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Cam’s breath rises and falls behind me, the swing swaying slightly as I press my tongue to the inside of my cheek, contemplating.
“I’m happier now than I was in New Orleans—” My stomach flip-flops thinking about my broken engagement, a hot flush creeping into my cheeks. “I’m glad I didn’t make a huge mistake.”
In one quick move, Cam’s standing in front of me. His marine eyes meet mine, and he fixes me with a smoldering gaze. The tip of his tongue darts out, licking along his bottom lip, and I’m frozen in the sultry southern heat.
“Me too.”
My breath hitches and I’m vaguely concerned I might pass out. I force air in, then out, then back in again.
“What about you? Were you happy in Chicago? Playing pro football?”
He presses his lips together, his gaze dropping down to the red clay. “Yes and no. I love playing ball, don’t get me wrong. Always have. But it wasn’t what I expected.”
I study his face, trying to read his expression. Cam’s never been an easy one to figure out, and he’s more guarded now than ever. Probably serves him well with the press, but the attribute’s not making my life any easier.
“Oh? How so?”
His jaw tenses, and I know I hit a nerve.
“It’s nothing. Stupid, really.” He shoves a hand in his pocket, shuffles his feet.
I drop my voice lower. “You can tell me, Cam. It’s just me—I won’t drop any sound bites to the media, promise.”
Blowing out a heavy breath, he sighs. “The pressure was intense. Not the pressure of performance, or the game. I know how to handle that, been practicing for years. But the interviews, the media, all the constant noise. Not to sound like an asshole, but some of the fans were too much, getting rowdy and handsy after games. Like I said—it wasa lot. I didn’t realize how private I am until that wasn’t an option.”
“I don’t have the experience like you do—” I chew at my lip, tossing around for the right words. “But I think there’s an option. You keep a part of yourself private, hidden and tucked away. You save it. For the people you trust.”
He lifts his eyes to mine and I’m struck by the dark shadows haunting his face. Making him no less handsome, but giving him a sharp edge. Some of his shine’s dulled, the glint in his eyes dimmed.
“You’re right. I’ll have to try that.”
“You want to go back to the pros, right?”
“Yes. Football’s my life—” His voice trails off and he glances away toward the lake, the moon shining bright over the water.
A long beat passes, the croaking louder, leaves rustling overhead.
I take a big, scary risk, rising from the swing until I’m face to face with Cam. Stepping in close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body, to count the tiny dark hairs shading his square jaw.
Lifting my hand to his chest—daring to touch his steely pecs—I rest my palm over his heart, feel the dull thudding with each passing second.
“You’re more than football, Cam. You always have been.”
He blinks, pupils wide beneath his dark lashes. His jaw tics and I worry for a second that I overstepped, acting like one of the fangirls he dislikes.
“Thanks, Trouble. I needed to hear that, more than you know.” He swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing in his thick neck, and I’m glad I took the risk.
A loud whoop rises from the direction of the bonfire and I drop my hand, stepping back into my own space.
“Wanna get outta here?” he asks and I nod.
“I’d love to.”
Together, we make our way back toward the gathering, the space between us smaller now.
“I should text Gracelyn and let her know I’m cutting out. Gimmee a sec,” I say, already punching out the message. Cam waits, hands shoved in his pockets as he stares out across the lake.
“Ugh—she asked me to meet her real quick. Do you mind?”
