Chapter 40

Campers arrive today. The sun was barely up when I tripped over my own shoelaces trying to get to the dining hall. Bandage on my leg rubbing, sore muscles reminding me that yesterday’s antics weren’t exactly gentle on my body. I groaned, muttering curses at myself while Annabelle and Emily laughed from behind me.

“…Do you always look like a hot mess first thing in the morning?” Annabelle asked, smirking.

“…Shut up,” I mumbled, though I secretly didn’t care.

And of course, as soon as we step into the dining hall, Quinn is there. Leaning against the far counter, oversized hoodie slipping off one shoulder, tank top clinging just enough to make my stomach flip, hair a mess, eyes sparkling as she watches me. That grin—the one that made me melt the first time I saw it—is still plastered on her face.

“…Morning, Kennedy,” she say casually, voice low and teasing. “…Headache from last night, or just from thinking too hard about me?”

“…You’re impossible,” I mutter, cheeks heating. “…And you know it.”

“…Mm,” she hums, smirk curling as she steps closer, hand brushing mine on the table as she reaches for a cup. “…You love it. Don’t deny it.”

“…I don’t—” I start, but she leans closer, eyes dark, voice dropping to a sultry whisper. “…You totally do.”

After breakfast, the busses arrive, and campers start piling out. Bright eyed and excited for their 2 weeks at camp to start.

Me and Annabelle are organizing our new CIT campers, when Quinn comes up beside me. 

“…Kennedy,” she mutters under her breath, just loud enough for me, “…don’t even think about flirting with anyone else this morning.”

“…I’m not—” I lie smoothly, grin tugging at my lips. “…I’m just… friendly.”

She groans, slamming a hand down on the counter, leaning closer. “…Stop lying to me. I can see it in your eyes.”

I bite my lip, eyes darting toward the other older campers nearby—just enough to make Quinn notice. I catch the flicker of irritation in her gaze, the tiny tightening of her jaw, and I grin. “…See? Totally friendly.”

“…You’re going to pay for that later,” she mutters, voice low and dangerous. “…Oh, you’re so going to pay.”

The morning activity periods are brutal. I’m lifeguarding at the waterfront, and of course, Quinn is floating between campers, glancing my way whenever possible. I can feel her noticing every time I laugh with Tanner or Noah, or when I brush past Milo.

“…Kennedy,” Quinn growls mid-afternoon, voice low enough that only I can hear it, “…are you doing that on purpose?”

“…Doing what?” I ask innocently, flipping a frisbee to one of the campers.

“…Flirting. With everyone,” she hisses. “…Stop it.”

“…I’m not,” I whisper, smirk curling at my lips. “…You just don’t like it when I do.”

Her eyes darken, lips pressing together as if fighting a smile. “…You think you can toy with me and get away with it?”

“…Maybe I can,” I murmur, letting my voice dip low, just enough to make her tense visibly. “…Or maybe I want you to.”

Later, during lunch, I sit just slightly out of Quinn’s reach, laughing a little too loudly with Emily and Caitlyn, letting her see. Quinn notices, eyes narrowing, smirk tugging into something sharper, dangerous.

“…Kennedy,” she mutters when she finally approaches, leaning on the table beside me, “…keep doing that, and I swear I’m going to drag you away from everyone—right here, right now.”

“…Oh really?” I whisper, leaning closer, letting my hand brush hers. “…What are you going to do, Quinn?”

She groans, sliding her hand down my arm lightly, thumb tracing tiny circles on my wrist. 

“…You’re so impossible,” she mutters, voice rough, lips twitching in frustration. “…You’re going to ruin me if you keep this up.”

“…Maybe that’s the point,” I murmur, biting my lip to hide my grin.

The tension doesn’t stop. Every glance, every brush of skin, every teasing word stretches out over the next two days.

Quinn gets flustered whenever I linger near anyone else.

I deliberately keep the teasing going, laughing too loud, brushing hands accidentally against others, leaning a little too close whenever possible.

Every interaction is electric. Every conversation ends with a smirk, a groan, a lingering touch.

Even when we’re teaching Bronze Med with the CIT’s, Quinn leans over my shoulder a little too long, murmuring dirty little comments under her breath about “how good I look paying attention.” I flush, smirk, and then deliberately brush past her, letting my body press just slightly against her side as I turn.

“…You’re killing me,” she says, voice low and dangerous, eyes dark. “…I hate you.”

“…Do you?” I whisper back, grin wide, “…Or do you love it?”

By the end of the second day, the tension has become unbearable. Campers chatter around us, counselors shout instructions, the lake sparkles in the late afternoon sun—but I can feel Quinn’s gaze on me constantly. Every small smile I give another staff member, every laugh a little too loud, every touch that lingers a fraction too long… it sizzles between us, simmering, messy, and addictive.

And I know, deep down, neither of us will survive much longer before this tension finally explodes.