Taming Chloe Summers (Grover Beach Team #7) (3 page)

Five minutes later, a strange feeling of coming home settles over me, as I stop at the end of the path and my gaze sweeps over the campsite. Just like in my memory, there are the three log cabins, housing up to eight girls each, fronts turned toward the picnic table situated in the middle. The birch tree next to the hut with a tiger painted over the door has grown a few feet since I last saw it, but everything else still looks like no time has passed at all.

The girls who stormed past me on the way here sit on the picnic table like they own the place and excitedly discuss into which cabin they might be going to move. More memories rise up at the view. Memories of playing games, forming new friendships, and living with an odd flutter in my stomach the whole summer.

A smile turns up the edges of my mouth. I shake it away and head on to the main office, which is some eighty feet to the right. The office isn’t a log cabin but a tiny house with yellow plaster and a red-shingle roof. Several people linger in the doorway, mostly parents waiting for their turn to get their kids registered.

Leaving my suitcase outside, I squeeze past them and find the person in charge. The ginger-haired woman behind the desk is bent over a list, obviously trying to find a particular name by running the end of her pen from bottom to top.

“Excuse me,” I say and lean down toward her until she lifts her head and makes eye contact. “My name’s Chloe. I’m supposed to meet with the other counselors somewhere around this place.”

Offering me a welcoming smile, she brushes her bangs out of her face. “Wonderful! The others are already waiting for you. Just walk to the back of the building. That’s where the—”

“Sickroom is, I know,” I cut her off, remembering how I once got my elbow scraped and had to have it tended to there.

She gives me a knowing look. “You’ve been here before?”

“Not as a counselor, but as a camper. A long time ago.”

“That’s great. You’ll find that nothing has changed over time.” She hands me a sheet of paper that she drew from a pink folder. “Please fill this out and turn it in later today. For now, just go meet your colleagues in the sickroom. My assistant will be with you in a few minutes and explain everything.”

“Okay.” I fold the paper and stuff it in my purse, then I fight my way through the crowded room toward the back. Just before I reach the door, a shiver runs through me, as if someone tossed ice water on me, making the small hairs on my arms stand on end. Unease crawls up my body, from my toes to the back of my neck.

I whirl about, but there are only strange faces. Rubbing away the chill that is totally out of place on a scorching-hot July day, I make my way out of and around the building. The sickroom has its own entrance at the back, facing the path down to the lake. Outside, leaning against the wall with one leg angled, the sole of his sneaker placed against the plaster, stands a tall guy with flattened brown hair and a plaid shirt tied around his waist. He’s puffing out the last lungful of smoke from his cigarette, then he drops it to the ground and kills it by rubbing it into the dirt with his toe.

“Seriously?” I say, lifting my brows at him. I know I’m not a big role model to the kids myself, and I’m not even trying to be, but smoking in a camp with a bunch of twelve-year-olds? Even I know not to do that—if I were a smoker, anyway.

He offers me a sheepish grin that moves the acne spots on his cheeks closer together. “Sorry.” Shoving dirt over the stub with his foot, he makes an effort to bury it. “That was my last, I swear.”

For the sake of his flawed skin, I pray that he’s right. “Trying to stop?”

“For the sixth time this year, yes.”

Now, I actually feel sorry for the thug, who’s probably about my age. “Good luck with that.”

“Thanks.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Greyson, by the way.”

“Chloe.”

His long fingers wrap around mine, squeezing with too much nervousness. Either it’s the detox he’s afraid of, or this is his first time in a summer camp. Of course, it’s my first time as a counselor, too, but I can’t say that I’m antsy like him. Then again, I don’t intend to do much over the next two weeks but get a nice tan down by the pond. The other three watchful counselors can deal with the kids.

Greyson follows me into the sunny, clean room that holds a few cupboards and a dark-green bed with a layer of thin white paper on top. A girl sits on the backless swivel stool and spins around, her shoulder-length dark hair woven into two tight braids. The eyesore topping her cutoffs—a garishly yellow T-shirt—is probably a magnet for bees and bugs. Note to self: keep a distance outside.

Her smile when she spots me is scary. She jumps to her feet and skips over, shaking my hand without me even reaching out. “Hi! You must be Chloe,” she chirps.

