Page 38 of Sand in My Boots

I can’t say yes fast enough.

A sneaky smile rewards me.

“I’m glad we get to spend time together this week. Though I am a little bummed I have to sacrifice my pool time to do so.” Her left eye winks before she takes off again.

“I’m going to throw you in the pool the next chance I get if you keep this attitude up.” The statement is muttered, and I can’t be certain she hears it.

Juli walks a few feet ahead of me, though I doubt she knows where she’s going. My eyes fall to her ass, the way it sways in her tight shorts, and before I catch up with her, I subtly adjust myself.

No matter where this relationship ends up, I’m forever changed by Juli Langley.

Again.

Chapter 11

Juli

At the spa, Cameron checks in with the front desk, assuring things are running smoothly. He scans the appointments for the next few days, but unfortunately, there isn’t an opening for a couples massage before I leave. Oh well. He registers me for yoga on Friday and balks when I ask him to join me. Probably for the best. I don’t want to get too attached. This, whatever it is we’re sharing, has an expiration date.

I push the thought completely out of my mind, focusing on the present. Cameron’s rapport with the staff shines like a beacon in a storm. His easygoing nature translates to being a kind-mannered boss. And though there aren’t any problems he has to attend to, it’s easy to see they respect him, listening attentively to his suggestions and ideas.

It totally confirms my decision to put up the money for his share. This is exactly where he’s supposed to be in life. My heart swells with pride in giving him this opportunity.

Finished there, we head for the breakfast buffet. In which my first stop will be coffee. With all the orgasms and waking up with Cameron in my bed, it didn’t faze me I haven’t had a cup yet. But stepping inside the restaurant, various delicious smells accost me, coffee leading the pack.

“I need coffee.”

“Sure thing.”

I love how he’s so agreeable. How he puts my needs first. Not just in the bedroom, but in other places as well. The way he’s pampering me feels more than a fling. If that’s what you’d call this. Because hell if I know. Maybe it’s consensual sex between two old friends, a way to scratch an itch for me, and whatever he views it as for him. But no, it’s more than that. Because his hand is on my back again, and it feels way more affectionate than if Preston or my best guy friend at home were touching me. Granted, Maverick swings the other way, so maybe not the best example.

The hostess leads us to a table in the back, letting us know our waiter will be Lester. When she’s out of earshot, I lean across the table. “His name is Lester?”

“Unfortunately for him, yep. He hasn’t been with us long. Maybe six months? He seems like a good guy, from what I can tell. I don’t have much to do with the hiring or firing of the staff except for those who work directly under me. I know him only because the breakfast buffet beats eating alone in my kitchen every morning.”

There’s melancholy in his voice, though his expression doesn’t change. From what I’ve seen of the rest of his life, he seems genuinely happy. If having to eat breakfast at an all-you-can-eat buffet every day is the worst thing going for him, I’d say he’s doing quite well.

“There’s a small café about half a mile from my house. I tried hard not to make a habit of going there every day, but inevitably, I end up there for either lunch or breakfast about five times a week. I rationalize that at least I’m working as I eat and I walk to and from, so I’m getting my exercise. Supporting a small business is also a benefit.” I leave off the part about the baristas having my order ready for me when I walk in, no matter what time of day I show up. He doesn’t need to know every little detail about my life.

Lester appears at our table. He’s bubbly and gay as the day is long.

“Hey ya, Cameron. I see you’ve found yourself a woman to join you.” He peruses me over his black-rimmed glasses, ones more for show than functional. “I approve.”

“Um, thanks?” I stammer.

“Oh, definitely.” Lester nods his head. “You’ll do just fine for our boy.”

Our boy?

Who is this twenty-something-year-old who dresses like James Dean and acts like he’s from the 1950s?

Cameron grabs my hand, dragging my attention to him. “Ignore him.” To Lester, he says, “Two coffees, cream or milk on the side. Not these mugs.” He points to the ones on the table. “We’ll take the larger ones.”

“So bossy. I’ll see what I can do.” He waves behind him. “You know the drill. Plates are up there. Help yourself when you’re ready.” Lester meanders away, glancing back over his shoulder at least once.

“He’s . . . something.”

“Exactly that.” Cameron stands from the bench, waiting for me to do the same. “There are pancakes. Have at them.”