That much was true. It was genuinely embarrassing how much he was beginning to crave the rookie’s attention onhimand nowhere else.
Dawson slipped his phone into his pocket and tried to ignore the brisk wind that had not been nearly so brisk a few hours ago. “Oh, Aidan,” he said in a mock-seductive voice, “you’re so hot. So good at football. Let me punt all your balls.”
Cam choked out a laugh, and Dawson wanted to pat himself on the back for the flags of color rising hot on his cheeks.
“That’s not . . .trust me. That’s not what I want to say. Or who I want to say it to.”
Is it Wes? Lane? That hockey player everyone’s talking about?
But Dawson didn’t ask because he didn’t want to hear the answer.
It wasn’t going to be him. Cam worshipped his leg. The kicking prowess that he’d once possessed as easy as breathing that now felt distant and slippery. Impossible to grasp.
“Okay, sure,” Dawson said and heard the disbelief in his voice.
But Cam just laughed again, nudging Dawson’s side with his elbow. Sharp but gentle. His eyes were wide and guileless, full of stars.
Dawson looked away.
The car pulled up to the curb a second later, saving Dawson from whatever very stupid thing he’d been tempted to say or do next.
But after they’d slid into the back seat, Cam let his arm fall into the middle, brushing against Dawson’s.
“Thanks for inviting me,” he murmured, his words barely audible over the Leafs game the driver had on, the play-by-play droning endlessly.
“It was no big deal.”
“A big deal to me. Making sure it was . . .making sure I was getting out, seeing people. Seeing new places. Means a lot to me.” Cam’s tongue flicked out, licked his bottom lip.
Dawson knew he should look away. Knew Cam wasn’t flirting with him, but he still wanted it. Wanted to bask in that sunshine, even when it wasn’t meant for him.
“Anytime.” Dawson tried for breezy casual but didn’t quite get there.
He finally tore his eyes away from Cam’s face, watching as Toronto at night flashed by the car window.
Less than a minute later, the driver pulled up at the entrance to their building and they climbed out.
Cameron was at least quiet as they walked towards the elevator. No more earnest thank-yous and no more big puppy eyes.
That should’ve made it easier for Dawson to bid him goodbye when the elevator opened at his floor, but it didn’t quite.
Because after he was gone, Dawson felt the empty space next to him as acutely as he ever had.
Chapter 6
TheThunderwereoneof the few teams in the NFL that didn’t require players to stay in a hotel the night before a game. They offered the option—for players who craved that feeling of routine every single week, whether they were home or away—but Dawson liked his own bed. His own pillows.
The mattress on his king-size bed was the one thing he’d really given a shit about after he and Brynn had divorced. He’d ended up buying a new one, but the same brand. The one that felt like he was sleeping on a cloud.
Money was tight, but notthattight.
He could still have a great bed where he could,theoretically,get a fabulous night’s sleep.
It was not the bed’s fault that sleep was elusive these days.
Normally, he’d sleep like a baby. But Dawson was tired this afternoon, so tired he actually considered attempting to take a nap.
But before he could get closer than rising from the couch, his phone rang.
