I CANNOT BELIEVE I just said that to him.
Slowly—reluctantly—I pull away from Camden, a lump the size of a boulder stuck in my throat. I watch him, holding my breath, terrified he’ll push me away or worse…
Laugh in my face.
He does neither of those things, thank God.
“I don’t think it matters what you want, or what I want,” he finally says, his deep voice so low I have to scoot even closer to hear him. “Knox will rip my heart out of my chest if I lay a single hand on you.”
The blood is roaring in my ears and I swallow past the disappointment coating my throat. “No, he won’t.”
His smile is small. Almost sad. “Yes, he will. And you know it.”
An irritated noise leaves me and I take a step back, needing the space. “That’s so annoying.”
“What, me telling you no? Or your brother being the problem?”
“Both. If you ask me, it sounds like you’re just making excuses.” I reach across him to grab my glass and drain the last of my drink with a furious sip from my straw—I am so ridiculous—before leaning over Cam to set my glass back on the table. His body is like a solid wall of heat and muscle. Touching him in even the most innocent of ways sets off a fiery path of tingles all over my skin.
Which makes me even more frustrated.
“You know how he is.” I refuse to look at him, averting my gaze. Taking in everyone else around me, but the guy sitting too close. The guy who I’ve had a massive crush on for months. No, years, and who just let me down easy. “Blair. Look at me.”
I hate hearing him say my name because it sounds so good coming from his lips. I barely glance in his direction, noting the pain in his expression. Like he’s hurting too.
Please. He can’t be hurting that badly.
“You’re afraid of my brother,” I retort.
“I’m afraid of myself,” he returns, his response making me frown. “I’m a shithead. I treat girls like garbage.”
“I don’t believe that.” I make a dismissive noise. “And you’ve never treated me like garbage.”
“You’re different. I know you. You’re my best friend’s sister.” He pauses. “And that’s the reason why we can’t do this. I don’t do relationships, especially with a girl who’s related to someone I’m close to.”
I roll my eyes. “Why do all men assume that’s what we’re looking for?” When he sends me a questioning look, I explain further, “Relationships.”
“Because you’re the type of girl who deserves nothing but the best. A casual hookup with some asshole will only leave you feeling…empty.”
Cam is right, damn him.
An irritated noise leaves me. “Woman.”
He frowns. “What?”
“I’m not a girl, I’m a woman. I’m twenty-one. I don’t think you can call me a girl anymore.”
“Trust me, you’re definitely a woman in my eyes.” The knowing look on his face makes me want to smack him. Or kiss him.
Take your pick.
“Well.” I cross my arms. “You got the ‘some asshole’ part right.”
He grins. Actually grins. Like I amuse him. “You’re kind of cute when you’re angry.”
“Do not say nice things to me right now.” I thrust my finger in his face and he grabs it, sending an electric current down my arm, but he immediately lets me go, like his body just had the same reaction. “I can’t believe I tried to hit on you and you turned me down.”
“Would you believe me if I said it was painful to do that?” He raises his brows.
“No,” is my immediate response.
“It was,” he reaffirms. “You’re beautiful. You’re smart. You’re brave. And I’m a dickhead.”
“It’s getting old, Cam, hearing you call yourself names. Trying to imply that you’re not good enough for me.”
“I’m not. That’s why you’re better off.” He opens his arms to me. “Now come here.”
I go to him as if in a trance, not about to turn down a shot at being hugged by the one and only Camden Fields. I let him pull me into his embrace, sliding my arms around his solid torso, turning my head so my face is pressed into his neck. He wraps his arms around me, his fingers teasing my bare sides, just above my hips, and lord help me, I might pass out just from that singular touch.
“I had to get one more hug out of you before you hate me forever,” he murmurs close to my ear, his moving lips brushing against my sensitive flesh. “I’m a fucking idiot.”
“Yeah, you are.” I pull out of his arms, immediately missing the solid weight of him pressed against me. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”
“That’s the problem,” he murmurs, his gaze skimming over me slowly, lingering on the places where I tingle the most. “I’m pretty sure I know exactly what I’m missing.”
