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“Fine. As soon as I’m done here. Give me five minutes.”
He loiters near the entrance while I shut down the computer and tuck in the chair. The custodian fires up the vacuum cleaner, zooming away without paying us any attention.
We walk in silence out to the parking lot and Cam grabs my elbow, steering me away from the parking lot and behind the building.
“Where are we going, Cam? It’s been a long day, I just want to get home.”
“Come on. Give me ten minutes.”
Because I’m a sucker and a sappy romantic—and Abigail had a few good points, especially for a nine-year-old—I let Cam lead me out to the park in the back of the library. We walk toward the gazebo at the far end of the outdoor space and I suck in a breath.
Twinkly fairy lights drape from the gazebo, a whitetablecloth spread over the old wooden picnic table. There’s a fancy charcuterie board, along with a bottle of chilled white wine and two glasses. A huge bouquet of flowers—blue hydrangeas this time—sits in the center of the table and a portable speaker’s playing Frank Sinatra’s greatest hits.
“Cam—”
“C’mon, Trouble. Can we at least talk?” He cuts his gaze to mine and I feel my resolve crumbling like a sandy shoreline at high tide during a hurricane.
“Fine. But make it quick. Otherwise my dad’ll ask questions.” A total lie, but what’s good for the goose, right?
His hand hovers at my low back, but doesn’t dare make contact as he guides me to the picnic bench. I take a seat, perched tentatively on the edge. Ready to bolt at any moment. The sun’s setting in the distance and there’s a light breeze as Cam folds his tall body down onto the wooden bench.
“May I?” He gestures at the wine, sweating in the heat.
“Fine.” May as well enjoy a beverage—it’s still sticky and humid out here.
He pours us each a tall glass of wine, screwing the lid back onto the bottle before sliding my glass over.
I take a long slug and he does the same, cicadas humming in the tall grass behind us.
“Sloane, I’m really sorry. I should have told you about the video.” He swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing in his thick neck. “It was one stupid night in Chicago. My buddy’s birthday and they invited these women up to the room. We had too much to drink—I should have left. I can sit here and make excuses for my behavior—peer pressure, too much alcohol, blah, blah, blah. All of that is true, butit’s also bullshit. I made a big mistake. And it cost me a lot. My spot on the team in Chicago. But if it costs me you—” He gazes out into the field, dark brows knit.
“Hold on. Chicago? Don’t sit here and fucking lie straight to my face, Cam. I saw the date on the video. It was a few days ago, when you were in Florida.”
“What? No, it wasn’t. Swear.”
“Bullshit, Cam! It was timestamped!” Fiery anger surges through me.How stupid and naïve does he think I am?“Jamie pulled it up on her phone and the date was right fucking there.”
“Sloane—I swear to God nothing happened while I was down in Florida. That video was from months ago. That’s the main reason I got cut from the team.”
“So Jamie found an old sex video on the internet and doctored it? C’mon, Cam. That’s ridiculous.”
Cam frowns, his lips pressed together. “I guess. I mean, I don’t know why she would do that. But I promise you, I haven’t been with anyone since we started dating. I’d never hurt you like that, Sloane.”
His deep blue eyes slide to mine and a pang radiates through my chest. I want to believe him—so badly—but don’t all cheaters say these things? Ratface sure did.
It was only this one time.
I’ll never do it again, Sloane.
I never meant to hurt you, baby.
Uh-huh. Right.
“Prove it.” I fold my arms over my chest, fortified by anger and chardonnay.
Cam huffs out a shaky breath and slides his cell out of his pocket. Clicking on the search tab, he types in a few keywords and hands me the phone without meeting my gaze.
I hit play and sure as shit, it’s the same grainy video. The hotel room, the skyline, the beautiful women. All the same. This time with no time and date stamp in the corner.
