Cameron is perfect.
I can’t stand needing to pee anymore, and I’m forced to go to the bathroom before I explode. I find a clean pair of underwear and put them on, only flinching a little bit when I lift my leg and put it through the hole, but I can’t stop smiling.
When I find my way into the kitchen, Cameron is microwaving a plate of bacon.
The horror.
“Good morning,” I say, stretching my arms over my head.
“Morning,” he says as he sets the plate down on the table.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“What’s it look like? Making breakfast.”
I smirk at him. “A plate of microwaved bacon is not a breakfast.”
He scoffs at me. “Just for that, you don’t get any.”
I laugh, shaking my head as I head for the fridge. “Move it.”
He takes his plate of bacon and moves over, but not far. His hip brushes against mine, and I feel his eyes on me, hot like fire. Checking me out, appreciating the view.
I love it.
Within minutes I’m whipping up a fresh batch of peanut butter and chocolate chip pancakes.
“Any plans today?” he asks, his voice careful. I see him looking at me still, his shoulders tense. I don’t miss the way his gaze flashes to my ass.
“Nope. Forecast says it’s going to storm, so I figured we could cuddle in bed all day and fuck,” I say with a laugh as I flip the pancakes. “Watch some movies in between. You know, Netflix and Chill or whatever.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “You kill me, Austen, you know that?”
I wasn’t joking, but whatever.
“I’ll make sure to engrave that on your tombstone,” I tease.
I finish up with my pancakes and plate them up, taking a seat at the island.
He eyes my pancakes, and I sigh. I push the plate towards him. “Trade you a pancake for a piece of bacon?”
Cam smiles, holding out a piece for me. I bite it out of his hand and he rolls his eyes.
The rest of the morning is like that, just us relaxing, watching movies. When it gets dark outside, I light all four of the candles Cam owns and spread them throughout the living room as Cam puts onTitanic, and then I grab my sketchpad.
“What, you gonna draw me like one of your French girls, Jack?”
“Maybe,” I tease him. I have some ideas for Ari that I’ve been meaning to get to, and with the rain, the candles… yeah, this is my favorite kind of atmosphere for drawing. All I’m missing is a glass of wine.
I get two strokes of my pencil out before he grabs the sketchpad out of my hand.
“I believe you still owe me,” he says with a grin.
“Huh?”
“I never got to draw you,” he says simply. “Back in college, remember?”
I recall the memory. After all, that was nearly seven years ago, before we…
