Lucy put on Brendan's coat and they ducked out into the rain. Brendan led the way. They both ran with a wide, slightly staggering stance to maintain their balance in the mud, their arms out by their sides. Once they got to the woods, Brendan pulled out a flashlight and they slowed to a fast walk.
Inside the tent, he shoved all his loose clothes, dirty and clean, into a duffle bag and pushed it against one side of the tent. He lay down, propped up on one elbow and leaned back against it. He watched Lucy as she left his jacket on a stump outside the tent, took her boots off and swivelled into the tent. Once she was inside, he leaned forward and reached across her legs to pull the zipper closed.
His tent was a standard 3 person dome tent, about the same size and shape as almost everyone else's in camp. The roof of the tent was maybe a metre and a half at the highest point. One end of the tent was slightly higher than the other. This was where his pillow was. Above this hung a small dirty-white mesh bag. He put the flashlight in the bag. It created a soft diffuse light. It was enough to see by - enough to read by if you were directly below it.
Lucy pulled the book from inside her shirt where she'd been protecting it from the rain. She flopped down on Brendan's sleeping bag, and wriggled around until she was comfortable and the book was mostly in the light. There wasn't much room in the tent. Brendan leaned backwards against the duffle bag at right angles to her with his legs bridged over her back.
"Ready," she asked.
"Ready," he replied.
Lucy began to read.
"Page one. Today's Special. The beet is the most intense of vegetables."
The rain drumming on the tarp made it difficult for him to hear her. Brendan shuffled around on his back until his head was closer to hers. In this position he found he couldn't keep his legs bridged over her back without touching her. And that made it impossible to listen properly. After some more shuffling, he ended up lying on his side beside her. He rested his head on his forearm. His gaze naturally pointed down the length of her body. He could make out the soft hills of her buttocks rising out of the folds of the sleeping bag. This made it even more difficult to concentrate, so he shifted a bit so his focus was higher. Now his eyes rested on her waist. The dress she was wearing emphasised the curves of her lower back. There was a rip in the dress just above where her waist met her hip. Through the rip he could glimpse a tiny savannah of flesh.
Everywhere he looked was too sexy for clear thought. He was sure she knew why he kept looking around the tent. He forced himself to stare at her face as she read. He could tell she was conscious of this as well. Too late he realised he should have just kept his eyes on the flashlight hanging from roof of the tent, but now he was mesmerised. The only sensible place to look when you are staring at the face of someone reading is their mouth. He knew now he was doomed. At some point he would have to kiss that mouth.
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