And you must be Snow White’s happy sister. I bite back the remark and just nod.

“We’ve been waiting for you. I’m Julie Reed. You’ve met Greyson already, right?”

I nod again.

“I’m so glad you look young and nice,” she blabbers on, and I can only tilt my eyebrows in response. Quickly, she corrects herself. “Oh, I mean friendly. Last time I was at camp, we had a counselor who must have been 105.” She rolls her eyes dramatically. “It wouldn’t be fun to run a camp with a hag like her. But you look like someone who knows how to have fun. We’ll have a great time entertaining the youngsters with games, food fights, and what not! Don’t you think?”

Yeah…no. I don’t think I want to play tug of war with the kids. And pizza in my hair? Absolutely not.

Freeing myself from her hand, I walk over to the bed and sit on the edge. “So, where’s number four? I was told there wouldn’t be a camp with only three of us.”

“He popped in and said hi a few minutes ago but had to get a few things from the office. Apparently, he’s the camp director’s right hand.”

“The redhead’s assistant?”

“Yes. And boy…” Julie makes dreamy eyes and leans closer. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she checks if Greyson is out of earshot. He took a seat behind the narrow desk and is now playing with a pen-like flash light as a cigarette substitute, so we’re safe and she squeaks under her breath, “He’s
hawt
.”

“Number Four? Really?” I whisper back, feeling a small amount of anticipation for the first time since I was forced to come here.

Her short braids flail as she bobs her head.

Good to know, because pimple-faced Greyson isn’t actually dating material. And spending the days at the lake with some eye candy to check out sounds like just the right distraction to get me through the next couple of weeks.

“Oh, look!” Julie’s chin lowers, eyes fixing on the door, as she grabs my arm to share her excitement. She struggles to bite back her grin. “He’s coming.”

My own flirty smile falls into place, but I wait until I hear his footsteps inside the room before I push my hair over my shoulder and turn my head toward the door.

A wave of coolness wafts off the guy on his slow stride in. His jeans, washed out and fitting loosely, run up a set of endless legs. They hang low on his hips, and from the look of his front, I would guess he has a tasty ass, too. His tight white T-shirt wraps around a flat stomach. A six-pack could be hiding beneath it. Or maybe even an eight-pack. I wouldn’t mind either. And the firm chest defined under the fabric makes me want to cop a feel.

Yeah, that’s definitely a body I’d like to check out in swimming trunks down by the lake.

My gaze roams up his strong shoulders to his face and—
Fuck!
I jump from the bed with a shriek. “Justin!”

He stops a few feet away from me, his butterscotch gaze burning as he smirks. In my shock, I retreat to the window, which obviously amuses him. “Chloe Summers…” he drawls, folding his arms over the chest I was drooling over only moments ago. “I didn’t think I’d be seeing you again before our ten-year class reunion.”

Julie straightens, too, and plants her hands on her hips, casting me an intrigued glance. “Oh, wow. You two know each other?”

“We were in history together in high school,” I inform her, slightly out of breath for no obvious reason.

“And math, science, and English,” he adds, his voice cool and relaxed.

Julie’s head moves from left to right, looking between us, then only her eyes continue the action. “So you’re friends?”

Justin’s cold gaze remains on me. The corners of his mouth twitch up, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah…” He snorts. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

No, Justin Andrews and I weren’t friends in high school. In fact, we gave each other the widest possible berth whenever we could.

Feeling like a horde of ghosts has come down to Camp Clover to haunt me, I cough, trying to get rid of the annoying frog that made itself comfortable in my throat. Then I croak the first thing that comes to my mind. “So, you’re Number Four?”

He cocks his head, and the tips of his dirty-blond hair fall into his eyes. “Number Four?”

“The fourth camp counselor.”

“Oh.” Running his hand through his hair, he rakes the long strands off his forehead. “Yes.”

“And you’re also the director’s assistant?”

“Uh-huh.” As if he knows how this information gives me the creeps, he licks his bottom lip and shifts his mouth to one side, suppressing a grin. “Mrs. Turner is leaving the camp later today and will only check in once every week. In her absence, you’ll have to deal with me if you need anything.”

