Page 22 of Sand in My Boots

“Have at the cinnamon roll then.” His butt plops into the chair as he pushes the plate with the sugary goodness over to me. Then he swipes the coffee cup. “This wasn’t quite for you, though.” Much to my horror, he swigs some.

My mind scrolls back to how I grabbed it out of his hands. This coffee he brought for himself, apparently. Wow, rude much?

But then the working part of my brain reminds me he mentioned something about milk, indicating it wasn’t for him.

Of course, the one thing I focus on is who the coffee was intended for, but I need it. And he’s now drinking from it.

“Um, ew. Did you drink from the same cup I did?”

He nods. “Like it’s a big deal?” Not for him, obviously. But I’m not certain how I feel about it. Of course, he’s quick to remind me, “We’ve swapped spit before, Jude. Actually, way more than spit if I’m not mistaken.” The damn bastard waggles his eyebrows, knowing what he spews is the truth.

It was a lot more than spit that night. Even in my mouth.

But that was a long time ago. Who knows where his mouth’s been lately? An image of him drinking my mai tai yesterday and me not caring wiggles into me. I survived that.

“I’ll get you another on our way out,” he backtracks. “Two, if that’s what you need. I was only joking anyway. I brought it for you.” His apology is contrite, as well as the way a sincere expression engulfs his face. It’s quite endearing. He’s endearing. Which isn’t news to me. Though, it’s been a long while, and we were young. Who knew Cameron still cared so much?

To show him I’m over it, I take the cup and unscrew the lid, adding a double splash of milk before inhaling a bit more of it. It hits the spot immensely, Cameron’s germs only adding to the pleasure.

“We really are so bad at this, aren’t we?”

“Why though?” I ask instead of answering his question. Because I don’t have a great answer for him. In fact, I don’t have any response.

“Hell if I know.”

“Awkward or not, it’s nice hanging out with you.” Heat flushes my cheeks admitting that truth. And if I’m completely honest, other places below the waist, too.

A text chime from my phone interrupts wherever this awkwardness was heading. “Oh, crap. I need to get ready.” I look between the text from Erica telling me what time I need to be ready, the table full of food I need to indulge in, and Cameron. His expression has changed to conjecture.

“There’s an incredible restaurant in Charleston. We could continue this titillating conversation over a table there.” His lips quirk up into a smirk.

“I hate for all of this to go to waste . . . ”

The entire sentence isn’t out of my mouth before he packs up the containers. “I’ll put it in your fridge for later.”

My hands swipe the cinnamon roll. “I’ll eat this as I get ready.” I start for my bedroom, turning around to face Cameron. “Thanks for this. All of it. And for packing it up while I get ready to go. Lunch will be my treat.”

“That’s only fair. And probably dinner, too. And maybe breakfast in the morning. I’ve got a tab going for all you owe me.”

If not for knowing Cameron years ago and the way his statement exudes sarcasm, I would think he was serious.

“Don’t push your luck, mister. I could easily avoid you for the next few days.”

“Ha. I’d like to see you try. I know where you’re staying.”

My mouth drops open, and I don’t have the audacity to close it before I saunter away to get ready. “Don’t drink all my coffee!” I call out as I shut the door behind me.

“You ruined it with the milk. It’s definitely all yours now.”

My hearty chortle fills the huge bedroom.

Whether he’s serious doesn’t matter.

It’s fun to trade barbs with the likes of Cameron Fairbanks.

I slip into a maxi skirt and tank top, not bothering to dry my hair. Once I get outside, the humidity will have it dry in no time. With a hair tie around my wrist for later, I emerge from the bedroom to find Cameron relaxing on the couch. He almost looks like he belongs there.

The thought is sobering.