“Like, what have you been doing? Where have you been? I haven’t spent much time up here, but I know it’s a great city. Vibrant.”
Cam pressed his lips together.I’m afraid to leave my apartment. That’s how great it is.
“I know we’ve been to Vault,” Dawson continued, like he hadn’t realized yet that Cameron hadn’t actually answered him. “But I bet you’ve found all the other good spots.” He nudged him in the thigh. “Cute guy like you, I bet the boys are all about it.”
“Uh,” Cameron hesitated. He wasn’t sure when his brain had shorted out. The fear that Dawson might find out the truth that had gripped him suddenly? Or that Dawson had called him cute?
“I’m almost a little jealous,” Dawson said. He threw his arms up and stretched, then set them behind him, propping himself up. Cam watched this performance, trying to ignore the pull of his muscles, the ripple of his shoulders.
Sure, he saw naked bodies all the time in the locker room. But that didn’t mean he was immune when it came to Dawson, or that he could be immune when all that mouthwatering shit was right there.
Right there for the taking.
Maybe if Dawson thought he was cute, he wouldn’t even push him away.
“Jealous ofwhat?” Cam questioned. He was hooking uplessthan he had in Montana, which was actually pretty fucking sad when he thought about it.
“Jeez, dude, how much ass you’re probably getting. A young hot player? Fresh from the middle of nowhere? I bet they’re just eating you up.”
Cam didn’t know whether this was a worst or a best-case scenario.
“They’re not,” Cam said flatly.
A confused frown appeared on Dawson’s face. “Huh? I thought you were gay—”
“I am,” Cam interrupted, before Dawson could go on.
“You with someone?”
“No, I just . . .” Cam huffed out, embarrassed. Telling his dad had been hard enough. Telling Dawson felt impossible. “It’s weird to go out by myself. I’m not used to such a . . .big place, you know? It’ssobig. Big and strange.”
Comprehension dawned horribly on Dawson’s face. “Shit. Nothing bad happened to you, right?”
“No, no,” Cameron said. He didn’thaveto tell Dawson what happened. Or whatalmosthappened. “It’s just a lot to handle, that’s all.”
“Well, I can’t say I’m cool or hip necessarily, but maybe—”
“No, it’s really okay. It’s okay.” Cam could feel the red flush creeping up his cheeks. “I’m okay.”
Could he use a hand that wasn’t attached to his own arm once in a while? Sure. But he was managing. And maybe with some time and adjustment, he’d be okay, again. He’d learn to keep his fear controlled—without Dawson finding out his issues or even more embarrassingly, trying to be his wingman.
“Jeez, okay, I guess I reallyamold and uncool,” Dawson said wryly, rubbing his jaw. “Don’t hold back, rook.”
Cameron wondered, for a single wild second, how Dawson would react if he told him exactly how little the ten years between them mattered.
But of course he didn’t say that, because he wasn’t insane, and he wasn’t about to screw it up, now that Dawson was finally acknowledging his existence outside a football field.
“Notthatold or uncool,” Cam said instead. He risked a quick nudge of his own, right back at Dawson.
Dawson chuckled under his breath. “Keep telling yourself that.”
“I’m gonna,” Cam said. Hesitated. Took another risk—this time bringing up a subject that felt . . .loaded. But if they didn’t talk about it now, Cam knew they’d have to face it tomorrow regardless, and tomorrow it would feel worse. Everything magnified by the seriousness of the building they were in. Today, it felt lighter. More casual. “Are we gonna get our asses kicked tomorrow?”
“Don’t know whyyou’reworried,” Dawson said, making a face.
“I’m worried ’cause it’s on all of us, not just you,” Cam argued. “I didn’t—”
“You didn’t,” Dawson interrupted, not letting him get the rest out. Patted his knee absently, hazel eyes distant and lost in the past. In the near past, on Sunday when he’d missed the field goal? Or farther back? Last year, when he’d had the worst season of his career? Or farther back even than that, when he’d reigned as the best kicker in the NFL?
