A buzzing phone broke the spell of cozy afterglow, and Eva winced. “Damn. Sometimes I hate technology.”
Cam had to agree, especially when she lifted herself off him and the slide of her slick, sensitized flesh hardened him for a round two. She scrambled into the passenger seat and searched through her pants pockets until she found the ringing phone.
She scowled. “Preston.”
The guy’s name registered like a punch. Keep cool. Don’t let her see it. “Does he call a lot?”
“Lately, yeah.” She replaced the phone in her pocket and slid her pants up her legs, lifting her ass off the seat to button them. “He says he wants a second chance.”
Cam’s stomach dropped into his pelvic cradle. Well, that deflated his hopes of a repeat. He tucked himself in and zipped his jeans. This was a conversation better had while dressed. And, possibly, drunk. “Let’s go inside.”
Cam waited until they settled at the bar and had their drinks before asking, “You’re not going to give in, are you?”
“I don’t know.”
Friends with benefits, he reminded himself when he discovered his hand tightening on his glass. Not lovers. He had no say whatsoever in who she dated. Goddammit. “How can you not know?”
“I just…” She traced the rim of her glass with one finger. “You remember me telling you the kind of life I want for any kids I have? The perfect sitcom family? Preston fits that mold.”
And Cam didn’t.
He took a swig of his beer to ease the tightness in his throat. He couldn’t be mad at her, but that didn’t stop him from feeling the sting of her rejection right down to his core. He was good enough for sex. Good enough to be her best friend. But not good enough to be a husband to her, a father to those future kids she so badly wanted. And fuck if it wasn’t his own fault. How many times had he told her over the years, whenever she tried to set him up with someone, that he wasn’t looking for marriage?
Obviously, enough times that she’d taken it to heart.
But who was he kidding? He didn’t believe in the kind of idyllic life she dreamed about and couldn’t give it to her. Even the idea of attempting it left him cold with a bone-deep kind of terror.
But, damn. Preston?
“You can do better,” he told her.
Her sigh moved her shoulders. “I tell myself that, too, but what if I can’t?”
Christ, her mother had done a number on her self-esteem. “Eva, listen to me. Preston is no good for you. Not only can you do better, but you deserve better.”
“You’re only saying that ‘cause you hate him.”
“Yeah, but it’s also the truth.” He hesitated, and his next words felt like shards of glass ripping up his throat. “Someday, you’ll find the guy who’s perfect for you, who’ll give you that family you’ve always wanted.”
“Can we not talk about this?” She lifted her beer, indicating him with a tilt of the glass. “How about we discuss why you looked so worried earlier?”
No. As much as he trusted her, he didn’t feel comfortable airing out Greer’s problems in front of her. “How about we talk about the Dunphy case?”
“Ah, murder. What does it say about us that we find it easier than personal shit?”
He worked up a smile and tapped his glass to hers. “That we’re two peas from the same very fucked-up pod.”
“Amen to that.”
Chapter Seventeen
A rusted out pick-up truck sat in the driveway where Eva normally parked when she got home around eleven-thirty that night. After the amazing car sex and awkward personal conversation, she and Cam had commiserated over the failed Dunphy case, then settled into their usual routine of friendly bickering, which ended in a competitive game of darts. She’d won, of course. Someday, he’d learn not to bet against her when it came to darts—but until that day came, she’d have fun taking his twenty bucks.
By the time he dropped her by her car in the police station’s lot, every ounce of stress had seeped out of her spine, leaving her damn close to school girl giddy. They had decided to keep their plans for tomorrow night to go see Thor 2 and already, she couldn’t wait.
But the tension returned, clamping a vice grip around her spine as she parked her car next to the unfamiliar truck and got out. Maryland plates. The color used to be green as far as she could tell, but a combination of age and neglect had faded it out to the same muddy brown of the Potomac after a storm. Debris filled the bed and a quick peek through the window showed piles of fast food wrappers and beer cans littering the cab.
Music blasted from her house so loud that the base thudded in her chest.