We stare at each other for a moment longer until I can’t take it anymore.
I have to get away from him. As Rita would say, stat.
With an annoyed huff, I turn and walk away, holding my head high, my posture perfect. Trying my best to remain composed versus completely falling apart like I really want to do. I take one step in front of the other, moving through the crowd, making my way toward the bathroom, and once I’m in there, I crumple, leaning against the wall and covering my face with my hands.
Taking a deep breath, I drop my hands and scream, startling every single woman that’s in the bathroom with me, and there are a few. A couple of them scream along with me. Some of them even start laughing.
Only one approaches me, a knowing look in her gaze when she reaches out and rests her hand on my arm.
“Was it a man?” she asks.
“Isn’t it always?” I respond.
She pulls me into a hug while everyone claps around us and I can’t help it.
I start to cry.
Twenty minutes later and I’m back out in the bar, like nothing ever happened between Cam and me. I’ve got my shit together. No evidence of tears remains on my face and I’m completely composed.
Well, composed might not be the right word to describe my current mood. I’m another two drinks in and complaining about life in general with Cheyenne, who nods in agreement with everything I say and keeps downing screwdrivers with the logic that it’s the only way she’s going to get screwed tonight.
I laugh every time she brings it up.
We’ve lost Rita to a group of hockey players, who are on the other side of the bar. She flirted with Derek for a few minutes, but she said he wasn’t into her, so she bailed on him, coming over to fill us in before she found some hot hockey players and ditched us completely.
“I hate men,” I announce, slamming back a shot of whiskey before I practically drop the glass on the table.
“You’re talking about one man in particular, right?” Cheyenne sips from her shot, making a face as she quickly sets it on the table next to mine.
“No,” I say way too quickly, shaking my head. I immediately stop that because my brain feels like it’s scrambling. “They’re all terrible.”
“Not a bad assessment,” Cheyenne gives me. I grab my other drink and sip from it. “But I’m pretty certain you’re referring to Camden Fields.”
I spit out what I just slurped up back into my glass, grossing myself out. “Not at all. There’s nothing between us.”
“If you say so.”
The doubt in her voice is obvious. She doesn’t believe me.
I don’t believe me.
“Seriously. We’re just—friends.” I can’t even call us that because if I can’t have him, I don’t want to be anywhere near him. It’s just too hard on my heart and all of the other lustful parts of my body. Denying myself him when he’s right there in front of me sounds like a special type of torture.
But the asshole is denying me as well so…
“Friends, right. Keep telling yourself that.”
The tone of her voice has me on edge. “What do you mean?”
“You two were full of tension when you were talking earlier. Like, the way he looked at you. The things he said. When he touched you.” Cheyenne fans her hand in front of her face. “Hot.”
“Not hot. Cold. Totally cold.” I’m in complete denial. “He’s not interested in me like that.”
“Oh, he is,” Cheyenne argues. “But I get it. You need to keep your distance from each other or whatever.”
“Right,” I say weakly, wondering why we’re keeping our distance from each other.
Well, I know why. Cam gave me an entire list as to why.
Knox is my brother.
Knox is his roommate.
So that equals a conflict of interest in his eyes.
Cam doesn’t do relationships.
I have relationship written all over me in invisible letters.
While we both know he’d mostly likely hurt me and eventually break my heart.
How does he know I only do relationships? The last time I was in a relationship, I was a freshman in college, and it lasted for approximately six months with a dude named Randy.
We had Intro to Statistics together and that class was super difficult, which allowed us to bond together while we whined about how tough the subject was. We started studying together, spending a couple of hours in a local coffeeshop pouring over our textbooks and trying to figure out what we were doing. Then we started talking. Talking led to going out to dinner, to going to the movies, to going back to his house and messing around.
I broke it off after the class was over. I realized I didn’t particularly care for his giant ego and vaguely pretentious ways.
Before Randy, there was my high school boyfriend, Travis Strickland. Football player. Good looking and popular. My father loved him. They would talk football together, ad nauseum, every time he came over, and I remember being so bored. But also, I was grateful Knox wasn’t around because he would’ve completely taken over the conversation and my dad was bad enough.
