The Wingman by A. Poland

Chapter Eleven

Night came quickly after that, once the group grew lazy from their time in the water and a couple of drinks. Jordie had brought a speaker and connected her phone to it, playing music out over the otherwise quiet lakeside. They were all sitting around the campfire, shooting the shit.

It was fun.

Lorcan was his usual charming self, Jordie proving yet again to be incredibly witty and Nathan contributing in his own little way. Miles was the quietest, but at this point, Nathan wasn’t surprised by it. Not that he sat in stony silence the entire time, rather more relaxed. An active listener, occasionally offering a comment here and there.

Nathan took another swig of his beer, glancing over to Jordie, who sat at attention as the song changed.

“Oh, I love this song.” She grinned almost conspiratorially, standing up and starting to sway her hips. After a few moments, she shook her head and set her sights on Nathan across from her. “I’m not dancing alone,” she asserted. Moving forward, she grasped Nathan by the hand and pulled him flush to her.

Nathan was more than happy with any excuse to dance, but when Jordie leaned in close, he realized this was a part of the bigger picture.

“Make him watch,” she whispered into his ear as she rolled her head to the side in tandem with the music, thick tendrils of her hair swaying with the motion.

Right. Part of the plan. Sexy dancing.

The song definitely fit, with a consistent beat he could roll his hips to. In theory. Normally, when Nathan danced, it was in a busy club or a bar—or in the privacy of his own bedroom. Both places had their own element of privacy. Nobody there, or no one caring enough to watch.

But here, right now, it was just Nathan and Jordie.

It felt kind of uncomfortable in the beginning. Just the two of them moving to the tinny audio in the middle of nowhere. But Jordie was doing it—owning it—with a confidence Nathan had come to admire over the last two days, and he figured he owed it to himself to give it a go.

So, he looked to Jordie for guidance and tried to mimic what she was doing as smoothly as he could. Her motions were slow and deliberate, mapping out exactly what Nathan should do. And as he got into the rhythm of it, Jordie smiled at him—a look he took as a good-you’re-getting-it sign.

Nathan refused to look at Lorcan; he knew that would throw him off. He could feel eyes on them regardless, which made sense, considering they were serving as the nighttime entertainment.

By the end of the song, Nathan was feeling himself (emotionally speaking, he wasn’t that buzzed), enough that he knew he had to have looked at least half as good as he felt while dancing.

Someone started clapping, and Jordie grasped Nathan’s hand, raised it, and took a bow. Nathan laughed and followed her lead, which encouraged a loud whoop from Lorcan.

“I had no idea you could dance like that,” he congratulated, and Nathan chose to take that as a compliment.

“I’m a man of many mysteries,” Nathan threw back, picking his drink up and sitting down with a slight wince as his tender backside hit the firm ground.

“Right,” Lorcan drawled, not one bit convinced.

Nathan squinted at him in question.

“What?” Lorcan asked, catching the look. “You’re an open book, Nate.”

Jordie couldn’t quite manage to disguise her laugh but quickly recovered and coughed loudly into her elbow to cover it. Rolling his eyes, Nathan pulled his knees up and rested his elbows against them.

He’d benefit from being more of an open book.

After dinner and a few more drinks, Nathan was feeling a little more than the warm buzz from earlier. He lay flat out on the ground, staring up at the stars as the others remained in their places around the campfire.

“You ready to call it a night, Nate?” Lorcan inquired, nudging Nathan’s shoulder with his foot, bemused.

“Uh-huh,” Nathan replied with a yawn and a resounding belch.

“Nice one,” Jordie commented, and Nathan raised his hand to receive her incoming fist bump.

“Do you want to go solo?” Lorcan offered. “You were kind of squished last night.”

“Nope,” Nathan threw back, popping the p as he spoke.

Nathan had no idea when he’d gotten this drunk. He was a notorious lightweight, yes. But it also hit him quickly. One minute, he could be feeling completely fine. The next, he was on the floor (or standing on the bar, on one memorable occasion). There was no middle ground.

“You can sleep alone, Lorcan. You’re no help protecting me from…shit. What were they called?” he said to Miles.

“Opossums,” Miles offered helpfully.

“Opossums! That’s the bitch,” Nathan cried triumphantly, spotting Lorcan glancing between him and Miles.

“So you’re staying with Miles?” Lorcan clarified, a touch apprehensively.

“Yep.” Another pop.

Lorcan looked over to Miles, who sat cross-legged and utterly zen from behind the flames of the fire. Nathan idly wondered if Miles did yoga; he seemed like the type of person who would be into yoga.

“Hey, Miles, are you into yoga?” Nathan asked, his brain-to-mouth filter nonexistent at this stage.

“I am,” Miles confirmed, not at all questioning Nathan’s out-of-the-blue question.

“Are you okay with that?” Lorcan checked as Nathan whispered, “Huh. Bendy,” to himself in response to this new knowledge about Miles.

“Sure,” Miles assured him, a soft smile on his face.

“You’re positive?” Lorcan tried again.

“I think we all heard him say he is,” Jordie intercepted, thankfully cutting Lorcan off before he could ask, Are you really, really sure?

