoughts.

"Downhill, and that's a good thing."

"Mm?" Bret quirks a brow. "You always intrigue me."

"I'm writing morally ambiguous characters into a grey world. There won't even be a happy ending - at least, not what the reader's expecting." The reality of my struggles with this unrequited love taught me early on how unrealistic many stories are.

Bret nods once.

"I respect that."

I haven't let him read it yet, because I'm too afraid he'll notice the parallels. The story is a thinly-veiled chronicle of my relationship with Rudy to date.

When I'm not writing, I'm admiring the scenic route. Gorgeous vines climb the tall rock formations that flank each side of the road, and fields of lush, verdant grass stretch luxuriously in the brilliant sunlight, dotted by farms and other buildings. As the countryside gives way to more urban scenery, boating houses and small waterside stores come into view. Tourists mill around carrying shopping bags, enjoying enormous ice cream cones and snapping pictures by waterfalls and flower gardens.

So that Rudy doesn't get tired, I keep him talking by varied means, such as casually mentioning that I like beans in my chilli. I troll him pretty regularly. And Rudy, being a Texan through and through, takes the bait every time, launching into an explanation of how that makes it soup, not chilli.

We alternate so each driver gets one leg of the trip.

Thanks to Sammy, there wasn't enough room in the trunk of the car for all of our luggage, so it spilled over onto the backseat. When it's Sammy driving, Bret and I are squashed together so Bret can manspread like the absolute scum he is. When Bret is driving, I'm crammed in the back trying to sleep with Sammy occasionally tossing her immaculate platinum blond hair over her shoulders and whacking me in the face repeatedly. I spend those hours of the ride with my nose pressed up against the window. This allows me to admire every too-green leaf and crystal-clear lake. A cerulean sky, pure and spotless, shines against a horizon of verdant forest, which I recognize as the forest.

As we near the soaring trees, we follow a winding trail with beautiful multicolored flowers dotting the shrubbery at the side of the path. Further into the woods, cozy-looking summer cottages come into view. Some are still locked up, others have men barbecuing in the yards, women sprawled on deck chairs and children frolicking about, swinging from tire swings and kicking inflatable soccer balls.

We eventually come upon our rental. Pink potted flowers contrast beautifully with the dark wood of the cabin, and the deck is covered by a pastel-yellow sun canopy. There's a volleyball net and a wooden board attached by two ropes to an overhanging tree bough to swing from.

Everyone bursts from the car with agonized groans of discomfort. Pretty soon, fishing gear, suitcases, towels and containers of food litter the small, square patio table, and the screen door bangs as people mill in and out, unloading luggage.

Bret picks up a small rock and throws it at me. It bounces off my shoulder, making me whirl around and flip him off in annoyance.

Stepping over a pile of fishing rods, I enter the cool, shady cabin. The interior smells musty and unused, and the floorboards creak under my feet. Opposite the doorway, three steps lead to the slightly elevated kitchen, beyond which lays a small bathroom. On my left is a long hallway with doors opening off on both sides. On my right, two entire walls are made of glass, splendidly portraying the beautiful forested scenery. The bare walls are painted a light beige and white lace curtains shift slightly in the breeze coming in from one small window.

Sammy and I each claim a room, and Bret hesitates awkwardly in the middle of the hallway.

Eventually, he picks Sammy.

"Sorry, Evan..."

"Are you kidding?" I scoff. "I'm glad for a break from your morning breath and midnight farts."

Putting my suitcase down in my room, I decide to unpack later.

The first item on today's agenda is a swim in the lake. It's always so refreshing after a long car ride.

The feral cries of people diving into the lake fill the warm air, accompanied by mammoth splashes and animated conversation drifting in from the water. The shoreline is flat and peaceful, a balmy wind pushing it playfully against the sand. As I stand at the edge of the forest, watching the commotion, a cool breeze nips playfully at my shirt. I sigh, content. Everything, from the leaves swaying slightly to the melody of the breeze, to the golden warmth of the sun-drenched sand, to the sweet scent of sunscreen and lake water, is soothing perfection. The beach stretches out ahead of me for a few yards before the warm sand gives way to surf, dotted with splashing, floundering people. As they frolick in the foamy water, laughter mingling with the gentle tide and the trill of the birds, others set up barbecues, lawn chairs and picnic tables on the sand. As far back as possible from the water's edge, a group of women surrender their bodies to the sun's rays, spread out on towels and mats and chatting animatedly with lingering guys. The wind seems to reach out and brush my hair away from my face with warm fingers, inviting me to join the waves. Gulls cry out from the sky, circling in the hot air.

