“Are you awake?” I finally whisper.
The question is barely audible to even my own ears, so I’m not sure how he hears it. He does, though, and rather than responding, Camden shifts to face my side of the bed and then pulls back the covers for me.
Blood pounds in my ears as I slide in beside him and gently pull the covers on top of me. My emotions are still runninghigh from my chat with Oakley without adding a mostly-nude, attractive-as-hell fake boyfriend only inches away. I’m wired yet drained at the same time, and more than anything, in desperate need of the reprieve sleep will provide.
I stare at the ceiling and pray for exhaustion to take me, but I know within minutes, it’s useless. How the hell am I supposed to fall into blissful unconsciousness when he’s right there, within arm’s reach? It’s an impossible feat when every molecule of my body is attuned to his proximity, each one desperately pleading to reach out and touch him—vibrating like opposite poles of a magnet, ready to collide but still forced to stay apart.
It’s maddening.
I notice the comforter shifting with every deep, even breath he takes, but it’s not slow enough for him to be asleep yet. Part of me wonders if he’s suffering from the same fate as I am, which is why I roll to face him and force a single word past my lips.
“Camden?”
“Yeah?”
“Listen, about earlier—”
“It’s okay,” he murmurs gently. “We can pretend it didn’t happen if you want to.”
I blink a couple times, my brows drawing together. Because with the way he was talking at the rink, the way he kissed me back, I don’t know how he could think that.
Was he faking it?
Worry surges through my chest in a wave of heat, wondering if maybe I got it wrong. Maybe I’m the only one feeling this after all. It’d certainly explain his calm demeanor the rest of the evening.
Fuck.
Steeling myself for the worst, I voice the only thing I can think to ask.
“Is that what you want?”
“Not even close,” he replies instantly.
The answer draws my gaze to his, and while the truth in his words reflect back at me, I see something else lingering beneath the surface—and it’s clear as day he’s still holding something back.
“But?”
He hesitates for a second before whispering, “But I don’t want to complicate this either.”
Except we’re already so far past complicated.
But I don’t argue it, and instead, clear my throat and nod, my cheek brushing against the pillow case.
“Yeah, that would be the smart move.”
“No one’s ever accused me of being smart.” He lets out a soft little sound—a mixture of a laugh and a hum—while his gaze moves over my face. “And I…don’t know how much longer I can pretend.”
“You don’t have to pretend when it’s just us,” I remind him.
“It’s starting to feel like that’s the only time I am.”
I swallow down the lump in my throat, the unexpected intensity in his confession hitting me harder than I could’ve imagined. Maybe because it’s the confirmation I’ve been waiting for—that this attraction isn’t one-sided.
Or maybe I’ve known that for a while now but just wasn’t ready to accept it.
The lines we drew in the sand when this whole thing started have blurred. Hell, they’ve become unrecognizable, leaving both of us to tiptoe around in fear of accidentally crossing them. But I was the one who blew past them today at the rink, unintentionally or not.
Just the thought has my brain running the gentle press of his lips on a loop, capable of driving the sanest person mad. Especially when those same lips are right there, only inches away in the darkness, waiting for me to bridge the gap.
