“Wow,” I say, popping the top of my can. “Is it inground?”
“Uh, it’sindoor.”
First of all, I didn’t even know that was possible. “Does it have a slide?” I ask.
“Nope,” he replies. “My parents didn’t want to look pretentious.”
I laugh, and Cameron sips from his soda as we stand in his entryway. And just before it gets really uncomfortable, he motions to the hallway behind me. “You want to see my bedroom?” he asks.
I’m struck with a combination of desire and anger. Sure, I know I’m probably not the first girl he brought to lunch and then back to his bed. But it doesn’t mean I want to be one of them. I don’t need that sort of drama. I have enough of that with my current ex.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Cameron says, taking another sip of his Coke. “I’m not putting the moves on you. My room is more comfortable than out here.” He nods to the immaculate living room. “I’m just being polite,” he adds.
I don’t doubt his sincerity, but I still don’t understand it. “Why?” I ask him.
He furrows his brow. “Why not?”
“Because.”
“You are very articulate in your arguments, you know that?”
“Fuck off.”
“Sutton,” he warns. “Remember to manage the anger.”
It’s a pretty good comeback, and my distrust eases. “Fine,” I tell him, and exhale dramatically. “Show me your stupid room.”
“Oh, now it’s stupid?”
“Shut up. Just show me.”
He bites his lip, spinning in his bright white athletic socks, and walks down the hall. I follow him, eyeing the artwork and family pictures on the wall. He’s an only child. And it makes me remember what it was like when I was the only child in my family. My mom was around. My dad was sober. But I didn’t have Evan, so I’d take now over then any day.
Cameron opens a door near the end of a short hall and steps aside for me to walk in first. He stares at the side of my face as I move past him. I stop as soon as I enter. His room is nicer than any bedroom I’ve seen before. I really shouldn’t be here.
He closes the door, and I look back at him, alarmed. We’re alone in his room with the door shut and no one home. This is clearly hookup territory. I’m not prepared for that. Not with him. Not with someone like him.
I begin to walk around, looking at all of his stuff. The papers on his dresser, a watch, postcards from California.
“You can sit down,” Cameron says, motioning toward the bed. Nice try.
I raise my eyebrows at him, and he chuckles to himself.
“Do you give everyone this hard of a time or am I special? Because I’m only suggesting you sit, instead of pacing my room like a caged lion. But if that’s a dick thing to say, then I’m—”
I sit down on his bed, and he snaps his mouth shut. I’m not sure of the answer to his question. Most people I tell off deserve it. As for him being special . . . I don’t think it matters.
Of course, his bed is the ultimate in comfort. Like one of those pillowy ones. I put my soda on his side table, and when I look at Cameron, he smiles. “What?” I ask. He’s leaning against his dresser, his hair pushed back behind his ears.
He shrugs. “Nothing.”
We’re both quiet, and I don’t even know where to start with talking to him. I feel so thrown in his place, so not in control. Seeing someone’s bedroom for the first time is . . . intimate. Just thinking the word makes me blush.
“So can I sit next to you, or will you think I’m hitting on you, Miss Everybody Wants Me?” Cameron asks.
“It depends. Are you hitting on me?”
“No,” he says. “I’m really not.”
