Chapter 18
Cam got those blue eyes from his father, his sense of humor… and ability to string together the most confusing rationale on this Earth, which was what probably made Richard Hamilton such a successful lawyer. Within a few short hours, he nearly had me agreeing to try deer jerky for the first time.
Almost.
If it weren’t for Cam continuously whispering “Bambi” in my ear every couple of minutes, I would’ve caved. But I couldn’t eat Bambi, no matter how succulent Mr. Hamilton made it sound.
We stayed in the spacious kitchen, at the scuffed oak table that was just the right size to seat four or five people, drinking the coffee Cam’s mother had made. My sides were actually aching from laughing so hard at Cam and his father. The two of them were identical. Wavy, uncontrollable hair, bright blue eyes that sparkled with pure mischief and the rare talent for turning every word around.
“Look, Dad, seriously, you’re embarrassing yourself here.”
His father glanced at me, brows raised in a fashion that was so like Cam. “Do I look embarrassed, Avery?”
Pressing my lips together, I shook my head.
Cam shot me a look that said I wasn’t helping. “You’re sitting here trying to convince me, mom, Avery, and baby Jesus, that Big Foot must exist because apes exist?”
“Yes!” the older Hamilton shouted. “It’s called evolution, son. Are they teaching you anything at college?”
Cam rolled his eyes. “No, Dad, they aren’t teaching me about Big Foot at college.”
“Actually,” I said, clearing my throat. “There is the whole missing link theory when it comes to primates.”
“I like this girl.” Mr. Hamilton winked at me.
“You’re not helping,” Cam grumbled.
“All I’m saying is once you’ve been out in the woods and heard the things I’ve heard,” his father continued. “You’d believe in Big Foot and the chupacabra.”
“Chupacabra?” Cam’s jaw hit the table. “Aw, come on, Dad.”
Mrs. Hamilton shook her head fondly. “These are my boys. I’m so proud.”
I grinned as I took a sip of the rich coffee. “They really are quite something else together.”
“Something else?” She huffed as she pushed from the table, grabbing her husband’s empty coffee cup. “That’s the nice way of saying their bat shit crazy.”
“Hey!” Mr. Hamilton’s head whipped around, eyes dancing. “You listen here, woman.”
“You can listen to my foot up your ass if you call me woman again.” Mrs. Hamilton refilled the cup and reached for the sugar. “And you can take that to court.”
Cam sighed and lowered his head.
I smothered my giggle with my hand.
His family was… wonderful. They were friendly and warm. Nothing like my own. I doubted my mom knew how to use the coffee maker or would lower herself to serving someone, even my dad.
Mrs. Hamilton put the cup down in front of her husband. “Aren’t you two going to the drive-in tonight?”
“Yep,” Cam said, standing. He picked up our bags. “We need to get going so we get a good spot.”
“Make sure you grab some thick blankets,” she said, sitting back down at the table. “It’s been getting really cold at night.”
I was kind of reluctant to leave his family, even if the conversation was pretty bizarre. I stood, thanking his mother for the coffee.
“No problem, honey.” Mrs. Hamilton turned to her son. “I have the yellow room ready for her, Cameron. Be a gentleman and show her where it is.”
A strange look crossed Cam’s face, but it was gone by the time we stepped out into the foyer. I followed Cam up the stairs. “I like your parents. They’re very nice.”
“They’re pretty cool.” He trailed his hand along the wooden banister. “Is your dad convinced that Big Foot exists?”
I laughed. “No.”
“How about the chupacabra?”
Laughing again, I shook my head. “Definitely no.”
He headed down the hall on the second floor. “My parents have a room upstairs and my sister has one at the start of the hall.” He stopped outside of a door and nudged it open with his hip. “This is the yellow room, because it’s yellow.”
The room was yellow, but a pretty buttercup shade and not school bus. Cam put my bag on the bed as I made my way over to the window overlooking a side garden below. I turned, catching a fresh scent of vanilla. “It’s really pretty. I hope your mom didn’t go through any trouble.”
