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Part of me stopped thinking completely. The other part told me to do what was expected, what someone like Cam would want and need, because wasn’t that why he was here? Because we weren’t talking and I wanted to be that girl from before.
I took off my tank top before my brain caught up with everything. Oddly, that part wasn’t hard. Cool air washed over my flushed skin, spreading tiny bumps. The hard part was looking up when I heard Cam inhale.
“Avery.”
My heart was thumping so fast and my pulse pounded. Blood rushed to my face, but I looked up.
He was staring at me, the wariness in the tense line of his jaw was overshadowed by the way his chest rose like he was breathing just as fast as I was.
Slightly dizzy, I leaned against the wall, letting my arms fall to my sides. Cam stood a few feet away, and I hadn’t seen him move around the couch. He wasn’t just staring at me. Oh no, it was much, much more than that. I felt devoured by his stare, like I had felt when he’d kissed me, as if he was committing every detail to his memory. Warmth traveled down my throat, across my chest, and to the lacy edges of my black bra. His lips parted, and I bit down on mine. When he dragged his gaze back up, an intense feeling built low in my stomach. Heat poured into his crystalline eyes, deepening the brilliant hue.
There was a twinge of uncertainty blossoming in my chest, under the delicious tensing, and my throat dried. I didn’t want to feel that. I wanted just the warmth and the breathless feeling.
“Cam?”
He shook his head, hands closing into fists at his sides. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” I asked.
His eyes squeezed shut. “This—don’t do this, sweetheart.”
“Isn’t that what you want?” I swallowed.
Cam’s eyes flew. “I don’t expect that, Avery.”
My confidence wavered like a thin tree in a storm and then completely collapsed. I sucked in a breath and it got stuck in my throat. “You don’t want me.”
Cam was in front of me within a second, so fast I hadn’t even seen him move. His hands were planted on either side of my head and he leaned down, his face inches from mine. Tension rolled off his body in waves. Air fled my lungs as my body went rigid.
“Fuck, Avery. You think I don’t want you?” His voice came out low, almost a growl. “There’s not a single part of you that I don’t want, you understand? I want to be on you and inside of you. I want you against the wall, on the couch, in your bed, in my bed, and every fucking place I can possibly think of, and trust me, I have a vast imagination when it comes to these kinds of things. Don’t ever doubt that I want you. That is not what this is about.”
My eyes widened as confusion swirled through me, muddling my thoughts further, which at this point, seemed impossible.
He leaned in, resting his forehead against mine. The contact sent my pulse pounding. “But not like this—never like this. You’re drunk, Avery, and when we get together—because we will get together, you’re going to be fully aware of everything that I do to you.”
It took a few moments, but what he said finally sunk in through the liquor haze and confusion and made sense. Closing my eyes, I turned my head to the side, feeling the way his skin slid alongside mine. “You’re a good guy, Cam.”
“No, I’m not.” He exhaled deeply and his breath was warm against my cheek. “I’m only good with you.”
Chapter 25
What Cam had been waiting for happened shortly after I took my shirt off and showed him my bra. He’d gotten me to sit down and wrapped a quilt around my shoulders, covering me up. We were watching a horrifically bad science fiction movie when all that liquor decided it didn’t want to me in my belly anyone.
Tearing off the quilt, I scrambled over Cam’s legs and lap. “Oh God…”
“What? You’re sick.” Cam was on his feet.
I rushed toward the bathroom and slammed the door behind me. Dropping to my knees, I lifted the lid and started heaving. Every muscle in my body went through the motion. Tears streamed down my face as my body shuddered. It seemed wrong to be going through this after having the flu.
Over all the retched noise I was making, I hadn’t heard Cam come in, but he was there, kneeling beside me. His hand smoothed the length of my spine, a continuous, endless soothing stroke as he scooped the hair that had escaped my bun out of my face. He stayed, murmuring unintelligible words to me that did wonders, even through the violent dry heaving stage.
When it was all done, he helped me lean against the bath tub while he grabbed a small towel and ran it under the water. He knelt down, wiping the soft material across my face, like he had the night of the Halloween party and when I’d been sick. “Feel better?” he asked.
“Kinda,” I murmured, closing my eyes against the brightness. “Oh God, this is so embarrassing.”
He chuckled. “It’s nothing, sweetheart.”
“This is why you stayed, right?” I moaned, feeling like a giant idiot. “You knew I was going to be sick and here I was, taking off my clothes.”
