With This Heart(22)

Ten minutes later, Beck was adding bigger logs to the fire and I was arranging camping chairs a few feet back from the smoky flames.

“             It’s too hot to sit close.”

He frowned. “Yeah. I’m about to swim in that lake if it doesn’t cool off soon.”

I hadn’t even thought about swimming in the lake. It definitely looked deep enough, but the edge was rimmed with algae and leaves.

“             Do you want a P and BJ?” I asked. The moment the letters slipped out of my mouth, I realized my slip up and all but convulsed on the spot. I stuttered and cleared my throat, anything to distract him. “I…I mean a PB and J… before you start eating s’mores?” I asked, plopping my grocery bag on top of the campsite’s picnic table.

I knew I was beet-red.             I just asked Beck if he wanted a blow job. What a wonderful way to start our camping trip             . To his credit, he didn’t make a joke out of it.

“             Sure, thanks. Extra peanut butter, please,” Beck said, maneuvering behind me. I thought he’d sit down and wait for me to bring a sandwich over to him, but instead he unpacked two plastic plates and went to work preparing the bread while I smeared peanut butter and jelly on each one. He grabbed our water bottles and met me by the camping chairs.

We made a good little team.

We were munching on the sandwiches when I finally asked him something I’d been wondering about. “How did you drop everything and come on this road trip? Aren’t you in school or something?”

“             It’s summer,” he noted, as if that explained everything.

“             Yes…” I agreed, hinting that I wanted more details.

He shrugged. “I was in college up in Boston, but I’m not sure how it will work out.”

I mashed my lips together, wondering if I had the right to ask why. I decided on an easier question. “What year are you?”

“             I just finished my junior year.”

“             You only have one year left and you don’t think it’s going to work out?”

He narrowed his eyes out over the lake. “Yup.”

“             Hmm.”

“             Hmm, what?” he asked, glancing back toward me. He’d finished his sandwich and unwrapped a chocolate bar to break off a piece.

“             What college do you go to?” I knew there was an insane amount of colleges in Boston, like fifty or sixty plus.

“             MIT,” he answered, standing up and walking toward the tree line.

I gaped. “I’m sorry.             The             MIT? You’re kidding, right?” He seemed smart, but MIT smart was another level altogether.

“             Nope,” he answered with a crooked smile, retrieving a long thin branch to use as a makeshift marshmallow toaster. He didn’t seem to mind my disbelief, but I needed more details. A part of me still thought he might have been kidding.

“             What’s your major?” I asked, trying to study his posture and facial tics as if I were a criminologist.

“             Petroleum engineering.” His voice didn’t hold any of its usual conviction. His gaze was focused on his marshmallow. He turned it slowly in a circle, toasting every side until it was a nice golden brown. I had to admire his dedication. My usual method involved setting the marshmallow on fire and devouring the sugary carcinogens.

“             Huh.” I sat there dumbfounded and he finally looked up at me, saving me from my misery.

“             Do you want proof?” he asked with a half-smile.

“             Yes.” I wanted to trust him, but it just seemed so odd.

He put his weight into his right leg and pulled out an old brown leather wallet from his back pocket. With a little flick, he opened it and pulled out a white card.