He cleans his fingers with a tissue he had stuffed in his back pocket.
“I didn’t know you could squirt.”
Yeah, you and I both.
“You ruined another pair of my underwear,” I blurt out, not wanting to admit he was the first person to ever make me squirt.
He shrugs as if it’s nothing, picks up the destroyed fabric, and shoves it in his bag. “Bill me.”
Of course, he’s keeping it, the perv. I scoff. “We could’ve gotten caught. How did you know this classroom wasn’t going to be used?”
Cameron picks his backpack up and saunters to the door. “I didn’t.”
My mouth drops open. “Hold on?—”
He walks backward as he says, “You should start heading to your next class if you want to be there on time, Kamila.”
My cheeks heat. He winks at me, which makes me clench my fists, and in a blink, Cam’s gone.
“Asshole. Asshole. Asshole,” I repeat to myself.
“Huh?”
I jump at the student’s voice. A girl with dark hair and big blue eyes that she rolls in exaggeration says, “Never mind, I don’t want to know.” She then proceeds to turn the lights off, giving me a once-over and a knowing smile.
My breathing slows as I check my watch to see that I haveonly five minutes to get to my next class. Picking my things up, I rush to leave the building, feeling the cold air hit me between my soaked upper thighs. Cameron knew exactly what he was doing when he tore my underwear off.
Asshole.
Chapter Twenty-Three
CAMERON
The last lyrics of “If You Can’t Hang” by Sleeping With Sirens blast through my headphones as I make my way into the gym. It’s late afternoon, and I need a swim to clear my mind. All the distractions back home, along with the ones here, made me forget about an assignment I had, and now, I have to do an extra essay to make up for missing the deadline.
Attempting to focus on getting to the locker room, a voice and name catch my attention as I’m about to round the corner.
“I’m proud of you, Ana.”
I step closer to where Kamila’s voice is coming from. She must’ve just finished teaching her Zumba classes. I checked the schedule for gym classes at the beginning of the semester, saw her name on it, and may or may not have memorized the days she teaches.
“No, I’m not patronizing you, hermana. I mean it.” The phone conversation echoes in the hallway near the door of the women's locker room. I press back against the wall where she won’t see me. The last thing I want is to interrupt a conversation between Kamila and her sister.
“Of course, I don’t think I’m better than you because I go to a four-year college. What kind of question is that?” She soundshurt and surprised. Meanwhile, I’m barely phased. Some things never change. Ana is still Ana.
“Hermana por favor.” Kamila goes quiet, but I can hear Ana’s shrieks all the way from where I’m standing. The bitch has only gotten louder with time.
“Are you drunk?” Her sister's voice is edged with disgust. “Jesus, Ana. I’m not fighting with you when you’re like this. I’m hanging up now.” Ana’s shrieks disappear, but Kamila still hasn’t hung up.
“Yeah, I love—” And the shrieks stop.
“Why doesn’t she ever let me say it back?” Kamila whispers to herself.
I attempt to glance in her direction without being seen. She’s alone, her forehead is against the wall, and her eyes are closed as if she’s trying to get herself together.
I remember those times all too well.
If Ana was drunk while arguing about her unjustified insecurities, it had to have been bad. It makes me wonder if she’s gotten worse over the past couple of years. I debate on whether to make my presence known, but Kamila makes that decision for me by disappearing into the locker room, still looking somewhat defeated.
