It was Dawson.
Cam swallowed hard.
He’d known, in a very abstract way, that Dawson was living in his building. He’d made a hesitant comment about it, early on just after winning the punter job right out of training camp, and Dawson had brushed him off.
That had kind of sucked, for sure. But he’d begun to understand more, the more time he’d spent around Dawson—almost exclusively on the field, but that was okay, because it had given him a perspective on how much shit was currently balancing on those broad shoulders.
Proving that he was still the future Hall of Fame kicker. Dealing with his divorce. Fighting to get his money back from his snake of a father-in-law.
Cam hesitated, wondering if he should go over there.
Then Dawson lifted his head, and those bright hazel eyes met Cam’s.
Shit.There was no pretending he hadn’t seen him now. No grabbing his stuff and retreating.
Dawson tilted his head, saying without a single word that Cam should come over.
This was definitely not what he’d thought would happen. Cam thought he’d come down here, maybe have to avoid a knot of kids, or an older retiree swimming laps. Or he’d have the pool all to himself.
“Hey,” he said hesitantly as he approached Dawson.
He had the same thought he always did when faced with the guy—God, he’s hot—and then he pushed it right down, because Dawson’s hotness was not important.
Not because Dawson wouldn’t be interested in a guy. Before he’d gotten married, he’d had his pick of womenandmen in the Baltimore dating scene. Cam might or might not have watched from afar, from his small-ass town in Montana, and thought,that might be me, someday.Depending on the day, he’d imagined himselfasDawson and as the guys Dawson had taken home.
Cam had never imagined they’d end up on the same team.
But now they were, and Dawson barely seemed to tolerate his presence. Certainly never went out of his way to seek Cam’s company.
If he’d ever had any insanely fantastical expectations, reality had punctured those succinctly.
“Hey,” Dawson said. “I forgot you lived in this building.”
Cam internally winced. If he wanted more evidence that he never crossed Dawson’s mind, then here it was.
“Yeah,” Cam said.
But then Dawson actually surprised him by gesturing next to him. “You wanna pop a squat?” he asked.
“Uh,” Cam hesitated.
“Or are you here to be all productive on our day off, and swim some laps?”
“No. No laps,” Cam said. He settled down next to Dawson, making sure to leave at least a foot between them as he dippedhis feet into the pool. The water was warm and felt refreshing against his skin.
For a long moment, neither of them said anything.
Cam couldn’t speak for Dawson but he knewhecouldn’t think of anything to say. Didn’t want to bring up the Thunder, because it was their day off, and on top of that, that missed field goal from Sunday was lingering between them like a bad smell.
He wanted to talk about it—talk it out, at least—but he knew this wasn’t the right place to do it. Besides, there was no way Marty wouldn’t end up going over the footage with them tomorrow with a fine-tooth comb.
Cam was surprised when Dawson turned to him, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “So you gonna tell me why you came down here, then?”
“You actually want to know?” He shouldn’t have said it with so much surprise. Cam knew it. But he didn’t realize just how ugly that was until Dawson’s expression crumpled.
“Shit, I’ve been an asshole, haven’t I?” Dawson tipped his head back.
Cam knew he shouldn’t feel guilty—that was really on Dawson, who’d been the one to do it in the first place. He’d just, in the mildest way possible, called his stupid ass on it.
