I see his hands sliding over my muscles, tracing lines down my hips. I hear his breathy voice echoing in my brain.
Your body is so fucking hot.
I close my eyes, trying to push away the memory. Because I remember what I said.
So is yours.
I swallow the hard lump in my throat, and open the door, and of course, he’s on the other side, looking just as panicked as I feel.
“Austen, say something. Please,” he says, and I can hear the desperation in his voice, and I hate it. Hate that what I’m going to say is going to kill him.
I don’t look at him because I can’t.
I fucking can’t.
My heart is in my throat and I still feel like I’m going to throw up.
If I look at him, I’ll never be able to say what I need to say.
My eyes close and there are a hundred things I want to say to him. But all I settle on is, “How could you do this to me?”
I brace my hands on the unmade bed. My bed.
The one I haven’t slept in since I arrived.
Fuck.
“What?” Cam’s voice is nearly a whisper, like I’ve just punched the air out of his lungs.
My jaw tenses, because in that one word, that one response, I know the truth.
Mack was right.
This isn’t just a friendship. At least, not for Cam. He wants more… more than I can give him. Because I. Am. Not. Gay.
Cameron is in love with me, but he can’t be in love with me.
I’m getting married in five days.
Five fucking days and I will take Savannah Marie Thomas and make her my wife.
My throat constricts as I force the words out again, opening my eyes and settling them on his face.
God, he’s so fucking beautiful and I hate it. But I also love it, and that makes me feel just as bad.
Because I know I shouldn’t.
“How could you do this to me?” I say, my voice shaking. “You are supposed to be my friend. You are supposed to look out for me, not—”
“What exactly are you saying, Austen??” he asks, his eyes going a little dark. That panic that was there is gone, and I think I’m about to see a side of my friend he only shows other people. People he doesn’t like…
I pull my gaze away because I won’t be able to stand seeing him hurt after what I’m about to say. I don’t want to hurt him, but what other choice do I have?
“How could you be so fucking selfish?” I ask, and the tears come without warning.
“Me?” he seethes. “I’m the one who’s selfish?” His voice is bitter.
“Yes,” I hiss, gritting the words out. “You took advantage of me. When I was vulnerable. Drunk. Because you’re in love with me.”
