He flicks his gaze to mine. “You’re good?” he asks like he doesn’t believe it.
“I could be.” I’m totally not.
Cameron misses his next shot on purpose. “Well, look at that,” he says. “It’s your turn, Sutton.”
He walks over to my side of the table, stopping a little too close. He holds out his pool stick. Cameron’s hair partially covers his eyes, and I want to brush it aside. I want to kiss him. Instead I take the cue from his hand.
“Thanks,” I whisper, backing up and rounding the table.
“I can teach you how to shoot if you want,” Cameron offers, following me with his eyes.
“No. I’ve got it.” I don’t even know how to play. But I try to copy the way he holds the cue between his knuckles. The stick won’t stop wiggling and I miss the ball on the first try. My face warms with embarrassment.
Cameron laughs. “Here,” he says, “let me just show you this one thing.” He holds out his hand and I give him the cue. He models it for me. “Now you try.”
I honestly wasn’t paying attention. I try but can’t quite get it. Cameron comes to stand behind me. He puts his hand over mine, setting the stick between my knuckles. He rests his chin on my shoulders and helps me aim. His arms feel nice around me.
We stay like this a moment too long, neither of us moving. He has to be able to feel my heart racing, or at least notice that my breathing is erratic.
“Now you hit the ball,” he says softly, letting go of me and backing away.
I exhale, the stick shaking in my hand, my legs a bit weak. With as much effort as I can manage, I smack the white ball with the stick and send it soaring across the table and back, completely missing every other ball on the table. Cameron cracks up.
“Nice,” he says. “I bet you hustle all the guys down at the pool hall.”
“Do they even have pool halls anymore?” I ask.
Cameron shrugs. “Hell if I know.”
We both smile now that the moment has passed. That intense, stomach-churning moment is gone and now I can relax. This is fine. It’s okay for us to be friends like this, a little flirty. This won’t hurt me. And I was right—he’s the perfect distraction.
I hold up the cue, letting myself stand closer to him than normal. “Your turn, smartass,” I say.
“Keep talking, Sutton.” Cameron brushes his fingers against mine as he takes the stick. “You’re lucky I didn’t suggest strip poker.”
And I am. Because I’m even worse at cards.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Cameron and I arewaiting in front of my house, sitting in his Beamer. A couple of neighbors look as they walk by, checking out his car. But Cameron doesn’t appear nervous. It’s strange. If I were here with a BMW, I’d keep the doors locked.
“What time does the bus come?” he asks.
I look at the clock. “About ten minutes.”
“So you probably didn’t need to rush me, then?”
Earlier, Cameron had asked if he could take a nap. He even said I could join him and that it would be totally innocent. But I told him that we’d oversleep. Not that I thought we really would. But I knew that us together in his bed might involve some kissing. And kissing might involve other things, things I can’t let myself feel.
I made him leave his house an hour earlier than necessary, but he’s here waiting. I have no idea why he’s waiting. And I have no idea why I’m letting him.
“Your mom doesn’t live with you, does she?” Cameron asks.
I turn to him, feeling uneasy. “Why do you think that?”
“You haven’t mentioned her. Plus . . .” He chews on the side of his lip. “You seem to be the one taking care of your brother.”
I swallow hard, trying to hold his eyes, but I can’t. I look out the windshield. Ashamed.
