“Don’t pretend you guys don’t walk around butt-naked together every chance you get,” Avery throws back in a snippy tone, her face flushing to match her red hair.

“Yeah. But we don’t get up close and personal.” Eric’s eyebrows waggle. “If you know what I mean—”

“Thank you, Eric!” Darian cuts him off with a warning tone. “Anyone want to take a guess? What is Kyle Miller’s lie?”

Even I know this is his second year as a counselor. A general consensus of “Number Two!” and “Armed robbery!” echoes around the campfire as Kyle waits patiently, his arms folded over his chest, a knowing smirk on his lips.

“Well?” Darian watches him expectantly, though, I note, with a touch of apprehension in her gaze.

Kyle reaches up and tugs at his shirt collar, stretching it to reveal a slender but muscular shoulder and the fresh outline of a tattoo in progress. “This will be number four when it’s finished.”

Eyebrows pop and looks are exchanged, and then a flurry of curious questions about the robbery erupt.

“We’re going clockwise,” Kyle announces, ignoring them all, settling back into his seat beside me. He nudges a surprised-looking Eric beside him with his knee.

“Dude,” Eric mutters, peering at his best friend. “Seriously? When?”

Kyle shrugs nonchalantly. “I can’t remember. Two truths and a lie, Vetter. Go.”

Eric shakes his head and then, just like that—as if Kyle is the camp director running the show—he stands and rattles off his own three lines.

But Eric’s words don’t register for me. My focus is on the boy beside me, his elbows resting on his knees, his attention locked on the dancing flames. I have so many questions.

Golden eyes turn to me suddenly and I avert my gaze to the sparse grass at my feet, but it’s too late.

“You come up with anything yet?” he asks casually.

“Almost,” I lie. “Thanks, by the way, for buying me some time.”

He shrugs. “Being the new guy sucks.”

I guess that would have been him last year, after so many years away.

Eric is done and everyone’s shouting out numbers, most of them having chosen “one.”

Kyle discreetly holds out three fingers for me and winks. “He’s a shitty swimmer.”

I guess he was listening to his friend, after all. Meanwhile, my attention is now on his wrist, on the ink peeking out from beneath the tan leather band. I jut my chin toward it. “What’s that?”

Kyle smooths his thumb back and forth over the bracelet for a moment, his mouth working over words that don’t seem to want to come. And then he unfastens the snap and stretches his arm out to settle on my bare knee, palm up. Waiting for me to see for myself.

I struggle to ignore the feel of his hot skin against mine as I take in the tattoo. Two rows, two numbers, with several decimal points following each. The second number is a negative.

“They’re coordinates.” I look up in time to see the small, satisfied smile on his profile as he watches the fire. “To where?”

A few beats pass before he pulls his arm away and refastens the leather band, covering the tattoo. “Nowhere special,” he says casually, leaning back on his elbows once again.

“You permanently marked your body with coordinates to a place that isn’t special?”

The smile grows wider. “Maybe I did.”

I shake my head but chuckle. I can’t get a read on this guy, other than that he’s lying and we both know it.

The ice-breaker game is rolling through the group swiftly and I really should be listening, but I can’t seem to pay attention to anyone except Kyle.

“So, what’s your lie going to be?”

“If I tell you, it kind of defeats the purpose of the game, doesn’t it?”

His tongue slides out to flick his lip ring absently, drawing my attention to it. I’ve kissed three guys in my life and none of them had a lip ring. I wonder what it would feel like, to kiss Kyle.

My blood begins rushing at the thought.

“I’ll know which one it is, anyway.”

“Really . . . And what makes you so sure?” I ask playfully.

Another lip ring flick. “I’m a telepath.” He turns to look at me, catching my gaze on his mouth. “I’ll bet you.”

“How much?”

Kyle shifts ever so slightly, bringing himself closer to me. “Loser has to eat five Fun Dips in under a minute. Winner buys.”

“What?” I laugh through a cringe. “Is that even humanly possible?”

“Eric did it when he lost a bet with me. And he always loses when he bets me, by the way.” The smug smile touching his lips is downright devilish.

I set my jaw with determination. I love Fun Dips. I love winning even more. “The doubles or the singles?”

“I’ll let you get away with the singles.”

“You’re on.”

An excited gleam sparks in his eyes.

It’s Avery’s turn now, and she hops off the picnic table to stand, showing off a set of long and slender but shapely legs. Everyone’s attention is on her as she scoops her glossy red locks back with both hands, then tucks strands behind each ear.

But I’m stealing frequent glances Kyle’s way, trying to catch any flicker of interest that may linger for last summer’s fling. Did he sleep with her? Eric’s joke implies that they’ve gone pretty far.

A tight, uncomfortable feeling stirs in my stomach with the thought.

But I remind myself that he’s sitting beside me.

He came to me.

“Okay. So . . . let’s see . . .” Avery swings her arms at her sides twice. “I’m changing my major to herpetology—”

“Lie,” he murmurs without missing a beat.

“How do you know?” And what the hell even is that?

“Because she hates reptiles.”

Ahhh . . .

“Especially turtles.”

I frown. “Who hates turtles?”

“Exactly.” His eyebrows pull together. “I need to be with the kind of girl who likes turtles.” He pauses a beat and then peers at me with intense scrutiny. “Are you the kind of girl who likes turtles?”

I struggle to suppress what would no doubt be a stupid grin, as flutters stir in my stomach. “I love turtles.” The chocolate pecan kind. As far as the living kind go, I’m indifferent. I mean, I’d swerve if I saw one crossing the road, but I have no plans to join a “Save the Turtles” advocacy program.

But this has nothing to do with turtles, anyway.

I swallow my nerves. “Actually, I have a bunch of them at home.”

“Really . . .” His eyes narrow and I can’t help but note the thick fringe of long, dark lashes. “How many?”

“A hundred and one.” I struggle to keep a straight face.

Kyle lets out a low whistle. “That’s a lot of turtles.”

“We have a turtle farm.”

His head falls back and he belts out a laugh that grabs everyone’s attention, including Avery’s, whose eyes narrow and dart from him to me.

“Something you need to share, Kyle?” Darian asks through a tight smile, her annoyance thinly veiled. I wonder if she feels the same way about Kyle that Christa does.