There are two other people in this room, so why the hell are his eyes still solely focused on me? I swallow. If he’s the person in charge here, he may also be familiar with my case—the reason I have to do this whole counselor crap in the first place. Dammit! Apart from Brin, Kir, and Les, none of my former classmates know about my sessions with the shrink and all my other obligations. And I only told my closest friends because they demanded an explanation for my sudden change of plans about London and going to Guildhall. Justin is the last person on earth I want to be informed of that fact. So how much does he know?

“And you’re one of us,” Greyson points out with inscrutable enthusiasm, coming around the table to sit on the edge, his sneakered feet dangling in the air. “That’s awesome! That means we’re free to do whatever we want this summer. No curfew for the kids, no restrictions—no rules whatsoever.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Justin chuckles, casting him a brief glance. Then his gaze switches back to me, and his chuckle slackens to a sneer. “Or not.”

Chloe

I cross my legs on the bed and hear a low tearing sound. My heel ripped the thin paper cover. Smoothing it out, I toss my hair back and sigh, ready to get this boring meeting over with. When Julie wheeling back and forth across the room on that doctor’s stool starts to get on my nerves, I deliberately turn my head in the other direction and shield my vision by holding my hand to the left side of my face, bracing my elbow on my knee. Only, that leaves me staring at Justin, who’s sitting on the broad windowsill, so I’m not sure if it really improved the whole situation.

Sitting sideways, he has one leg pulled up on the sill, the other dangling. From the list on the clipboard that rests against his thigh, he reads out the next item on the agenda. “Camp games.” He looks up at us, waiting to discuss it, like we did the previous seven points while he took notes.

“Oh, oh, oh!” Julie squeals and rolls forward on her doc-mobile. She lifts her hand as if we were back in high school and she an ardent student. “I’ve made a list of all the games I loved most when I was at camp. I have it right here.” Pushing herself to the desk, where she left her purse, she fishes out a folded piece of paper then begins to read. “Scavenger hunt. Capture the flag…”

I disengage, because the list is long. There’s only one game I’d really like to play anyway. Soccer. Even though I haven’t played a serious game since high school, I’m probably still better than most of the kids coming here today. Definitely better than Justin. He wasn’t on Grover Beach High’s co-ed soccer team. If I recall correctly, riding a murderous BMX bike and reading comics was his thing. A snicker escapes me at the memory of how some people at school used to call him Spider-Boy. Yeah, okay, not many—just Lesley and me—but it was fun.

“You have any suggestions?” Justin asks, his questioning eyes on me.

“Er…what?”

“Games? For the kids?” He lifts his brows as if I’m one beer short of a six-pack. “You just laughed, so I’m wondering if you have a better idea you want us to know about.”

“Yeah, no. Julie’s ideas will keep us going until Christmas anyway.” I try hard to make it sound like a joke, but she blushes anyway.

“I’m a little overeager, I guess,” she apologizes.

Justin offers her a warm smile. One that I haven’t gotten from him since he walked into this room. “No, I love your enthusiasm about this,” he encourages her. “That’s absolutely what we need here.” The quick sideways glance he throws at me then feels like a jab in my ribs.

“We could also save an hour or two each day for sports,” Greyson proposes from his place behind the desk. “Like volleyball and soccer for those who want to play.”

Justin points his pen at him. “Excellent.” Then he scribbles something down on his list. “Julie, would you like to take over the volleyball team?”

She bobs her head. “Sure.”

“Great. I’ll do a group for basketball. And soccer…” He bites the end of his pen, looking from Greyson to me and back. I clear my throat aggressively. He knows how much I love soccer, and he certainly wouldn’t assign that to— “Grey, can you supervise the kids playing soccer?”

What the hell? “Justin,” I grumble, waiting for him to graciously give me his attention before I mutter, “What about me?”

“Don’t worry. We’ll find something for you, too. How about a dance club?” he says cheerfully. “Maybe some hip-hop or jazz. The girls will love it.”

That son of a— I gnash my teeth. “I don’t dance.”

“Learn. It’ll help you loosen up a bit.”

Outraged, my chin smacks downward. “Excuse me?”

He chuckles and takes more notes. Is he actually writing my name down?

“I didn’t say
yes
,” I protest.

