“Yeah, I knew you’d try and hide it bitch.” She purses her lips, eyes raised not pleased.
I raise a brow. “It’s complicated,” I try to explain but really there is no better explanation than ‘complicated’.
I shake my head, taking the cookies she put in the grocery cart back on the shelf.
“I get it. I can’t say I’m surprised though. You two were inseparable as kids, I knew eventually you two would stop being stubborn and succumb to each other’s advances.”
I smirk, shifting on my feet. “If you say so.”
***
Setting the table I hear Journey’s car pull in the drive.
Wiping my hands on my yoga pants I head to the door to help them.
“You drive like an insane person Journey, who taught you to drive?” Dad criticizes, climbing out of the car.
Journey rolls her eyes, pulling her long brown purse over her shoulder.
“You did,” she laughs shutting the car door.
“Hey guys, you showed up just in time. I made dinner,” I inform from the patio steps. It only cost me one burnt thumb and me nearly cutting my index finger off, but alas, I made dinner.
Dad grumbles, stepping past me into the house.
“He’s on a roll,” Journey warns walking past.
“Great,” I mumble under my breath. I thought Dad and I connected the other night, hopefully he wasn’t too high on drugs and actually meant what he said.
Just as I head back inside the familiar sound of a car catches my attention. The purr of a rugged motor echoing through the neighborhood.
Camden.
I watch as he pulls into his drive and gets out.
Crossing my arms, I step further out onto the patio to watch him. My knees go weak when I think about how he hate fucked me yesterday. It was raw, real, and felt amazing.
He pulls two shopping bags out of the passenger side, the environmental safe kind, and just as he turns around his eyes land on me. My heart skips a beat, and I suck in a tight breath. The intensity his eyes hold when they meet mine takes the wind from my lungs every time. I’ll never get used to it.
“Hey,” he juts his chin out in that guy way they do.
“Hey yourself.”
Smiling he walks toward me. He looks cute with his green shopping bags, domestic even. Stalks of celery and broccoli peeking from the top, along with a loaf of bread. I tug on a stalk of broccoli and say, “Look at you being all healthy,” I tease.
He adjusts the strap of one of the bags, glancing off into the distance.
“What can I say, once you start eating healthy, it becomes addicting.”
Crossing my arms, I huff.
“Guess I’ll find out here soon enough. Dad is ordered to start eating healthier, so I cleared out all his TV dinners and soda. Stocked it with vegetables, and fruits.”
Camden gives a sour look. “He’s going to be pissed.”
I laugh, kicking at the ground. He knows how stubborn and stuck in his ways my dad can be.
“For sure.”
“Just be stern with him. If he thinks he can push you over, he will,” Camden advises. I peer up under my lashes at him, his want to help endearing.
A hard gust of wind blows, the rustling of leaves the only thing to be heard as silence thickens the tension between us.
“Look, I’m sorry about the other day. I feel like shit for snapping at you. It’s just… there’s things I don’t want to talk about and that’s one of them.” His face goes hard, his tone cold. My eyes fall to his stomach where I saw the scar.
“Why can’t you tell me?”
He tugs on the strap of his bags again, averting his eyes.
“I just can’t.”
Biting my cheek I nod. It hurts to think he can’t trust me. We used to tell each other everything.
“You want to come over for dinner?” he asks. His face is scrunched in that cute way as if he’s scared to ask me over for dinner, like I might object.
My heart melts that he wants to cook for me. It’s every girl’s dream to have a guy they like make dinner for them. Maybe I am over thinking him not telling me about the scar. Maybe it’s something stupid that happened in the ring and he’s legally not allowed to talk about it.
“I appreciate the offer, but I already cooked dinner for everyone tonight,” I inform kindly.
“Maybe another time?” he mutters under his breath, looking down at his feet. My heart sinks with the objection and I rethink my statement. Maybe I can eat with my family, and eat again.
“Damnit Journey!” Dad hollers from inside. Both Camden and I look back at the house.
“I better get going,” I whisper, still looking at the house.
“Sounds like it,” he chuckles.
“Where the hell are my Twinkies!” Dad barks from inside the house. The sound of a slamming cabinet, loud and angry. He’s irate.
Turning, I sprint inside the house to find my dad rifling through drawers, and Journey sitting on a counter with a frustrated look on her face.
“They’re gone,” I inform, unwrapping the salmon I cooked. I inhale a sharp breath, waiting for this fight to escalate.