“Just checking,” Lorcan deflected, leaning back with a pensive look cast over handsome features.

It took a lot more effort than Nathan intended to get him into Miles’s tent, which he completely blamed on the tent being smaller and not the fact that the world was spinning around him. It was completely the tent’s fault; there was no denying it. But eventually, through sheer determination, he managed—landing with a resounding thump on his back, giggling to himself at the noise. The giggles still persisted by the time Miles joined him in the tent, Nathan’s sleeping bag in tow.

“You okay in there?” asked Miles. He laid out the bag, then kicked off his boots at the opening of the tent, leaving them outside.

“I’m just peachy,” Nathan replied, propping himself up on his elbows. “Y’know, camping is a lot less scary when you’re drunk.”

“That so?” Miles offered back, amused, as he zipped up the tent.

“Oh yeah. You guys should have told me that. I could definitely fight a bear round about now.” Nathan jabbed the air with his fists, demonstrating what he’d do if a bear strolled right into camp.

“For the bear’s sake, let’s hope you don’t find one.”

“Damn straight,” Nathan agreed with a firm nod, lying down and trying to wriggle himself into his sleeping bag—embodying his best impression of a worm. “Bear doesn’t know what’s coming for it.”

Chuckling, Miles nestled into his own sleeping bag.

“Hey, why didn’t you bring your guitar? Isn’t that what musicians do? Sing songs around the campfire?” Nathan asked, somewhat intrusively.

“Because I’m not going to be that guy,” Miles countered, resting back against his arms.

Nathan knew exactly who that guy was. He was the guy who rocked up to a house party with a guitar and then announced: Here’s a little song I hold close to my heart. You’ve probably never heard of it. Anyway, here’s “Wonderwall.” Miles was right; no one wanted to be that guy.

“Anyway,” he added as an afterthought, “it seemed like you enjoyed the music from earlier anyway.”

“You mean the sexy song?”

Miles laughed again, a quiet breathy thing. “Yeah, the sexy song.”

“That was fun,” Nathan admitted with a fond smile, remembering how it had felt to dance like that. To feel as though he could do anything. “I should do that more.”

“Dance?” Miles asked. It was too dark in the tent for Nathan to make out his expression.

“Sexy dance,” he stressed. There was a distinct difference. “I never do anything sexy. It felt good.”

“I don’t know about that,” Miles murmured quietly.

“Well, I do,” came Nathan’s definitive retort, leaving no room for argument. “Lorcan’s the sexy one; I’m the cute one. Them’s the rules.”

Silly Miles. He didn’t know the rules.

“Who came up with those rules?” Miles asked, turning on his side to face Nathan, who could just about make out the swaying outline of his face.

“I dunno. The universe?” Nathan didn’t sound sure, but he was confident about the way things just were. He’d made his peace with that. The kinda cute one could sexy-dance from time to time, and the world still spun—although maybe a little too fast right now.

“Right.”

“Hey, Miles?” Nathan started a few long moments later when everything had settled down outside and he could hear the last tent being zipped up.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think the opossum family is okay?” Nathan’s voice grew quiet, concerned.

“Yeah,” Miles replied, voice just as muted but reassuring. “Yeah, I’m sure they’re more than fine.”

Content with that answer, Nathan nodded. “Okay, good.”

He was out like a light a moment later, and not one thing woke him during the night.

*

When Nathan came to the following morning, stiff and more than a little groggy, he grunted and nestled further into the warmth. He was nice and toasty, except for the draft on his back.

Nathan opened his eyes abruptly. Why was there a draft on his back?

Looking down, Nathan discovered his sleeping bag had been kicked to the corner of the tent. He was still fully dressed, but half of Miles’s bag was draped over him, completely unzipped to make a pseudo-blanket.

Nathan blinked. What had happened there?

Moving slightly beside him, Miles was slowly waking up. His hair was tousled, but other than that, he still looked like the poster boy for an indie rock band and not a creature of the swamp, like most people in the morning. There really was no justice in the world, Nathan thought.

“Did my sleeping bag do something to offend me last night?” Nathan asked, voice hoarse and mouth dry.

Letting out a sleepy chuckle, Miles stretched his arms high above his head, knuckles brushing against the plastic tarp.

“I think so. I looked over, and you were getting out of it. Started shivering, so I gave you some of mine.”

“Hm,” Nathan hummed, then let out a huff of a laugh as he shook his head. Go drunk-Nathan for trying to get him sick. “As long as I didn’t wake you up by snuggling into you for warmth, I think we’re good.”

Miles grew silent and pointedly looked away from Nathan.

“Oh, god,” Nathan groaned, hanging his face in his hands. “Dude, I’m so sorry about that. I’m an octopus when I’m drunk. I should’ve warned you.”

“Hey, Nathan, it’s fine,” Miles was quick to assure him, an amused smile over sleepy features. “Seriously, it’s good. I appreciated the warmth as well.”

“Oh,” Nathan said a bit dumbly. “That’s okay then.”

With one final stretch and roll of his shoulders, Miles sat up. “I should get breakfast started.”

“Yeah,” Nathan agreed, brows still furrowed in thought, watching as Miles left the tent.

So. That happened.