I kick my sandals off at the edge of the water. The sand feels hot between my toes. A scorching sun is already working at the skin on my legs, and I feel grateful for remembering to apply sunscreen before I left the cabin. I pad barefoot to the wood-paneled dock, slimy water and grains of sand gathering on the soles of my feet as I walk. Standing at the edge of the dock, I stare out at the lake. The water is a marble countertop, shifting gently before my eyes. Blue, gray, green, and seemingly deep.

Bret's loud, raucous laughter shifts my attention to where father and son are stripping off their shirts, brandishing their suntanned torsos. Bret's body is perfect - young and toned - but perfection bores me. I prefer the more rugged, hirsute body of the father.

Rudy lifts a hand to wave me over. When I join them, Bret is drawing a dick and balls in the sand because that's the breed of dumb jock he is.

Meanwhile, Rudy's been looking at hiking trails on a map. An actual, physical paper map.

"Think there're deer in these parts?" He mulls thoughtfully, pointing on the map. I sit down next to him on the sand.

"I hope so. If we find a baby deer, you'll have to hold me back or I'm taking it home." A core memory I have with him is going hiking with the Palmer's before Avery was born and seeing the most beautiful white-tailed twin fawns all alone in some tall grass.

"Ya know that ain't legal." True, in this state, you can't legally own a white tailed deer unless you're a rehabilitator or something. But you can own axis or fallow deer.

"Killjoy. What else are you thinking of doing?"

In town, there are lots of local shops just fifteen minutes from here, for souvenirs and ice cream, as well as restaurants, beaches and parks.

Folding the map and putting it away, Rudy lays down on his back and shuts his eyes with a content smile.

"Ah'm old," he explains, "this is mah idea of a good time. Just layin' here, nuthin' to do."

Rudy urges me to go hang out with the others, but I can't leave him. I'm tempted - but I can't. I'd kick myself all the way around town when we get back if I didn't milk this opportunity to be with him for all it's worth.

The decision is made for me when I'm tackled from behind. Since I was sitting down on the sand, I practically somersault before sitting up to find Bret leaning over me, bent at the waist with his hands on his knees. He always knows how to rile me up.

And I always take the bait.

I surge upwards and pounce on him in one fell swoop. We tumble to the ground, wrestling like we did when we were boys. The more he giggles, the angrier I get. It gets more intense, until we're both grunting and coughing and covered in sand. Fuck him for ruining my moment with Rudy. I don't give up until I'm on my back, wrists pinned over my head and Bret straddling me.

"Bret, leave him alone!" Sammy chides irritably, emerging from the water.

For once I think that she's not so bad after all.

•••

The sun is low in the sky, a fiery, red ball dipping into the flat, peaceful lake. A crescent moon hangs over the woods, which are now shrouded with darkness. Crickets fill the air with a lulling trill.

The first thing I do is bathe everyone in mosquito repellant. Then we arrange logs around a fire pit. I spent a considerable amount of time in the woods gathering a stockpile of kindling earlier, and now help to nurture the flames. They lick hungrily at the wood I feed into the pile, until a huge bonfire illuminates our faces. Helicoids of sparks are flung into the air. Long, slim roasting sticks, marshmallows, and hotdogs are distributed. Animated chatter fills the night air, which is growing chilly. Sweaters emerge from beach bags. Staring into the bronze flames, I listen to the lulling crash of the tide, drawing me into its own private world. I lose myself in the mingling of night sounds, so melodious and captivating.

Slumped down with my back against a log, the sand finally feels cool after the oppressive heat of the day. I didn't get to spend much of it with Rudy, since he was working on his boat and Bret insisted on dragging me along swimming with him and Sammy. At least he's quieted down somewhat.

I shut my eyes contently, relaxed. And open them again with a start. Loud, giddy laughter tinkles like bells across the campfire from where I'm sitting. It's Sammy, of course. She's twisting a strand of her gorgeous blonde hair around one finger, fluttering fake eyelashes at Bret.

Normally, Bret and I would be sitting together, talking and laughing. I'll admit that I'm a bit sullen about it. A great chasm has been opening up between us since Sammy walked into his life, and I don't like it one bit. Maybe I just wish I had somebody too.

Bret looks up and notices me staring, so I school my face into a scowl.

"You know only fuckboys wear that backwards hat, hoodie and flannel combo, right?"

