I spend the day applying to a handful of graduate programs. Because of Camden’s generosity, I have the money and time to earn my degree, so it’s only a matter of finding the best fit for me and my goals.
After that is done, I get in a workout with Brendan, who’s been a bit standoffish since the display with Camden a few weeks ago, which left him with the impression that we’re together. Although, with what happened this morning, I can’t necessarily promise thatnothingis going on. And I don’t know how to feel about a man being so possessive over me that he’d try to physically intimidate a stranger. I appreciate a healthy amount of jealousy. I am not immune to it, and I have—admittedly—fantasized about poking Valerie Blondeau’s eyes out on occasion, but I’d never actually do it. Only I’m not so sure Camden wouldn’t follow through on his threats to have Brendan fired, and isn’t that ridiculous? Immature and self-centered?
To be so protective of me that he’d been blinded to the reality of the situation.
Except as I shower off my sweat and change into jeans and a Founders hoodie, I wonder if Brendan did have some ulterior motive. Sure, anyone might be terrified of Camden Long, but if he really wasn’t doing anything “wrong,” why is he so hands-off now? I’ve never worked with a personal trainer before, and while Brendan is friendly, and I never got a creepy vibe from him, I suspect that if he’s suddenly afraid to touch me, maybe he shouldn’t have been doing it to begin with. Maybe his goals weren’t all about my fitness.
And maybe I should cancel my appointments with him.
When I pick up Paisley from school, she informs me that she doesn’t think she did well on the test, but that she was invited to a friend’s house tomorrow. I tell her she will have to talk to Camden about it. If it’s okay with him, it’s okay with me. I’vebeen volunteering once a week at the school, mostly to help with admin work, but I put my name down on the substitute list and made friends with all of the teachers and secretaries, so it doesn’t take much for me to find out more information about this girl and her parents, and they seem like good people.
We’re only home for a few minutes before Camden shows up with a gift bag hanging from the tips of his fingers, but Paisley reroutes him immediately, asking if she can hang out with her friend. Begging, more accurately. He flicks his gaze to me, and when I shrug, he says he wants to talk to whoever the friend lives with, and I smile to myself. He’d been so afraid he’d fail at being Paisley’s guardian, but he’s been doing all the right things. Giving her space to grow and try new things, while also being smart about her safety.
Paisley texts him the contact information for the girl’s parents once she has it and then flits off to her room, finally leaving Camden alone with me. And whatever is in the bag he holds out to me.
Without a word, I take it from him and whip out tissue paper to find a brand-new jersey. I barely have it lifted in front of me before he has his hand around the back of my head, forcing my eyes up to his. “If you’re sitting in my seats, I want you wearing my name and number.”
I don’t answer with words. Instead, I hop up onto my toes, throwing my arms around his neck to kiss him. There is so much distance between us, he has to bend, stooping his shoulders, his hands cupping my face, his mouth meeting mine without hesitation. His groan is one of relief, but when I part my lips, his tongue finds mine with a growl. He tastes like mint gum and feels like a man deprived of the sun finally being allowed outside. He isn’t soft or gentle. No, he is ravenous. He tangles his tongue with mine, pulls at my lips, almost as if he’s afraid the sunshine will fade away, and he’s wrangling as much as he can now.
If I thought he was possessive before, it’s nothing on this kissthat is like he’s trying to inhale me. His fingers spear into my hair, arms towing me to him, but when I’m as high as I can go on my toes, he lifts me up, one forearm banded across my back, the other under my butt. I wrap my legs around his waist, and he pins me against the wall, his teeth scratching my jaw, his mouth landing on my throat, sucking and biting, and I let my head fall back with a moan. “God, Camden.”
He doesn’t stop kissing and licking at me, but he does readjust his hold, curling his giant hands around my thighs, holding me open and up like it’s nothing, and I can feel every hard inch of him between my legs, where he rubs himself against me. “I’ve wanted you for so long,” he murmurs, breathing hard, another torturous grind over where all the blood in my body has pooled. “River,” he whispers, almost pained, “River…”
His moan anchors me to reality and the question I’ve wanted answered for the last month. I tunnel my fingers into his hair, gripping the short strands tightly so he can’t nibble on my ear anymore. I tug so he shifts, his face in front of mine, eyes wide, pupils blown, cheeks flushed. He moves, obviously wanting to go back to what he’d previously been doing, but I stop him. “Why River?”
He blinks as if coming out of a trance and slowly lowers my feet to the floor, every soft part of me sliding against every hard part of him, and it takes both of us another few moments to recover. He plants his hands on either side of my head, and I hold on to his T-shirt, steadying myself as I ask again, “Why do you call me River?”
His Adam’s apple bobs, mouth quirking in embarrassed amusement. “I’ve been calling you that for years in my head. I didn’t even realize I started actually saying it out loud.”
He backs up an inch, enough room so that we’re not plastered against each other and I don’t have to tip my head back so far. Still, I don’t give him an out, merely patiently waiting. He shrugs, a bit sheepishly, as he finally confesses, “Your eyes. I saw you that night…”
“The engagement party?”
He nods. “Your dress was that ice-blue color. Reminded me of a frozen river. Like your eyes.”
That’s why I’d chosen it. I thought it best matched my eyes, blue with a hint of gray.
He gives his head a rueful shake, smiling, like he can’t believe he’s about to confess it, but… “I swear I’ve dreamed of your eyes for the last five years. I see them in my mind when I can’t sleep.”
“I’ve been haunting you,” I say with a laugh, and he dips his head, kissing my temple, cheek, and mouth.
“Little witch.” He goes in for another kiss, but I keep it chaste, my hands on his chest, needing time to process what we just did, what is happening. And I’m not sure if we want his sister walking in on us by accident.
When I relay all of this to him, he nods in agreement but hesitates to step away from me. His gaze tracks over me, heated and longing, and it does nothing to cool my own temperature, calm the racing of my heart, or stop the tingling in my core.
“I should try to call this girl’s parents, huh?” he says, referring to Paisley’s friend. Still, he stays in place.
“I should go home, finish writing my essay.”
“Essay?”
“Some of the programs I’m applying to need an essay.”
He clasps my face between his bear paws. “I’m so proud of you. More than anything else, I’m so goddamn proud of you for doing what you want. For not giving up.”
I cover his hands with my own, nuzzling into him with a smile. “I’m proud of you too. For proving all those motherfuckers wrong.”
He chuckles softly. “I lo—ike you.”
