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“Let me guess, you hate surprises?” she muses, raising a brow at me.
“I don’t hate anything when it relates to you.”
What the hell did I just say?
I internally facepalm while Camille visibly blushes, but her eyes seem wary. I don’t blame her. I keep saying one thing and doing another. I need to get my shit together.
“Good to know, Ryker the biker, good to know,” she teases.
“Stop calling me that.” I scowl.
“Why? It’s the perfect nickname. It rhymes and it’s true,” she points out.
“Princess doesn’t rhyme nor is it true, but it’s perfect for you,” I fire back, although I’m not sure that last bit is true. The more I get to unravel bits of her, the more I learn that she’s less formal than I thought.
There’s a quick glance of worry in her eyes, but it passes just as quickly. I wonder why, for a moment, and I’m about to ask when a man comes rushing out the lobby doors.
“Camille, où étais-tu?” he snaps, and I instantly take a step in front of her, but he isn’t deterred in the slightest.
“Quentin, qu’est-ce que tu fais ici?” Camille replies to him, then looks at me when she notices how tense I am. “Ryker, this is my brother Quentin.”
I take a closer look at the man, and it hits me. Quentin Laurent?
Holy. Fuck. He’s the starting pitcher for the Detroit Panthers and the best in the league. I try to keep my cool, but the inner child in me wants to ask for his autograph.
And he’s her brother? No. Fucking. Way.
“Je suis arrivé il y a quelques heures et tu ne répondais pas à ton téléphone. Il faut qu’on parle. Tu n’es peut-être pas royal ici, mais tu dois quand même faire attention.”
Camille and Quentin glance at me, but I don’t have a clue what the hell they’re saying. The word royal sticks out to me, but for all I know, he called me a royal asshole.
He wouldn’t be wrong.
Camille seems fearful and upset. It bothers me and I want to do whatever I can to put that big smile back on her face.
“Hey.” I lower my voice as I face her. “You good?”
“Yeah, I just need to talk to my brother.”
I take in her full pink lips, down to her slender neck that I have the urge to explore with my own. “Give me your phone.”
Her eyebrows narrow, but she does it anyway, giving it to me unlocked. I put my number in there, then hand it back to her.
She takes it and looks at the new contact, her eyes lighting up with the same hope I saw earlier.
“Just in case you need to reach me for social media stuff,” I tell her, lying through my damn teeth. That’s the last thing I want her to text me for.
Just as quickly as the hope in her eyes came, it flashes away. Camille straightens and hands me the helmet she had on as she brushes past me. “Thanks again. Have a good night,” she says softly.
She walks away, her long hair bouncing in the moonlight. How many more times am I going to let her walk away while I regret every second of it? Wishing I could chase after her and wrap her in my arms where I know she’d be safe.
Unlike how my heart feels when it comes to her.
Chapter Ten
Camille
That first warm day in March after a harsh winter feels like salvation. Suddenly, everything seems brighter, everyone feels lighter. It feels like the hope of what’s to come.
