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“I see.” Thoughts race through my mind at what this could mean.
Their ability to read my interest doesn’t concern me. I won’t pursue Kenya in secret. While here, I have to keep enough about myself hidden. With Kenya, I want to experience what it’s like to be with someone without needing a non-disclosure agreement to protect my and my bandmates’ image.
But my identity isn’t the only challenge I’ll face. On one hand, I doubt Kenya would appreciate her grandmother’s meddling in her affairs. On the other, who would know Kenya better than these two women? If I can find out more about her, I can chip away at her defenses until I get to the uninhibited woman I’ve become obsessed with. Equally intriguing is finding out more about the side of her personality that continues to rebuff me.
I turn to my guests. “If you are serious about this, I’ll accept your help, but I have conditions. You have to respect her boundaries.” I raise my hand when they open their mouths to interrupt. “Before you bring it up, I know I’ve benefited from you steamrolling over those same boundaries, but that ends now. The kind of man you want for your granddaughter will ensure she doesn’t have to fight her battles alone. I don’t know if I’m that person yet, but I think we both deserve a chance to figure it out on our own. Without you pulling our strings.”
Onyx enters an intense staring contest with Laila. At long last, they turn to me in unison. “We’ll give you a test run but reserve the right to intercede if we believe you’re about to fuck things up.”
“So don’t fuck things up. We’ll draw lots to figure out which one of us gets to have a go at you first.” Laila leans forward in the chair, an air of intimidation swallowing the air in the room. “Onyx may look soft, but she will destroy you. If there’s anything left after I’m done with you.”
CHAPTERSEVEN
Kenya
Anew sunrise, a new beginning, yet the same dream haunts me. Thanks to the show Cameron put on for me yesterday, I can fill in a lot of blanks I didn’t know from our one time together. Like the hair along his chest. How I want to bury my nose into the soft mat and inhale his scent until he obscures everything else. An image of his abs flashes before my eyes and I can’t help but lick my lips.
“Argh!” I scream into my pillow. I’m supposed to be considering his proposition, not sexualizing him in my dreams until I want nothing more than to march over to his rental and test the limits of his bed. Why must I suffer this way?
Is that rhetorical? If you listened to wise counsel, he would tell you how sweet you taste and how pretty you are and—
Enough! You aren’t helping.
Because you underestimate what my brand of help can do.
“Well, keep it to yourself,” I mutter and swing my legs out of bed.
The blush of a new day promises hope, but thanks to Keating, I question what kind. I wish I could embrace the sentiment, but something inside me prevents me from reaching out and hugging the mysterious feeling close. I don’t trust it, which saddens me.
Before I graduated from design school, I would have grasped any opportunity, but working for Studio Arte drained me of that thirst. Contrary to what others believe, the long hours didn’t do it; time flew when I worked on a project. But would it have killed someone to acknowledge my skill once in a while? I’m not the kind of person who needs constant validation, but the occasional “good job” would have put me on cloud nine.
I know someone who likes to praise you. I bet he’d find all kinds of reasons to point out your good attributes. Why don’t we go visit him?
No!I shake my head to clear Cameron from my thoughts. Dreaming about him in my vulnerable moments is bad enough. Having Keating remind me how affirming his approval feels, feeds the strange side of me I need to suppress.
As I do during stressful times, I reach out to my sketch pad and let the free-flowing lines free my mind. A picture forms, but I slow my pencil’s easy glide along the paper. I’ve done it again.
A portrait of Cameron stares back at me. Self-disgust and an unhealthy fascination with my subject war inside me. I need to get him off my mind. What I really need is to work on my animated series, but to get to my office I have to go through his new living space.
I pace while Jackpot weaves through my legs. When I stumble over her, I scoop her into my arms to soothe her nerves. She curls into my embrace; her puffed tail flicking at my arm until it goes back to its natural shape. A calm settles over me and with it the determination I need to end this stalemate that Cameron is unaware we’re having.
A determined march with an armful of folded moving boxes and Jackpot on my heels, finds me at his door. He doesn’t give me the opportunity to knock. He swings the door open while I have my hand raised.
“I don’t know why you’re here, but you are a welcome sight to behold first thing in the morning.” He pulls me inside.
His enthusiastic welcome causes me to stiffen in anticipation of a sexual advance or innuendo. When nothing is forthcoming, I set my boxes down. “I’ve done nothing to warrant this welcome.”
He shrugs, his gaze lingering everywhere it lands. “Honestly, you don’t have to do much. Just being in the same room with you this way brightens my day.”
I stare open-mouthed after his confession as a warm tingle invades my chest. Other than my family and Jazzy, have I ever had such a positive effect on someone for doing nothing except showing up? Escondido’s citizens don’t really count. Our default is to light up when we greet people, but Cameron doesn’t know how our small town works and as a stranger he shouldn’t affect me this way.
Blood pumps slowly within my veins, my heart plods along with heavy beats, and I don’t feel the overwhelming urge to act out of character. This, too, is cause for concern. When will I know if the urge will slam into me? Will I be at my weakest point? I shouldn’t let this feeling spread. Yet, despite my best efforts, I don’t douse the warm ember growing inside me. I also don’t show Cameron his effect on me, either.
He walks into the small kitchen, returns, and hands me a glass of sweet tea. I shakily take it and gulp the contents in my nervousness, noting the bitters typical in my glamma’s recipe. The familiar flavor helps to calm my nerves, but raises suspicions I dare not voice.
“Who do we have here?” Cameron bends down to greet my curious cat who isn’t shy about receiving affection from him.
If you were smart, you’d line up with your tail in the air waiting for your rub down, too.