“Right.” He keeps his amused eyes on the sheet but never stops scribbling. When he lifts his head again, he doesn’t spare me another look. “Next point: curfew.”

“Curfew was always the worst part about camp,” Greyson whines. “I say we cross it off the list.”

Julie backs him up, gripping the edge of the stool between her straddled legs and leaning heavily on her arms. “I’m with Greyson on this. As long as the kids stay close by, they should be allowed outside however long they want.”

“Hmmm. I’m not sure about that.” Justin taps the pan against his lips, then he drops his knee and sits straight, facing us. “They’re teenagers. Kids need rules. And what’s more, if you drop curfew, you also take away the chance for them to sneak out after dark. Isn’t that the one thing that really makes camp exciting? They’ll make their best memories knowing there’s actually something at risk.”

While Julie and Greyson agree with a reluctant nod, Justin sneaks a fiery look at me that makes me catch my breath. “Chloe, do you have an opinion?” he asks in a low, dark voice.

“Letting them stay outside means watching them longer,” I grumble, still mad about the dancing issue. “I’m all for an early curfew.”

“All right. I say ten thirty in the cabins and lights out at midnight. Any veto?” He waits a couple of seconds. “No? Okay. That’s settled. Last thing to discuss: phones.”

This time, I’m the first to speak up. “Let ’em keep them. Some texting home won’t hurt anybody.”

“I agree to that,” Justin says without hesitation. “Julie? Greyson?”

“Uh…I think the kiddos should hand them in,” Julie says, scrunching her face up. “You know how awful we were at their age. An hour was nothing when we got started playing those games or texting our friends.”

“Julie’s right,” says Greyson and sticks a stethoscope in his ears, listening to his own heartbeat. “What’s the point of making them stay in the wild when they do nothing but while away on their phones? I vote for collecting them and handing them back at the end of camp.”

Justin scratches the side of his nose. “Good point.”

“The kids will need to make a final call home to inform their parents before turning the phones over,” Julie adds, “so no one at home gets worried. How about those who are homesick and want to call their parents can come to us and get their phones for a few minutes every other day? Also, to be role models, we should put ours away as well.”

“Okay,” Justin says. “We’ll do it your way, then. Same rules for everyone.” And again, he throws a prodding look at me. “You cool with that, Summers?”

I grin back, sending a silent thanks home to my genius friend. “Absolutely.” I have Brin’s phone to hand in and mine to stay in touch with my friends. The only problem is that I can’t text them with people around. But, all things considered, that’s a minor issue.

Justin takes my answer with some amazement and nods. Then he puts the clipboard away, clasps the edge of the sill, and crosses his legs at the ankles. “Finally…which team do you guys want to take charge of? There are only thirty-one kids this year. Barely enough to fill four cabins. On the plus side, we counselors get to sleep in cabins of our own and don’t have to hang out with the campers at night as well.”

Julie raises her hand again. When everybody’s eyes are on her, she says, “I’d like to take over the Owls. I was in that group as a teenager myself. Call me nostalgic, but I think it would be fun.”

“Cool. Owls for you then.” Justin tilts his head to me. “Chloe? What do you want to be? Tiger or Squirrel?”

I roll my eyes. Do I look like a freaking rodent? “Tiger,” I huff.

“Of course.” He snickers, then gives Greyson the choice between Foxes, Raccoons, or Wolves.

“Er…Raccoons.”

“So I’ll take over the Wolves.” Justin slides down from the high windowsill, clapping his hands, and that’s the cue for the rest of us to stand. “Now, go get your kids all settled in. I’ll see you at dinner tonight and will have a copy of this list ready for you.”

Numbers Two and Three swoosh out of the room, eager to meet their groups of campers. Justin follows them, but I remain by the bed, leaning against the edge. Before he can leave, I quietly say his name. Stopping in the doorway, he turns to me.

For a long moment charged with memories of high school, evasion, reproaches, and secrets, we stare into each other’s eyes. “What’s up, tiger?” he asks me then, and the tender tone he uses warms my heart in a strangely familiar way.

Taken aback by the sudden change in his attitude, I struggle for words. Dammit, I must look like a stranded fish with my mouth flapping open and closed like this. He laughs softly, leaning against the doorjamb, obviously waiting for me to come forward with whatever was riding me a second ago.