"If you want me to fuck you, Evan, just say so."

Sammy giggles, and I snort.

"I'd rather have my eyes gouged out and fed back to me."

"Whatever you're into, babe."

Rudy brings his guitar out, suggesting we "get to sang-in'," and my frostbitten mood begins to thaw out.

Listening to his quiet humming and strumming, I sing along until Rudy presses me to take over guitar accompaniment. I protest softly at first; there's really no need and he's way better than me. But he believes in me, and so I play. Afterwards, when Bret's put music on his phone, Rudy turns his head and beams a smile at me that instantly sets my belly aflutter. My own smile doesn't fade for a solid minute after that. He's proud of me and so I, in turn, am proud of myself, as if I've accomplished something incredible.

Drinks come out and Bret and Sammy get up to dance, but my eyes are captivated by the way the fire illuminates the silver streaks in Rudy's hair. I like them, and the way they lend him a mature, distinguished air. The older the man, the more skilled and knowledgeable and capable. I bet he's amazing in bed.

Rudy ends up doing the Git Up by popular demand, and looks hotter than the fire while he's at it.

Then Sammy puts on what she calls "real" music - of the strip club variety - and we get down to that. A playful and buzzed Bret grinds against me from behind while Sammy twerks. We drink, laugh and dance until the mosquitoes get to be too much.

Rudy comes up behind us and throws an arm across each of our shoulders.

"Who's ready fer a boat ride 'n' some stargazin'?"

Bret sniffs with disdain and shrugs his dad's arm off.

"Uh, I'm good, thanks."

I throw him a brief, reproving glare before turning to flash a smile at Rudy.

"I'd love to."

My feelings flip from sadness for Rudy at being rejected yet again by his son to giddiness at the prospect of being alone with the man. Wordlessly, I plead with Sammy to decline the offer, and she does, with a wicked smirk in Bret's direction. Gross.

So that's how I find myself on a boat with the man of my dreams, the engine droning noisily as Rudy eases the speedboat smoothly out of its harbor. He spent all day getting it working again. If I didn't trust his handyman repair skills, I'd be worried about getting stranded. Actually, getting stranded in the middle of the lake with Rudy might be the best eventuality.

On this portion of the lake, the shore is deserted. I sit in the passenger seat, draped in Rudy's sweater and a bright red life jacket, eagerly panning over the magnificent view. Against the backdrop of the post-sunset-sky, water stretches out like a cobalt blanket, with barely a ripple to spoil the perfect sweep of shimmering water. I sigh rapturously, leaning my head back and shutting my eyes. We pull cleanly away from the shore, the boat's engine purring on, and cut across the lake and into the glowing sunset. Enthralled, I lean over the side and let my fingers trail in the water, loving the cool, rushing flow against my limp palm.

"Ready?" Rudy grins beside me, his hand on the throttle. I nod eagerly. I clutch the seat beneath me in anticipation. Suddenly, we're whizzing across the lake at top speed, wind roaring in our ears. Water foams in our wake, churning and swelling and sending sparkling water droplets showering into the night sky. Land falls away rapidly, reduced to a slim band of darkness against the glow of twilight. The sky is a canvas, with streaks of yellow, orange, pink, and red mingling to form a radiant, glowing masterpiece. I can feel the deafening roar of the speedboat causing my seat to vibrate. Plastered to the backrest with the wind current, I feel a grin push its way involuntarily onto my face. The sensation is utterly thrilling. Finally, when we're as far from land as possible without actually losing sight of it, Rudy cuts back the engine and lets the boat drift noiselessly on the still frothy water.

"What'd ya think?" he inquires breathlessly.

"Awesome," is my fervent opinion. We beam at each other momentarily, and I'm struck breathless looking at his face. So perfect, every feature flawlessly compatible while gorgeous on its own. Against the glowing sky, his silhouette is brawny and rugged and smokin.'

"Water's perfect fer swimmin' right now!" As he speaks, Rudy shrugs off his t-shirt. Careful not to upset the boat, he rises effortlessly into the air, forming an arc against the summer sky with his body. Then the cobalt water slips over his broad shoulders, lean hips and long golden limbs as he disappears into the lake with barely a ripple. After a few breathless moments for me, he resurfaces.

"It's great!" Rudy flips easily to float on his back, brandishing his muscled abdomen. Watching him, I laugh.

"You're a fish!"

"Come on in. It's warm," he insists, swimming up to the side of the boat to grasp the edge. Hesitantly, I stand up and removed my life jacket and sweater, shivering slightly.

