I stuff the iPad in my bag and then hustle down the hall to my office.
And I come to a halt.
Cam’s standing by my door. He stops by frequently to chat. And it’s been…nice. Really nice.
Today, his yellow dress shirt shows off the gold in his dark eyes, and his suit jacket is slung casually over his shoulder. His beautiful black hair is nicely combed, not like when he pulls off his hockey helmet and his hair’s a wild mess. I like him both ways; I literally couldn’t choose which Cam makes me drool more. And that neatly-trimmed facial hair of his is my undoing.
Cameron Wild is easily the best part of my day. I hang on his amazing smile and his gorgeous eyes, kind eyes that I fantasize can see through to my soul and heal the pain I hide from everyone.
He’s proven, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I’m not asexual as I’d feared. Nope, not at all—ever since I met him, I’ve been on fire for this man I only met a few weeks ago. I was drawn to him then; now, I think I may love him. I sound like the inexperienced girl that I am when I say that.
But it’s not just because he’s so hot that I have to fan myself after talking to him despite the fact that we’re in the middle of a Minnesota winter. The other, even bigger reason why I like Cam so much, is because he’s a good person. He’s compassionate, funny, and warm. We get along; in fact, we’re slowly becoming friends. I’ve never had a player for a friend before.
Cam’s arrival has brought color to my work days. I nearly always wear black to work, but last week, I bought an emerald-colored shirt and decided to wear it to the office. Cam said it brought out my eyes, and I blushed furiously and then ran off. Not much has changed in that department; whenever Cam flirts, I freak.
I think we’d fit together—I’m about five foot six and he’s six foot one, which feels like it would be the perfect height. I know all his measurements from the team media guide I edited and then memorized. His midnight hair and eyes match perfectly with his olive skin tone and, in my opinion, with my green eyes and pale skin, but that’s not something that’s in the guide.
I haven’t flirted with him, though. I can’t. I know the team handbook technically makes flirting illegal. But that’s just a good excuse. The bigger reason is that I’m too chickenshit to try. Cam’s my friend now. My gorgeous, cocky, devilish friend who could have any woman in Climax. So what could he ever see in me?
“Hey, Savannah.” Cam’s eyes latch onto mine as I reach him. “How are you?”
“I’m good.” My cheeks heat, and I end up dropping my bag as I reach inside my coat pocket for the office keys. I laugh awkwardly. “I’m a klutz, for sure. You should know that by now. I drop things on a daily basis.”
“You’re just carrying too much is all.” He searches my face. “You okay?”
I nod quickly. Too quickly. “Yes.”
Cam bends to pick up my bag for me.
He stands up straight again and our eyes clash. He keeps his gaze fastened on mine and I can’t look away from him. I mention my usual fallback line about the weather and how it’s supposed to stay below freezing for the next ten days.
I finally get my office door unlocked and then I take my bag back from Cam and hurry inside my office. Cam follows behind me.
His lips twitch when he glances at the two hockey sticks propped against the wall.
I smile. Ever since our first meeting involved a conversation about me carrying a stick, Cam chuckles whenever he sees the hockey sticks in my office. I’ve never told him why they’re actually there, that they were my father’s two favorites sticks, and he just left them when he walked out.
And the idea of me as a bad-ass is laughable, but Cam seems to genuinely believe I have that side, and that’s refreshing.
“Let’s go to Lovelake tonight after practice,” he says.
He’s asked me this before, and I always say the same thing.
“I can’t.” I fight a smile and turn away shyly.
“Why not?” He reaches out and catches my arm, stopping me from walking to my desk.
“It’s…” I pause and curse my heated cheeks. “We can’t hang out like that.”
“We hang out at the coffee shop,” he points out.
I take off my coat and lay it on the couch. “It’s in the handbook. No fraternizing. Coffee after work doesn’t count. It’s pretty clear,” I add with an uneasy laugh. “I filled you in on the team rules that first day. Remember?”
“Right.” Cam’s mouth lifts at the corners. “No fraternizing. So we’ll get coffee then, just not next door. Consider it a business meeting.”
“Maybe some other time.” I fiddle with the office keys still in my hand, willing myself not to ogle Cam’s body.
He gestures toward my desk of organized clutter, at the papers piled high on the shelf behind, and at the twenty-year-old couch. “You need a break.”
