Page 106 of False Catch

I look at his motorcycle, remembering the last time. The ride to the boathouse. His fingers inside me, my hand on him, the way he kissed me like I was the only girl in the world. And then my heat hit.

He's kept his distance ever since.

"Cameron—"

"I know what happened last time." He hands me his spare helmet. "I've been avoiding you because once I start touching you, I don't trust myself to stop. But tonight... tonight you need someone who sees you drowning and isn't afraid to pull you out."

"And that's you?"

"That's me." He meets my eyes directly. "I won't promise not to touch you, Reese. But I promise it'll be about what you need, not what I want."

"What if they're the same thing?"

"Then we deal with that when it happens. "Something flares in his dark eyes. "You've been managing everyone else's emotions all day. Gray's guilt, Jackson's possessiveness, the team's anger. When do you get to just... not?"

He's right. I'm exhausted from feeling everyone else's feelings, managing everyone else's reactions.

I take the helmet. "Where are we going?"

"Does it matter?"

For once, it doesn't. I put on the helmet and climb on behind him. He starts the engine, the vibration running through my entire body.

"Hold on tight," he says, and I wrap my arms around his waist.

We tear out of the parking lot and into the night. The speed is terrifying and exhilarating, forcing everything else out of my mind. There's only the roar of the engine, the rush of wind, the solid warmth and hard muscles of Cameron beneath my hands.

He drives us to the edge of town, pulling into the cracked parking lot of Ray's Hot Dogs - a run-down joint with a flickering neon sign missing half its letters.

"Gourmet dining?" I ask as I pull off the helmet.

"Best chili dogs in three states." He's already walking toward the order window. "Trust me."

Five minutes later we're sitting on a picnic table in the parking lot, greasy food between us, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. It's perfect in its complete lack of perfection.

"My dad used to bring me here," Cameron says suddenly, breaking his usual silence. "Before he decided I was a disappointment."

I wait, knowing Cameron well enough not to push.

"He was a long-haul trucker. Gone three weeks out of four, but when he was home, this was our spot." He takes a bite of his hot dog. "Mom hated it. She was the one with money - old pharmaceutical fortune. She wanted me in prep schools and yacht clubs. Dad wanted me to see the real world."

"What happened to him?"

"Heart attack when I was sixteen. Behind the wheel somewhere in Nebraska." He shrugs, but I catch the old pain in it. "Mom tried to erase him after that. Sold his bike - this one - to some dealer. Took me two years to track it down and buy it back."

"She must have been furious."

"She was relieved. Gave her an excuse to write me off as my father's son instead of hers." He steals one of my fries. "Haven't spoken since freshman year."

"Is that why you got into computers? To track the bike down?"

He shrugs. "That’s part of it. I took jobs to raise the money to buy it back. Took every penny I had saved for college." He grins, and it changes his whole face. "Worth it though. It led me to rowing to earn a scholarship. Now it's the only piece of him I have left. Plus, it's useful for rescuing coxswains having emotional crises."

"I'm not having a crisis."

"You're eating a greasy hot dog at eleven PM in a parking lot with the team's ghost. That's at least crisis-adjacent."

I laugh, surprised by his humor. "Who got that started?"