Oh, Knox also would’ve threatened poor Travis and told him to watch it or he’d have to kill him, which is what has Cam currently running.
Travis was my first love, my first heartbreak, the first boy I ever had sex with, and while it was all right, it wasn’t much to brag about. Randy was better in bed but not by a whole lot. Neither one of them necessarily rocked my world, so to speak.
I definitely never felt all aflutter and ready to sink to my knees in front of a guy like I do around Cam. He gives me a look and I’m breathless. He touches me in the most impersonal way and I think I might keel over. And when he hugs me, like he did approximately an hour ago?
Forget it. I’m surprised I’m still functioning.
The hairs on the back of my neck start to tingle and I lift my head, glancing around as inconspicuously as possible, my gaze landing on Cam, who’s still sitting at the same table, his dark gaze on me.
I don’t look away. It’s as if I can’t. I stand up straighter, thrusting my chest out, giving him a good look at what he’s missing, and then with a huff, I push away from the table, marching directly toward him.
The panic on his face is almost amusing. I can see it flare in his gaze and he looks down at the table, like he can’t even face me.
At the last second, I dodge right, returning to the bathroom, his gaze trailing after me. I can literally feel it, hot and intense, and I look over my shoulder, making sure he’s still watching before I duck into the single unisex bathroom.
Leaving the door unlocked.
My heart racing, I go to the sink and wash my shaking hands, hopeful that I didn’t misread the situation. If he sneaks into the bathroom with me, then I have a chance, but if he doesn’t…
I’ll stop. I won’t bother him again. I’ll let this be and move on.
Seconds turn into minutes and my chest begins to ache. He’s not coming. I was wrong. He told me how he felt and he one hundred percent meant—
The door swings open and Cam barges his way in, locking the door behind him. He stops short when he finds me standing in the middle of the room, a crumpled paper towel still clutched in my hand.
I quickly toss it into the wastebasket, gasping when Cam grabs a hold of me and takes me with him, backing me up into the wall. My butt hits it first and he braces his hands on either side of the wall, caging me in. Trapping me.
“You’re trying to drive me out of my fuckin’ mind, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m no—” I can barely get the full word out when he’s dipping his head, skimming his nose along the side of my face. A gasp leaves me and I close my eyes, overwhelmed by his nearness. The way he’s—smelling me.
It’s almost primal, his behavior. I swear I can feel his restraint. How he’s holding himself back from unleashing all over me and I open my eyes to find him staring straight into them, anger filling his gaze.
“You are,” he says accusingly. “And it’s working, Blair.”
Everything inside me goes loose and shaky at the way he says my name. He’s so close. Kissing close. I stare at his lips, how full the lower one is. It’s plump and perfect and I’m tempted to bite it.
I don’t though. I don’t have the nerve. I’m not as brave as he thinks.
“It wouldn’t bother you if you didn’t care.” Giving in, I reach out, drifting my fingers down the front of his chest, his heat seeping through the fabric of his T-shirt. He’s so hard. I’ve seen him without his shirt on, but it’s been a while, and I’ve certainly never touched his naked chest.
I want to. Badly.
“You think I don’t care?”
“You basically said that to me earlier.” I lift my gaze to his, not daring to look away.
“I never said I didn’t care. I said I couldn’t. Big difference.” He leans in again, his mouth at my ear, his hot breath blowing across my skin and making me shiver. “I care too fucking much. That’s my problem. I’m pretty sure you’re going to be the death of me.”
We don’t move, our heavy breaths mingling, my heart beating so loud, I’m positive he can hear it. I can’t believe this is happening. I want him to kiss me. I want his hands all over me and if he said he wanted to fuck me in this not-so-sterile bathroom, I’d say yes.
I would. I wouldn’t even hesitate.
“Are you going to stay away from me?” he finally asks.
I slowly shake my head. “No.”
A frustrated breath leaves him, and he slowly backs away, almost reluctantly. “That’s too bad. I don’t know if I can be responsible for what happens if you keep coming around.”
I smile at him, savoring the power currently sweeping over me. “Guess we’ll have to wait and see.”
