Page 58 of Grumpy Bear

I actually did feel pretty damn cute. Mostly because my ass hurt from Coleman pounding me into his mattress. No matter how busy I got running drinks, there wasn’t one second that I wasn’t thinking about him and wondering where he was.

The DJ was spinning a lot of crowd pleasers. One impressively tattooed middle-aged man wearing only a trucker cap, flip-flops, and a massive metal cock ring was feeling a certain kind of way about Cher’s “Believe.” Hundreds of groans went up over Taylor Swift, but then they all flawlessly lip-synced every word en masse. Jim made an appearance with Karen Walker tucked under his arm, breezing by in a flowy robe, and took a moment to twirl to Stevie Nicks’s “Stand Back.”

My abs and cheeks hurt from laughing at Austin’s live people-watching commentary.

“Oh, oh! Look at those two in the pool. The one with the handlebar mustache we saw when we first got here grinding on the little pocket rocket.”

“Shit. That’s… happening. Right here, right now.”

“That is what we affectionately—and disgustingly—call Bear Soup.”

“Eww.”

The DJ looked a little bored. “For the record, I have better taste in music than this. But you gotta give them the singalong shit.” He probably didn’t have any idea I was thinking about playing that night at the bonfire, but I took his comments as advice. I was already working on a playlist in my mind—a few of my best acoustic queens of country numbers with a few originals.

I went to go pee in Bathhouse Two, wading through an epic game of beer pong happening in the shade of the roof overhang. I was feeling that happy part of a buzz where there was an actual hum running through my body. The early stage of wasted where it felt good to walk, and I thought I was killing it, although in reality I probably looked like a mess.

Bathhouse Two was the main bathhouse with the sauna and steam room. I quickly discovered you did not want to go in there when the pool complex was this crowded unless you were looking to see some serious action. I understood why someone would be compelled to live stream that shit. It definitely qualified as an orgy. So much for all the signs prohibiting sex in public areas.

The decibel levels of the music and chatting and laughter and beer pong and capers in the pool outside were easily matched by moans and shower spray and slapping flesh. I pissed like a firehose, fondly recalling Coleman’s lecture on staying hydrated, and was quickly driven out by the dragon’s breath of the steam room door constantly opening.

As I was leaving, I ran smack into Coleman.

I felt a little busted and guilty of… something just for being in there.

He raised a mocking eyebrow, but he winked at me and with a smile, dragged me behind the building between the ice coolers. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“You having a good time?” Coleman’s lips were swollen.

“Yeah, I am. It’s… uh… like no other job I’ve ever had.”

“I hear you’re good at it.”

“What does that mean?”

He shrugged. “The guys like you.”

“How do you know that?”

“Oh, I hear about everything.” He pointed at me. “You better watch yourself in the bathhouse.”

“I would never—”

“I’m just fucking with you.” Coleman kissed me, and it led to a second. Now I was well and truly drunk. Did my eyes look as crossed as they felt? He pulled me hard against him, growled, and then pushed me away. “Get back to work. I have to go deal with a delivery truck at the gate. Don’t forget to drink plenty of water.”

24

Luke

Coleman came and went from the pool several times throughout the day, but I didn’t get another chance to speak to him. I assumed it was routine—making himself available to the guests, making sure everybody was having a good time—but Austin had a different theory.

“He’s checking up on you.”

“Whatever. He’s probably obsessing about the creek.”

“He’s probably obsessing about you being mauled by drunken bears.”