"I'm cold," I complain, eying the dark water warily. Rudy holds the boat steady while I prepare to dive.

"It's perfectly fine," he reassures me. "Just jump in."

I copy his form, arms extended above my head, bunching my muscles, and dive. Water rushes up and around me, enveloping me. A surprising warmth makes my skin tingle, and I'm instantly weightless. I feel myself falling blindly, then swoop up and kick towards the surface. When I break over the water, sputtering, Rudy is already swimming towards me.

"Nice," he grins. "You ain't as wimpy as ya look!"

I splash him playfully, thrilled to find that the water is indeed warm. My hair is plastered arbitrarily around my head and water drips down my face.

I throw my arms out behind me to float on my back. Staring up at the glowing, sun-streaked sky, I feel a sense of utter happiness.

It dawns on me that I don't feel that sexual pull that usually gnaws at me in his presence. I just want to soak in that presence and simply be with him. In peaceful silence. That's how I know I'm completely fucked.

We swim on our backs for what feels like hours, until the sky becomes a dark canvas streaked with silver pinpricks that I know are really enormous balls of flaming gas.

Eventually, I look over to find Rudy staring at me with a soft, solemn look. It gives me a hot, spurious jolt of courage, pushing me to speak.

"Rudy, I..." I had hoped I'd find the end of the sentence once I started it.

Instead, I'm distracted by the gleaming wetness of his plush, vermillion lips, mentally tracing a drop of water on its journey from his stubbled chin, along his Adam's apple and into the thatch of golden hair in his chest.

After a long, pregnant pause, Rudy chuckles softly.

"Beauty's got me a bit speechless too," he hums, gesturing pointedly up at the moon and stars.

I make a point of keeping my gaze fixed on his face, uttering a slow and deliberate: "yeah."

I hope he notices. In terms of romantic advances, I'm always walking that line, torn between urging this thing with Rudy along and keeping my illicit feelings hidden. The signals I want to send are a tad excessive, but fortune does favor the bold. Aiming to strike a balance, I've come up with no end of seemingly innocent ploys to flirt with him.

Rudy turns to face me, and I don't know if I'm imagining it, but there's so much electricity crackling and fizzling between us it's like a forcefield, powering every neural pathway in my body. All I am and all I know is us right now.

But we can't do anything, can't reach across the chasm of everything keeping us separated and bridge that gap - and we both know it. We're in a stand-off of mutual repressed desire, if only in my head. That the only version of reality I know, what with his thoughts locked away from me.

"Yer lips're turnin' blue," Rudy murmurs, and all I can think about is: he was looking at my lips.

For some reason the realization that I'm actually cold makes me giggle. We make light conversation on the way back, laughing about things I can't remember from one moment to the next. Honestly, I'm so abuzz with excitement that I can barely make out what he's saying over the roar in my ears.

We're still giggling when we reach the shore. I wrap my towel around my upper back like a cape, toying with the ends around my sternum while lowering my gaze and batting my lashes shyly, sensing a general reluctance to part.

But when there's no excuse left to draw this out, I fix my eyes squarely on his.

"Goodnight, Rudy..." I deliberately append his name to the expression, letting a soft smile flirt with the corners of my mouth as I trail off.

There's something inexplicably romantic, sensual, about telling someone goodnight like this. Maybe it's a bit much, a bit desperate, a bit obvious. But I want to create confusion in his mind, challenge the way he thinks of me, and maybe even sow the seeds of a reciprocal affection. If I'm always playing it safe, I'll never get out of the friend zone.

Rudy grins, his teeth startlingly white in the dark. I just want to give in to that charming, sexy, alluring pull and run into his arms. Instead, I take a reluctant step back in the opposite direction. 

"Goodnight, Evan," he replies slowly, deliberately. The way he pronounces my full name is so smouldering, solemn and sexy, I'm not even disappointed that he didn't use my nickname. There was longing attached to it, I'm sure.

I'm all shrill giggles and quiet squeals of delight when I reach Bret's room, jumping into bed between him and Sammy. Sammy groans and pulls her sleep mask tighter around her face.

"Oh," Bret exclaims breathily, surprise bright on his sleepy face. I throw my arms around him. The happiness is bubbling over; I can't keep it to myself; I need someone to catch the overflow. Bret hugs me back and kisses my neck. "What's got you so happy?"

"My book," I smile dreamily. "I think there's gonna be a happy ending after all."