“Don’t sound so surprised. I was a good ol’ farm boy from Iowa,” Dawson said wryly. “A long time ago, but that kid definitely existed, and he was at least as embarrassing as you. Probably more, because he acted like hedidknow everything, even though he knew fuck all.”
“I didn’t know that,” Cam said. “But you went to Michigan, yeah?”
Dawson chuckled. “Yeah, my old man is still bent about that.”
“Still?”
“There’s not much to get pissed about in Iowa.” Dawson paused. “Though he’s plenty pissed off these days, and that has nothing to do with Iowa.”
Cam never knew whether it was acceptable—or allowed—to mention Dawson’s divorce or the case against his father-in-law.
“About the um . . .thing?”
Dawson laughed louder this time. “Jeez, rook, you can at least say it. Yeah. He’s pissed as hell about what happened. Don’t know who he’s angrier at. Brynn or her dad or the Ravens. Take your pick, honestly. I keep having to talk him down from flying out here and start throwing punches.”
“That’s sweet, actually,” Cam said. His dad would do the same thing. Maybe not the punches part, but the flying-out part. If he thought Cam was struggling, he’d be here in Toronto in a minute.
“Yeah, he’s a good guy. I should spend more time with him, but you know, the season . . .”
“Yeah.” Cam nodded. “It’s hard. I miss my dad.”
“Just your dad?” Dawson slid him a sideways glance.
“Yeah. Mom died young—I was only eight.”
“Shit, that sucks,” Dawson said.
It had. But his dad had been so great, always, he’d missed her, of course, but he hadn’t really felt the lack of love in his life.
“It’s alright, honestly. We’re just close. I worry about him out there, all alone.”
“Phillipsburg is small, huh?” Dawson turned down a side street and pulled the SUV into an empty spot on the curb.
“Oh yeah. Fucking tiny.” Cam shut the door behind him. It wasn’t a bad neighborhood at all, but his pulse still thumped unevenly as he took in the very metropolitan trappings around them.
“Toronto must be a real wake-up call,” Dawson said casually, but he was watching Cam intently—Cam could feel his gaze on him—as they walked down the sidewalk.
“Sure,” Cam said.
“Cam,” Dawson said, nudging him. “Don’t front with me. It’s okay to be a little—or a lot—freaked out.”
“I’m not.” But he was. But telling his dad the truth was so much different from telling the hot guy he was trying to impress at his brand-new job.
“Uh-huh.” Dawson didn’t look convinced as he stopped in front of an unassuming storefront. “I think this is it.”
“You’re gonna order for me, right?” Cam asked apprehensively as they walked inside.
They grabbed a table and Dawson pulled one of the plastic laminated menus from behind the napkin holder. “What?” he questioned.
“I don’t know what I’d like . . .” Cam trailed off.
“So, figure it out,” Dawson said. He put his elbows down on the table and leaned in. “You’re never gonna do that if I do all your hard work for you.”
“Ugh, I don’t like you,” Cameron complained.
“False accusations,” Dawson said, laughing. “All lies.”
Cam harrumphed, and even though he was apprehensive, pulled out a menu of his own. The foreign words made him slightly apprehensive, but for idiots like him, therewerepictures of some of the dishes, and he was in the middle of analyzing them when he felt a touch on his hand.
