Game night at the Whitmans’ had always been chaos, but it was exactly what I’d craved while I was away. Between the snacks our moms had laid out, Goldie’s excited chatter, Dylan’s loud storytelling, Tully’s heckling of everyone before we’d even picked teams, and Noah’s cuddling with his girlfriend Margo, who were stealing kisses every chance they got, the place felt like it was vibrating with energy and laughter.
I hadn’t seen Camden in a long time. He had taken France by storm. He worked at a prestigious restaurant there and was gaining a lot of recognition as an up-and-coming chef. He was living a life I couldn’t imagine. And yet, there he was, sitting on the arm of the couch with his sleeves rolled up and his hair falling into his eyes, looking completely down to earth. And gorgeous. Always gorgeous.
We hadn’t talked about prom night since it happened, but things had been different after that. Softer edges. I no longer hated him for ditching my friendship all those years ago, though sometimes that old sting pricked if I thought about it too long. Still, he was easier to look at now without wanting to throw something at his pretty face.
Tully held up his hand to get everyone’s attention. “Okay, teams. I’m gonna do theone, two, one, twothing, and then get in your spots.”
Camden and I ended up on the same team. He came to sit beside me like it was the most natural thing in the world. My stomach gave the tiniest flip. So ridiculous. We played Pictionary, a tradition the Whitmans always wanted to maintain—I think because they had a family full of artists. Let’s just say, my skills lay elsewhere.
Jackson grabbed a marker and immediately drew something that looked like a potato with legs.
“Is that supposed to be a horse?” Goldie doubled over laughing. “That’s ahorse?”
“Shut up,” Jackson said, laughing along with her. “It’s obviously a horse.”
“It’s obviously roadkill,” Tully said.
The next few minutes, I laughed so hard I had tears in my eyes. Camden leaned close enough for me to feel the warmth of his shoulder against mine.
“We’ve got this,” he murmured.
“Don’t be so sure. I haven’t suddenly developed drawing skills since I last played this,” I said.
His smile tugged up one corner of his mouth. “I can carry us.”
I didn’t know why my stomach kept diving every time he looked at me or said something, but it was dipping all over the place.
When our turn came, Camden pulled the slip from the bowl and glanced at me before crouching at the whiteboard.
“Okay, let’s do it,” he said under his breath.
I watched his hand move—precise, deliberate strokes, like he actually knew what he was doing. A triangle with something swirling out of it. A stick figure.
“Uh, house fire?” I guessed.
Camden pointed at me with the marker, eyes lit up. “Closer.”
“Bonfire? Fireman?”
“Yes!” he crowed when I got it, slapping the marker down and looking pleased with himself.
“You gotfiremanout of that?” Jackson complained.
There were a few good-natured boos, and Dylan threw a pretzel at us.
Camden ducked, grinning. “See? We’re a dream team.”
I rolled my eyes but couldn’t stop smiling. “Don’t get cocky.”
“Too late,” he said, nudging my side.
Every nerve ending fired and my face heated. I was glad everyone was focused on the game.
We carried on with more bad drawings, more ridiculous guesses, and more laughter than my stomach could handle. And every time Camden leaned close to whisper a guess, or caught my eye across the board with that secret little grin, I felt it in my gut. I had no idea if it was my imagination or if there was a weird current between us that hadn’t been there before.
Maybe he still felt sorry for me. Prom had been years ago, and I’d had way better boyfriends than Eric, but it was possible that that night was the memory of me that was stuck in Camden’s head.
Either way, in the past, I would’ve hated being on a team with him, and this time, I found that I didn’t mind it anymore. At all.
