“Uh, yeah. Okay,” I reply, managing to pull my attention away from the too-small bed and over to him.
For some reason, I expect him to head to the bathroom down the hall. Yet, to my surprise, he peels off his shirt right in front of me before his hands deftly slide his sweats to the floor.
I don’t know why I’m shocked by it; he’s not one for modesty.And also, there’s the little fact that I’ve not only seen him completely naked during his little mating dance, but I’ve actually undressed him myself after that Kappa Sig party.
All that said, he probably doesn’t give a shit that he’s wearing nothing but a tight-fitting pair of boxer briefs in front of me. And, honestly, I shouldn’t either. His partial nudity shouldn’t even faze me considering how much of him I’ve seen before this.
It definitely shouldn’t be making me feel this…attraction.
And why am I having such a hard time admitting that’s exactly what this is, even just to myself? Deep down, I know it’s because I’m notsupposedto be attracted to him. Wasn’t that half the reason Camden was the perfect option for this scheme in the first place? Because I felt nothing but irritated and annoyed by his presence?
That was before I got to know him, though. Before I got to see the person beneath the cocky, care-free persona, finding someone with more depth and kindness than I ever imagined.
Swallowing roughly, I turn away and make a show of plugging my charger into the wall while he changes, wishing like hell the fire burning through my stomach would ease up before it boils my intestines.
“So what are we doing first? I assume you have an itinerary for us,” he asks, providing a much-needed distraction from my errant thoughts.
“Itineraries are all Oakley and my mother, actually. But I’d love to hit a museum at some point.”
“Well, we can go to the Museum of Sex.”
My body goes rigid, and I quickly glance at him over my shoulder. He’s looking at his phone—still half-naked, but at least he’s wearing a pair of jeans now. Unfortunately, the addition of pants doesn’t stop my eyes from greedily devouring the tanned expanses of his arms, chest, and torso.
His gaze lifts, a thousand percent catching me gawking athim, but he just asks, “Is that good with you?”
Jesus Christ, get a grip, Logan.
It takes me a second to remember what he was talking about, only for the heat in my stomach to spread to my face. I have no clue what could possibly be on display at the Museum ofSex,but I have a sneaking suspicion it’s not a good idea to find out. Especially considering the attraction I’ve begun to feel for him, regardless of his state of dress.
“Um. I was thinking more of an art museum,” I reply, now busying myself with finding a place for my bag that’s out of the way. Literally anything to keep my attention away from him while he’s shirtless and talking about sex.
“Sex is art if you do it right.”
God fucking hates me.
A nervous laugh slips out. “Fair, but—”
“Oh shit!” he exclaims, cutting me off. “They even have this game; it looks kinda like Whack-A-Mole, but with dildos and gloryholes instead.”
I blink a couple times, doing my best to process what the hell he’s talking about. Unfortunately for me, he’s already at my side, offering his phone to me with a video pulled up. Despite my better judgment, I take it and watch random strangers grabbing dildos that pop through a wall, my face heating with every passing second. Not because of the game itself, but because now my mind is thinking about Camden’s quick hands grabbing a bunch of dildos. Which should be funny more than anything else, except it’s a very easy jump from imagining him jacking off a sex toy during a game to picturing his palm wrapped aroundmy—
Clearing my throat, I quickly reroute my thoughts and hand the phone back to him with a grimace.
“I…uh… As fun as that looks, I, uh, don’t…really think that’s my scene,” I tell him, stumbling my way through the sentence.“But you’re welcome to go do that if you really want to. I’m sure Quinton and Oakley would go during their free time.”
Camden’s face splits with a smile as he pockets his phone. “I’m just fucking with you, Little Reed. No Museum of Sex.”
“Then why did you offer to go see it?”
He shrugs. “It’s fun to make you blush.”
“Glad I can amuse you,” I grumble, though I have to admit, I’m relieved he doesn’t actually want to go. “Outside of the Museum of Sex, is there anything else you’d want to see?”
“We can do whatever; you lead the way,” he responds while offering another shrug.
The funniest part is, I think he really means it. He’s quite content just being along for the ride and acting as a buffer with my dad and brother when needed. And it’s a strange, unsettling thing, to have him at my beck and call while we’re here. Happy to do whatever I want, whenever I want, and not have much of an opinion on the matter. Needless to say, I’m beginning to understand why, when this whole deal was made, he was concerned about taking more than he gave.
It’s exactly how I feel right now.