“She didn’t.” He stretched his arms above his head, cracking his back. “You think you’ll be ready in about thirty minutes?”
I sat on the edge of the bed. “Yep.”
Cam backed toward the door, arms still raised. He tapped the top of the door’s frame. “Guess what?”
“What?”
A slight grin appeared. “My bedroom is right across the hall.”
My tummy tumbled. “Okay.”
The grin spread, turning wicked. “Just thought you’d be happy to hear that.”
“Thrilled,” I murmured.
He chuckled as he left the room, closing the door behind him. I sat there for a second and then threw myself onto my back. Cam was right across the hall, which was no different than at the apartment building, right? Wrong. Tonight and tomorrow night he’d be closer than he ever had before.
#
About an hour and half later, I stood beside his truck as he put two long pillows up against the back of the truck’s bed. He’d backed the car into the spot so we could sit out and have a lot more space. We weren’t the only ones daring the cold temps at night. Several big trucks were park alongside us, doing the same with pillows and blankets. One even had an air mattress.
Cam came over to the tailgate and offered his hands. “Ready?”
I placed my hands in his and he lifted me up. The sudden shift in weight caused him to stumble back a step and his hands dropped to my hips to steady himself. An immediate rush of heat pooled into my stomach as I looked up.
Cam’s thick lashes hid his eyes as his hands seemed to flex. His lips parted, and my body tensed with anticipation. Under the starry night, it seemed like the perfect atmosphere for a kiss. I could practically feel his lips against mine.
He dropped his hands and turned to the two bags near the stack of blankets and pillows. Disappointment rose as he knelt down. Why hadn’t he kissed me?
Hell, why hadn’t he kissed me since our date?
“Here,” he said, rising. “Brought you something to help keep you warm.”
He held one of his skull caps and as he raised his hands, I caught the scent of his shampoo. I stood still as he pulled it down over my head, taking the time to tuck my hair back behind my ears before he was done.
“Thank you,” I told him.
Cam smiled as he grabbed the other bag and moved back against the pillows. I carefully made my way over to him and sat beside him. He pulled out the bucket of fried chicken and drinks we’d picked up on the way.
The movie started to play—an old one that seemed to be some kind of yearly custom, because there were several shouts and cheers as the first scene rolled across the massive screen.
“Home Alone?” I asked, looking at Cam.
He snickered. “It’s like a Thanksgiving tradition around these parts.”
I grinned. “I haven’t seen this movie in forever.”
As Kevin McCallister appeared on screen, pouting and glaring at his family, we dug into the chicken, leaving behind a path of crumbled napkins in our wake. By the time Kevin’s mom yelled his name on the plane, my tummy was full and I was sure that Cam had eaten an entire chicken.
The blanket around my shoulders kept the bulk of the cold air away, but every so often, I shivered, especially when the wind picked up.
“Why don’t you come over here?” Cam said, and I turned to him, brows raised. “You look cold.”
I shifted closer, but that apparently wasn’t close enough. He tugged the blanket off me and then leaned back. Lifting me up, he placed me between his widespread legs.
My eyes practically popped out of my head.
Cam spread the blanket over me, tucking the edges around my neck. I sat with my spine straight for several moments, staring at the screen, but not really seeing it. Then his arms snaked under the blanket and around my waist. He tugged me back so I was fitted against his front.
Muscles tense, I forced myself to take several slow, deep breaths. Just as I had my breathing somewhat normal, his hands slid to my stomach.
“Is this warmer?” he asked, his breath stirring the hair around my ear.
Throat closed off, I nodded.
One hand moved up, settling under my breasts and the other shifted to rest under my belly button, over the band on my jeans. It felt like his hand was on fire. Immediately, my skin warmed in those areas.
“Good,” he murmured. “I promised you that I’d keep you warm.”