I only manage it after I look away from his eyes and down at my toes. “How come they made you an assistant?”

“I guess it’s because of my studies.” He comes back and leans next to me against the bed, folding his arms and crossing his ankles. “Cybil Turner is a friend of my mother, and she knew I needed an internship this summer.”

I lift my gaze to him. “What are you studying?”

“I started out with social work. But I’m thinking about going into teaching.”

Strange how we’re suddenly able to have a normal conversation, with the other two counselors gone—and twelve months after seeing each other for the last time, at graduation. Reluctantly, I shake my head and admit, “I’d never have guessed you were into teaching. Or dealing with teenagers in general.”

Pressing his lips together in a tight smile, he slants his head. “That’s because you don’t know me very well.”

True.

“What about you?” he asks then. “How does counseling fit into your life as a prospective actress?”

“How do you know about—”

“Drama school? I read your file,” he explains, cutting me off. “All counselors’ files, in fact, so don’t get the impression I have a special interest in you.” When he laughs, it sounds reserved. “So, why camp? It’s not for the sake of old memories, I take it.”

I search his eyes for any hint that he knows the truth and is just playing dumb here, but Justin keeps a poker face. Is it possible that I was worrying completely in vain and my chart says nothing about my community hours after all? “I…er…had to find a summer job that gets me in touch with people is all.”

“Is that so?” He bites down a snicker, blinking innocently. “And it has nothing to do with your probation?”

“Actually,” I snap, ready to tell him that he’s an ass for fooling me. But then I let out my breath and unclamp my jaw. “Yes.” What’s the point in lying, if he knows anyway?

I expect him to sneer at me again, but he surprises me when he resorts to his friendly voice once more. “Over three hundred hours, huh?”

I can’t look him in the face any longer, so I glare at my toes again. “Mm-hm.”

“I wonder what got you into that kind of trouble.”

Is that him playing stupid again? Probably. But I tell him anyway. “Remember my car accident senior year?”

“Yes.”

“I was trashed when it happened,” I mumble. “Twenty months on probation and a shitload of community work.”

He’s so silent, I have to look up and check if he zoned out for a moment. “You didn’t know about me being drunk?”

Very slowly, he shakes his head, his eyes narrowed with honest bafflement. That sort of shocks me, because one of the guys who went looking for me after the accident—along with my cousin and her boyfriend—was the soccer team captain, and he also happened to be Justin’s best friend. It’s weird that Ryan never told him the truth. Half the soccer team was out on the street looking for me that night, and when the interrogations at the police station were over, they did all swear to keep the truth between us.

But, although there never were any rumors later, I didn’t quite trust them. Seems like they kept their promise after all.

“Do Lesley and Kirsten know about your punishment?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“I’m surprised they kept quiet about it. Would have assumed they’d let such big news slip at the first possible occasion.”

I laugh bitterly. “No, they wouldn’t. They’re my friends.” More importantly, I know things about them that would put them on probation longer than for driving while boozed up. “Anyway, I’m free at the end of July, so I’d appreciate it if you could treat this information confidentially.” I give him a cold, pointed look. “Isn’t that part of your job as an assistant, anyway?”

“Right.” He bites his lip, letting a smile slip. Amused? Scornful? I’m not able to make heads or tails of this conversation.

Taking a deep breath, I fix him with a stare. “This is weird.”

“What is?”

“Us talking like normal people. I don’t remember the last time we did.”

He hesitates a couple of seconds then startles me as he says, “I do.” His warm gaze rests on me for a long moment and wraps me in a comforting cloud of memories. I wonder what we would be like today if some things had gone in another direction. If different decisions had been made. Then his eyes turn lynx-like all of a sudden, sending shivers down my back. He slaps his hand on my thigh, squeezing slightly before he straightens and walks to the door, murmuring, “Probation.” His snide chuckle is the last thing I hear.

Yeah, why don’t you just fuck off, idiot!
I wait until he’s gone, then push away from the bed and stalk out into the summer heat. The noise of excited kids drifts like a beacon through the trees and around the building. My suitcase is still sitting untouched in front of Mrs. Turner’s office. Pulling it behind me, I fight my way through the people who are positioned like obstacles on a racecourse.