Camden just stares at me, his eyebrows pulled together.
I pluck my phone from the coffee table and google the name of the movie. “Oh, that’s the literal translation. According to this”—I hold up my phone—“in English it’s calledIvan Vasilievich: Back to the Future.”
Logan laughs. “So it’s a rip-off of an American movie, then?”
“No.” I huff, annoyed and maybe a bit defensive. “This one came first. It’s based on a play by Bulgakov, actually. And it’s hilarious.”
“Bulgakov?” Camden says in a low voice.
I blink at him, sitting straighter. “Yeah. Do you know about Bulgakov?”
“Of course.” He lifts his bottle and takes a sip. “He’s the author ofThe Master and Margarita.”
I don’t know what surprises me more, his casual tone, or the fact that he knows who Bulgakov is at all.
Either way, his response and the heat in his eyes warm my skin and make my heart thud heavily.
“You read Bulgakov?” I ask.
He shrugs, but when he speaks, his voice cracks. “My grandma loved him. Made me read his stuff with her. She basically forced me into a two-person book club, where we read and then discussed each book.”
The room goes quiet, the only sound coming from the storm that’s assaulting the cabin walls and windows.
Logan shifts beside me, but I can’t take my eyes off Camden.
The way he explained his knowledge—not to show off, but as if reminiscing about a part of his past he clearly loved and misses—hits me firmly in the solar plexus. His tone is tainted with grief and a sadness that feels heavier than the weight of even my biggest problems. Seeing him so vulnerable, with his emotions written all over his face, softens my heart.
Camden Hayes is not the man I thought he was. There’s a surprising tenderness under all his bite and sharpness.
If he’d shown me that side of him the night we met, things between us might be very different.
My chest tightens at the thought, my pulse quickening. The sensation that’s creeping in is wrong in so many ways, especially while Logan’s arm is draped over my shoulders. But there’s no denying it’s there.
1 Damn him.
2 I hope I’ll start believing it myself.
SEVEN
Not Until Her
CAMDEN
“I’m curious,”Logan asks, dicing a tomato. “If we hadn’t shown up, what would you be doing right now?”
I force myself not to look at Yana while waiting for her answer, but the effort is in vain. She’s beside me, stirring chicken and veggies in a pan on the stove as I drain the pasta. If I shifted an inch or two, my shoulder would brush hers. It’s tempting, but I stay put. At least this I can control, unlike my wandering eyes.
Her hair is up in a messy bun, with a few wild locks framing her face. Her leggings hug her toned legs so perfectly that every time I look at her ass, my own sweatpants get tight. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted a woman more than I want this one.
It’s wrong. She and my best friend clearly have a connection, but every moment I spend with her only makes me crave her more. And I can’t even blame it on the thrill of the forbidden, since I’ve been attracted to her from the very first moment my eyes landed on her at the restaurant.
She’s with Logan, dude. Forget it.
Yana laughs, peering at Logan over her shoulder. “Pretty much what we’re doing now. My plan was to relax and do the things that bring me joy. That includes watching holiday movies,listening to my favorite music, dancing, and maybe a little doomscrolling.”
“Would you have chosen the same movies?” I ask.
Brows raised, she inspects me. I’ve spent most of the day either ignoring her or snapping at her and Logan, so it’s no surprise that she looks like I stunned her speechless.