He was definitely keeping me warm. “You did.”
Under my breasts, his thumb began to move, tracing small, idle circles. Then, a few seconds later, the hand below started to move up and down, a slow continuous movement that caused my breath to start coming faster.
Each time his fingers moved over the flap covering the zipper, it tugged gently on my jeans, causing the seam of my pants to push against me. I had no idea if he knew that was happening. Knowing Cam, I’d have to go with a yes. In a matter of minutes, I was throbbing down there.
I let my head fall back against his chest and my eyes drifted shut. The acute sensation he was creating was mind blowing.
“Avery?”
“Hmm?”
There was a pause. “Are you paying attention?”
“Uh-huh.” I shifted restlessly.
Cam chuckled, and I knew without a doubt that he was fully aware of what he was up to. “Good. I wouldn’t want you to miss any of this.”
I wasn’t missing a single second of this.
#
Another fitful night of sleep beckoned me. I tossed and turned for hours after we got back from the drive-in, my body going through the same thing it had the night after our date. It was close to two in the morning when I gave in, slipping my hand under the band of my bottoms. It kind of felt dirty to be doing this in someone else’s home, in their bed, with Cam just a door away. It didn’t take long for me to find release, and I wasn’t sure what that said about me.
I slept for a couple of hours before waking a little bit before six. There was no way I was going back to sleep, so I showered and changed before I worked up the nerve to leave my bedroom. I stood in front of Cam’s door, like a total creeper. I wondered what he’d do if I woke him? Climb into bed—
I stopped myself before I finished that train wreck of a thought. If I tried to actually do that, I’d probably end up hurting myself in the process of trying to be seductive or flirty.
Pushing away from his door, I headed downstairs, hoping I didn’t wake anyone. It seemed like every step creaked obnoxiously. As soon as I reached the foyer, I caught the scent of coffee and knew someone had to be up.
I hovered at the bottom of the stairs, hands twisting together as I debated between going back upstairs or making my presence known. I thought about all those times I’d woken in the middle of the night, usually from a nightmare, and would go downstairs, catching my mom sneaking drinks.
She had so not been a happy camper when that occurred.
I honestly shouldn’t be roaming around someone’s house. Seemed like that was breaking some guest rule. I started to turn to go back upstairs when Mrs. Hamilton stuck her head out of the kitchen.
Oh shit.
A warm smile appeared on her face. “I didn’t wake you, did I? I’m an early riser, even more so on Thanksgiving.” She waved a dishtowel. “Making stuffing.”
“You didn’t wake me.” I inched closer, sort of fascinated by the fact she was up this early making stuffing. “Do you need help?”
“I could always use a hand in the kitchen,” she replied, motioning me forward. “And I have fresh coffee.”
The allure of coffee was too much to resist. I followed her into the kitchen, my eyes widening at all the food spread across the kitchen island. A turkey sat on a platter, waiting to get stuff shoved up its cavity.
“Sugar and cream, right?” she asked.
I smiled a little. “You remembered.”
“I think the key to the start of any good relationship is to remember how the other person likes their coffee.”
“Cam doesn’t really like coffee.” The moment those words left my mouth, I flushed.
His mom pretended not to notice my red face. “No, he’s not big on coffee. Milk, on the other hand…”
“He drinks milk while eating Chinese.” I shuddered. “It’s so gross.”
She laughed as she handed me the coffee. “He get’s that from his father. Teresa is the same way. Speaking of which, you will be meeting her within the next couple of hours.”
Knots formed in my stomach. Meeting his sister made me anxious.
“Have you made stuffing before?” she asked, moving over to the island.
“No.” I joined her on the other side, eyeing the loaves of bread, onions, milk, and eggs.
“My daughter usually helps me in the morning,” she said, placing the dishtowel on the counter. “It’s not difficult at all, so you’re more than welcome to help or keep me company.”
“I can help. What can I do.”
