I freeze as I remember that I am about to meet therealCameron, the man whose voice has physically affected me in an embarrassingly strong way.
“Why do you look terrified? You were smiling just a second ago.”
I blush at the fact that he can see me, and I can’t see him. “Where are you?”
“I’m in the first car. You must have passed me when you tried to ditch me for that Prius.”
I laugh despite my nerves and walk blindly towards where he claims to be. “Oh, that was my new friend Donnie,” I say, trying to get some control back in our lopsided dynamic. “If you had the same level of customer service as him, then I wouldn’t have to walk up and down a hundred times looking aimlessly for you.”
“I guess I’ll have to step it up for you then, Drew.”
I am just about to melt into the sidewalk when the crowd around the R8 from the beginning of the row parts revealing the most gorgeous man that I have ever seen leaning against it, wearing gray slacks and a black, long-sleeve shirt, and holding a phone up to his ear.
Chapter thirteen
PLAY NICE
“GabrielSanchezEstrada,”Isay, cursing my brother-in-law under my breath.
“What was that?” Cameron asks, as he strides over and puts my mental image of what he looks like to shame with his dark skin and chiseled bone structure.
“Nothing.”
He takes my bag as if it weighs five pounds instead of fifty, showing off every curve of his biceps through his fitted shirt.
“I’m Cameron,” he says, holding out his free hand.
Now that we are standing next to each other, I have to tilt my chin up to meet his gaze. He is not quite as tall as John, the guy that I just watched fold himself up like a pretzel to get into Donny’s Prius, but he is well over six feet tall. When our eyes lock, my stomach does that weird jolt again, and I grimace at my weakness for being so affected by a good-looking man. To be fair, he is probably the most stunning combination of tall, dark,and handsome that I’ve ever seen, and he smellsincredible. Like amber and maybe a hint of wood.
His smile widens as I shake my head to clear the thoughts that my brain is struggling to keep in check, revealing a row of perfectly straight, white teeth. It’s almost annoying, really, how some people hit the genetic jackpot and get so many otherworldly qualities while the rest of us are average at best.
“Drew?” he prompts, interrupting my thoughts, then glances down at his outstretched hand. I blush bright crimson as I reach out to take it, and give his hand a firm, professional pump like I am in a job interview. “Sorry I didn’t wave you down before,” he says. “You caught my eye the second you came out, but you walked by with such purpose that I figured I must have been wrong.”
I frown at his comment. I liked the flirty banter much better before I knew he was a hunk-for-hire driver.
When Gabe first posed the idea of hiring a hunky guy driving service to pick me up from the airport last week, I shut it down immediately but agreed to review a few of the bios with him, just for fun. Most of the drivers’ bios stated that they were working to pay off student debt or help sick family members. Whether they were telling the truth or just trying to garner business was unclear.
Regardless, Cameron doesn’t deserve for me to be rude to him for having a perfectly legitimate side hustle. Gabe is probably giggling about this as we speak, and super smug about the fact that he got his way in the end. I am going to give him a piece of my mind as soon as this drive is over.
“Well, it was hard to see you through your crowd of fans,” I say, gesturing in the direction of a new group of people who have slowed down to appreciate him and his car. “But I guess getting lots of attention is what you’re after anyway, so good for you.”
My tone is sharper than intended, and Cameron’s eyebrows come together just enough to give me a twinge of guilt. The feeling intensifies when he casts his gaze to the ground and walks to the front of the car to put my bag in the “frunk” without another word. I blink in astonishment that I may have just crushed this paid actor’s ego. He is probably used to clients fawning over him, which, I guess, I technically did, at first.
I decide to play nice for the rest of the ride and slip into the passenger seat so that Cameron doesn’t need to keep up the charade by opening the door for me. I move his keys out of the way from where he dropped them on the passenger seat and note that they are attached to a red-and-blue Howard University lanyard, confirming that he is one of the men from the website who are doing this job to pay off student loans.
I relax a bit as I settle into the familiar interior, although this model is even nicer than Scott’s was. The smell of leather mixed with Cameron’s scent is intoxicating, and I find myself inhaling greedily for the last few seconds before he rejoins me. May as well get my money’s worth. Or, Gabe’s money’s worth, technically.
“You still up for coffee?” Cameron asks as he slides into the driver’s seat a few moments later. His voice is still friendly, but all trace of our prior banter is gone. A fact that I hate to admit feels quite disappointing.
“Yur,” I say, which I think is a mix ofyeahandsure, and makes me want to jump out of the car to try and chase down Donnie to get me to the retreat instead. “I mean, yes.” I clarify, and then press my lips together with a plan to never, ever speak again.
The engine roars to life, and every person in the vicinity turns to look our direction. Thankfully, the windows are tinted so that no one can see my face, which is likely the color of a cherry tomato. He pulls away from the curb with careful precision, and we join the traffic to leave the airport.
My phone buzzes harshly in my hand as we pull out onto the rain-slicked road, and Gabe’s and my picture comes up on the screen again. I send it to voicemail and silence my phone, throwing it into my purse on the ground. I will deal with him later.
I am not sure what to do with myself as Cameron navigates the various street changes to exit the airport property, but once we get on the road, I become preoccupied with the emerald-green tree line that stretches up on either side of the road at every turn. I am used to the desert, where you can see for miles and miles in any direction. While Charlotte is beautiful, the limited view makes me feel a bit claustrophobic.
The fact that I am inches from a devastatingly gorgeous stranger in a small sports car may also be a contributing factor.
