Read I Hate Summer for Free Online

and with nothing more he turned over and went to sleep.
    I turned off the small lamp that had been valiantly holding back the falling dusk. The summer sun had finally lost its sway and returned the countryside to darkness. I’m not sure how long I lay there staring up at the black that obscured the space above me. It wasn’t the lucid gray-and-yellow-tinged darkness I’d grown accustomed to in the city. This was the utter darkness that was removed from civilization. Only the rustling of the wind against my tent, the steady breaths of the sleeping man next to me, and the creak and cricketing of the wildlife beyond our cocoon could be heard; the silence was deafening.
    When I woke up, I was too hot. I’d managed to work myself half free of my sleeping bag and my legs were sticking out the side of it, but I was still too hot because Trystan had decided to join me on my half of the tent.
    “Yer fricking kidding me…,” I grumbled, my voice still low and gruff with sleep.
    You read about people getting enjoyment from waking up entangled with an attractive person. Well, that’s a load of rubbish. Attractive or ugly did not change the fact that Trystan’s breath was hot and his skin was sweaty.
    Trystan had discarded his sleeping bag completely. He was curled on his side with that fine ass of his pointed away from me. His face was tucked in against my neck, and he was breathing hot, musty morning breath into my ear. And his legs—those toned and tanned legs—were wrapped through mine, clammy and slightly hot where our skin was touching.
    I detached myself and he garbled some half-asleep complaint into my ear as he pressed his face in closer.
    I really could not get my head around this man, this version of Trystan Jackson that was so okay with gay men he didn’t even stir in his sleep. It seemed implausible to me that this could be reality. I’d spent four years avoiding a holiday I should have loved because I’d been fed up of dealing with a frankly extreme level of homophobia from the same man who was now trying to snuggle back in closer to me. I hadn’t been making that stuff up about the bowls. He really had insisted. I remembered because even though Trystan had always been a bit of a bastard, the extreme level he’d achieved when he found out I was gay had been a real shock to the system. Yet here he was breathing into my ear, a funny little smile quirking the edge of his lips as some dream kept him amused.
    With a roll of my eyes, I got up quietly and escaped into the blissful cool of the early morning.
    I had always been an early riser, and I stretched and enjoyed the dew-covered dawn. I pulled deep breaths of cold, crisp air into my lungs as I tugged some clothes on—ones Jerry Jackson would find acceptable, I hoped.
    It was going to be a scorching hot day if the cloudless blue sky had anything to say about it, so I made the most of the blissful cool as I made a flask of tea. Jorja was the first to join me. She shot me a mute nod as she wordlessly took the cup I offered. She didn’t speak until it was mostly empty.
    “So, how was it?” she asked in a low voice, since our camp was beginning to stir.
    “Hot,” I answered bluntly, and the look she gave me let me know that she expected more details. “Ye would o’ loved it, sis: he’s a snuggler.”
    Her pale eyebrows skyrocketed up her forehead and disappeared into the blonde sweeping fringe that was tucked behind her ear.
    “Yer fricking kidding me?” she exclaimed in a stage whisper. I responded with an exaggerated shake of my head. “Did ye snuggle him back?”
    “What d’ye think?” I asked, knowing full well that she knew the answer to that question, but it didn’t make her look any happier.
    “Yer a crazy, crazy man, Ide.”
    “Having a little bit of self-respect and restraint do not make me crazy.”
    Jorja spluttered, “Right now I’m honestly doubting whether ye are actually gay? Have ye been lying to me this whole time?” She dropped