Mrs. Hamilton’s smile was wide. “If you could start with the bread, that would be perfect. All you need to do is break them up in this bowl.” She pointed to a large blue one. “When you’ve finished the loaf, we’ll move on to the next step.”
“Okay.” I pulled my hair up into a ponytail and rolled up my sleeves, then washed my hands quickly.
“That’s a pretty bracelet,” she commented as she started chopping the onion into small chunks.
“Thank you.” I tore apart the bread, probably a little harder than necessary. “Cam told me that his sister was at a dance recital?”
“In Pittsburg,” she said, pride pouring into her voice. “It was an invitation only recital. Richard and I would’ve gone, but we wanted to be home for Cameron. Teresa understands though. We rarely miss any of her dances.”
I finished the loaf. “What’s next?”
“Onions, butter, milk, and seasoning. You get to mush it all with your hands.”
I waited for her to dump in the ingredients. As she did so, she told me how much she thought should go in and then I sunk my hands into the gooey mess. Grinning, I laughed. “Okay, this feels kind of weird.”
“It does. At least you’re not eating it.”
“Raw?”
“Yep, Cameron and Teresa both would try to eat it raw.”
I made a face as I smushed everything together so that the milk and butter would evenly distributed through the bread. After wiping my hands clean, I moved onto the second loaf of bread. “I used to dance,” I admitted.
“Cameron mentioned that.”
My hands stilled around the bread. He’d told his parents that? I wasn’t sure what to make of it.
“I would’ve known if he hadn’t said anything,” she commented as she dropped some of the onions in my bowl. “You still move like a dancer.” She smiled. “I danced and watching Teresa over the years, you come to be able to recognize that in others.”
“It’s nice to hear that. I mean, I don’t feel like I still do.”
“You do.”
I was back to the mushing part again and I decided that was my favorite. I was weird.
“You never made stuffing with your mom?” Cam’s mother asked.
It was an innocent question, but it caused a deep ache to slice across my chest. My mom and I hadn’t been the closest two people in the world before the incident, but afterward, our relationship was nonexistent. “I don’t think my mom knows how to cook,” I said finally.
“You don’t think?”
I shook my head. “My parents aren’t into cooking dinners.”
There was a pause. “Cameron said they travel a lot during the holidays?”
“Yeah, and they kind of like doing their own thing, you know, daughter free.” I forced out a laugh, shrugging it off. “I mean, I’m okay with that. I can’t ski to save my life and being stuck on a ship in the middle of an ocean isn’t something I’m into.”
Mrs. Hamilton was silent as we added the last of the ingredients and I dug my fingers into it, liking the way it slid through my fingers. “So what do you normally do when you’re home?” she asked.
I shrugged. “I wouldn’t be by myself the whole time. They have a maid that usually cooks dinner for me before she goes home. It’s really nice of her because she’s not required to work during the holidays.”
“What about Christmas?”
“The same,” I admitted, surprising myself. I glanced up and found her watching me. “It’s not really a big deal. My family isn’t very close and so it’s probably better this way.” After saying that, I figured it probably wasn’t the best thing to say. “Anyway, I’m done. What’s the next step?”
“It goes in the turkey.” She smiled, but it seemed a little off. “Want to do the honors?”
“Sure.” I waited for her to turn the bird around and then I completed the somewhat gross task of getting all in the turkey’s personal space.
When I was done, I headed over to the double sink while she wrapped the turkey in foil and placed it in a roaster.
“Thank you for helping me, Avery.”
“No problem,” I said. “I’m happy to have helped.” And I really was. “It was fun.”
Mrs. Hamilton smiled at me, though her eyes were sad. “Well, honey, you’re always welcomed here for the holidays. There’s never enough hands when it comes to making food.”
I murmured thank you and finished washing my hands. As I turned, I caught sight of Cam standing just outside the kitchen. I had no idea how long he’d been standing there or how much of the conversation he overheard, but the soft look on his sleepy face told me he’d heard enough.