His hand fell on my thigh, warm and heavy and solid. I looked down, wishing the thick fabric of the robe wasn’t there. “Let me,” Cameron said. And when I didn’t complain, he stood up. His eyes went up and down my body. “I’m starving.”
My stomach did a weird thing. “Me, too.”
“Good. I’ll put the food in the oven and jump into the shower while it heats up.”
And with that, he disappeared behind the couch.
* * *
By the time we were done with dinner, my heart was doing funny things in my chest.
It was the domesticity of it all. The way he’d brought me a brimming plate of food. The fact that he’d set a glass of water and my painkillers on the coffee table, right in front of me. The way we were sitting on the couch, his thigh so close to my propped-up feet I could feel his body heat on my toes. Me, in a robe, and Cameron, in a sweatshirt I wanted to slip my hands under to see just how much it warmed his skin. Was he wearing a T-shirt underneath? I didn’t think he was.
I didn’t think I wanted to know the answer to the question bouncing off the walls of my mind either. Was this—this, right here—what the normalcy of being in a relationship looked like? Was this what a getaway in the mountains with your partner felt like? We’d even brought the cats.
The thought—the possibility—made me giddy, excited, curious. But it also made me incredibly sad. It made me grieve for what I never had. It made me long for more. And that was a dangerous thought. A scary one, too.
I sat up with a jolt, and Willow, who had been curled against my side, complained. “Sorry,” I blurted out. “But I can’t do this.” I sprint-hopped away from the couch. “Where is it?”
Cameron was up on his feet immediately, but he must have seen the shift, the need for space, something to do, because he didn’t come after me. He just watched. “Darling?”
Darling. It didn’t bother me anymore, I decided. No. I loved hearing that. “My binder. The red one. Have you seen it?” I explained, reaching the kitchen. Making sure I stayed balanced on one leg, I started throwing drawers open. Utensils. Foil and wrapping papers. Candles. “You have candles. Tea lights. Also scented ones. Why?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
I shoved it closed. “Because I love scented candles and you’re… I don’t know. You’re a man. English.” One I wasn’t supposed to find more attractive just by the simple fact that he had a drawer filled with candles.
“Is what bothers you the fact that I’m English or a man?”
I moved to the next one, finding only baking utensils. Did he bake, too? I threw it closed. “It makes it all worse.”
“What does?”
God he was being so calm, so patient, as if I wasn’t psycho-raiding his kitchen for a binder. I twisted my body, my gaze falling on a console by the entrance of the kitchen. “Ha,” I said, limping my way over there. I snatched it, hopped back to the coach, and shoved it into his chest. “We’ve got work to do. I can’t sit here and… vacation. This is not a weekend getaway.”
Cameron held the binder to his chest and then, in some maneuver I didn’t have time to anticipate or understand, his hand was wrapping around my wrist and we were plopping down on the couch.
“All right,” he said. Calmly. His hip against mine and the binder balanced on his knee.
I gaped at him as he sat there, preoccupied with the one thing he’d despised so much in the past. He threw it open and started to browse through it, as if he was searching for something. He was doing all of that one handed while… His thumb slipped under the sleeve of my robe, making me notice his palm was wrapped around the wrist he’d pulled at. Still.
I cleared my throat. “There’re three games ahead: Fairhill, Yellow Springs, and New Mount. There’s…” His thumb moved, swiping left and right. “The girls need the points. So far they’ve lost and tied. They need to win the next three games. If they don’t…” Cameron shifted, leaning back and dragging me with him somehow. “If they don’t, they won’t even play for third or fourth place. I have—” I stopped myself. Before Saturday I’d been in conversation with a few local media outlets but hadn’t closed on anything. And now… I wasn’t sure I wanted to bring any press here. “I have a success story to sell to Miami. The Green Warriors need to win the Six Hills.”
Cameron’s tongue peeked out and wetted his lips. “Okay,” he said, setting the binder in the small space between us. He released my wrist and planted his hand on my thigh. “Pick a kid.” His fingers splayed. “Or a team we’re up against.”
My eyes widened with horror, or heat, I wasn’t sure, when that simple touch zapped up my legs. “Okay?” I snatched the binder and busied myself with it. “No comment about the binder of hell? No peek at the very detailed section I have on you?” I stared, gawked really, at Cameron, as his expression turned pensive, but… relaxed. “Why are you not complaining and looking exasperated? Why are you not storming out of here because I’m difficult?”
“You’re not difficult,” he said slowly, and when his thumb latched on to my knee, he let out a strange sound. “You can be, though. When you want to. I couldn’t figure out why. But I’m starting to understand. Either way, I’m done doing any of that.”
“You’re… done?” I asked, my voice barely there. Although what was wreaking havoc in my head was the I’m starting to understand. “What about the activity brochure? We’re still signed up for every single thing in there. Have you forgotten that I dragged you down along with me? Because I haven’t.” I swallowed, hard. Hearing how little sense I was making. How… scared I was beginning to feel. “I’d really like for you to remember that.”
“I do.”
He does. He does what? And why is he still so calm? “So? Are you done with that, too? Because a sprained ankle is not going to stop me. It’s not a war injury as much you’re treating it like one.”
Cameron released my knee, and just as I thought he was going to stand up or call me out on the attitude he didn’t deserve, he set his palm on the side of my head.
“You want to play, love?” His voice had a dark edge to it. His fingers flexed. “You want a man that won’t run away scared? A man that’ll leave his bloody skin in the game?” My heart tripped. “I’ll be your man, then.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Adalyn
Cameron’s words haunted me for a full week.
You want to play, love? I’ll be your man, then.
That was what I got for getting… entangled with a high-performance athlete. Not entangled as in me and him but entangled as in me and him working together. And staying under the same roof. And eating together and…
Whatever. It didn’t matter.
What was important here was that as of today, I was continuing business as usual. One week of house arrest had been more than I could afford. I’d already missed three practices and a game—the first the Green Warriors had won.
That was why I was here, walking—or lightly limping—onto the field with a heavy box in my arms. And it was fine. Perfect, really.
As if some kind of bell had gone off in his head, Cameron turned around. Swiftly. But slowly. As if he was some gruffly handsome model in an ad campaign for something like… shavers for men. Because had he trimmed his beard? And when? I’d seen him this morning and all that facial hair had been in its usual disarray.
He shot me an angry look across the grass.