Graham scrubbed a hand over his face. “Look, I’m not the one you should be asking for relationship-type advice. That’s Zach’s area. He’s the one who’s into talking about his feelings. But I will say this: If your choice is to share her or lose her, which do you choose?”
“When you put it like that…” Cam didn’t like the options Graham had laid out.
“And if your choice is between having her and making sure she’s getting everything she needs or leaving her unsatisfied, which do you pick?”
“So you’re saying that even if Travis backs down gracefully—which that fucker has yet to do in his life—that part of her is always going to be unsatisfied with what I can give her by myself?”
Graham shrugged. “Hard to say, but is it a risk you’re willing to take?”
“But how the fuck do I share her without wanting to rip his hands off every time he touches her?”
“Do you want to rip his hands off every time he touches her? Because if you do, you’re gonna want to rip his dick off even more.”
Cam opened his mouth to say hell fucking yes, but Graham held up a hand. “Think about it before you give me some knee jerk answer. You and Trav are like brothers, and he’s crazy hung up on Lia too. You cool with taking that away from both of them just because you’re being pushed out of your comfort zone? You’re a fucking Marine. Man up, assess the situation, and make a decision you’ll be able to live with. No one’s telling you what’s right or wrong, but you’ve also got the luxury of not living in a society that’s going to judge you for your choice. Everyone’s too busy trying to fucking stay alive for that shit.” Graham slapped him on the shoulder. “Now get up in the tree and stay sharp.”
With Graham’s advice sinking in, Cam climbed up to his post and stayed sharp. It was going to be a long fucking night.
“Do you mind measuring out the ingredients for those biscuits?” Allison asked.
“I’m happy to help. That’s why I’m here,” Lia replied, putting an overly cheery note in her voice. Please put me to work so I can stop thinking about how badly I’ve screwed everything up, she silently added.
“Everything’s already set out; I just need to run Little Miss here out to the facilities.”
“I’ll have them rolled out before you make it back,” she promised.
The door to the kitchen closed behind Allison, and Lia watched for a moment as she walked her adorable little girl across the compound toward their cottage, before turning back to survey the kitchen. Allison had already started the big, black wood-fired oven. Once again Lia thought how lucky they were to be in one of the few places where life seemed somewhat normal. Having power and running water was a luxury that few others could claim. And being mentored by a woman who had taught her to bake from scratch, garden, can fruits and vegetables, help manage the aquaponic garden that provided fish and veggies year around, and develop myriad other apocalypse-savvy skills? Priceless.
With every little thing she’d learned, she’d clawed back a shred of confidence, and those shreds began to weave together and give her the strength to finally ask for what she wanted.
So much for not thinking about things … because once again her mind went to Cam and Travis and their reactions to her declaration. The brush of Cam’s lips over hers … and Travis’s drugging kiss. At least she knew they both wanted her; it just remained to be seen what Cam would decide. The waiting and wondering was the worst part.
Lia pushed aside the worries and measured the ingredients left on the counter in the quantities written on the recipe card in Allison’s neat handwriting. She was rolling out the dough when the kitchen door swooshed open again.
“I’m almost done. These should be ready to go in the oven in a few minutes.”
“Good, then you have time to talk when you’re finished.”
Lia stilled at the deep, rumbling voice. It sure as hell wasn’t Allison.
She didn’t look over her shoulder at Cam. She wouldn’t. Because if she looked, he’d see her laid bare.
She wanted this—them—so badly she couldn’t hide it any longer. And now that they’d both had their lips on hers? The longing for what could be cut through her on a visceral level. Her carefully constructed defenses were more than down; they lay crumbled at her feet.
“You want to talk?” she asked, dumbly repeating what Cam had just said.
His booted feet thudded on the wide-planked wood floor of the mess hall kitchen until the heat from his body radiated against her back. His palms landed on the counter on either side of her.
“Yeah, sweetheart. We have a hell of a lot to talk about.” The words, and the breath that carried them, fluttered the hairs next to her ear.