When I open the door, Cam is sitting on his bed, dressed in his trunks and flip-flops, his dark hair all messy and wet.
I know he’s just casually sitting there, but damn if he doesn’t look like the cover of a magazine right now, in this swanky ass room, wearing bright pink trunks with palm trees all over them.
I take my time, feeling more self-conscious than ever as I make my way to my bed, which looks unmade.
I stop half-way, looking over to where Cam sits on the bed, scrolling his phone, completely oblivious.
And then it hits me.
His scent on the pillow, the warmth I felt in the sheets. If my bed is made, that means…
Shit, I didn’t even make it to my bed.
I’ve slept with Cam a ton of times over the course of our friendships. We used to have sleepovers all the time when we were kids, and there were plenty of times he stayed over my place for holidays and stuff when we were teenagers. Even after I found out he was gay, I never felt weird about sharing a bed or a couch with the guy. Just because one’s into the same sex, doesn’t mean he’s into me.
So why does this feel… different?
Almost as if he can read my damn mind, he looks up at me, and for a moment, neither of us say anything. My heart thuds in my chest with anxiety as I run a hand through my hair.
“Sorry about last night,” I say sheepishly.
Cam offers me a soft smile. “No apologies needed. That’s why you’re here, right? To have a good time?”
His words are empty, though his smile is full.
“Yeah, I guess,” I say, opening my duffel. Behind it, I let my towel drop, feeling as if I’m on display in a damn museum. I know he can’t see me or my goods at this angle, but my cheeks heat just the same as another strange thought enters my brain.
I wonder what he’d think if he did. See me, I mean. Wonder if I’d compare to other guys he’s been with.
I shut the thought down, because clearly, I’m still messed up from last night.
Lots of guys stress out before they get married, right?
Stress does weird things to people.
I find my trunks, the dark blue Ralph Lauren ones with the red waistband Savannah bought me last year when we went with my parents to Italy.
Maybe I should call her. I know she’s off on her own girls weekend—at the Biltmore, across the country—but if anyone should be able to calm my pre-wedding jitters, it’s my future wife.
Right?
I slip into my trunks, grab my phone and wallet, and slide into my flip-flops in no time.
“Ready to go?” I ask.
Cam gets up, nodding in agreement.
“Yeah, let’s go.”
Chapter Fourteen
Cameron
When the room door closes behind us, I turn to Austen.
“What’s going on?”
“Huh?” he frowns at me, stopping by the bed.
