She shakes her head. “It’s okay.”
After that, the conversation diverts to the latest fights. It turns out Mercy is an MMA-buff, which makes me feel slightly warmer toward him. But it seems Camile knows her stuff too. All that time she spent in the audience at fight events, I never realized how much she took in. She’s like a sponge that’s been soaked full of knowledge, and I can tell it impresses Mercy just as much as me. So does the fact she sits still while he etches a complicated lace bracelet pattern into her skin. She doesn’t utter a single complaint. I suck in a deep breath and release it slowly. Camile Hayes is much more complex than I thought.
When her tattoo is finished and Mercy has given her instructions for after care, I’m not ready to say goodbye to her yet. I know I should. I don’t want to lead her on and make her think I have more to offer than I actually do. But for some reason, I want to take care of her. She’s grown steadily paler over the past hour, and I suspect she’s worn out and needs sugar and something warm.
We leave the parlor and she turns to face me. “It was thoughtful of you to come.”
I shrug because I can’t exactly tell her I hadn’t been able to stomach the thought of not seeing her again. “No big deal.”
“Well, I’d better”
“Would you like to get coffee?” I ask at the same time as she speaks.
One of her brows lifts. “Now?”
“Yeah.” I jam my hands into my pockets before I do something stupid like grab her and refuse to let go. “You should have a hot drink and something sweet. It’ll be good for you after the shock your body’s had.”
She dithers for a moment, and I think she’s going to refuse, but then she nods. “Okay. Why not?”
“Great.” Relief soaks into my veins. I can’t put my finger on why Camile has suddenly become so important to me, but there’s no denying she has. “I’ll drive, then I’ll drop you off at home. You took an Uber here, right?”
She confirms, but gives me a look as though she’s trying to figure out what my deal is. I can’t say I blame her. I lead her to my car, and we drive to my favorite cafe in relative silence. There’s so much I want to ask her, but I hold off until we’re seated opposite each other at a small table, awaiting our drinks.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” she begins, “but why do you keep appearing in my life? We’ve hardly had anything to do with each other for years, and now, all of a sudden, you’re there every time I turn around.”
I laugh because honestly, it feels like that for me too, only in reverse. “No offense taken.” I rest my chin on my palm and lean toward her. “I’m intrigued. First the kiss, then the tattoo. Now I find out you’re a clothing designer. Have you always done that kind of thing and I’ve just been oblivious, or has something changed?”
She ducks her head. “I’ve always been like that on the inside.”
“But?” I prompt.
She squirms in her seat. I wait quietly but don’t push her. “I guess…” She takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, then begins again. “When Karson got arrested, it shook me. It was awful, but it also made me realize how dependent I’d become on him and how I’d been putting off things that really mattered to me. So I made a list of activities I’ve always wanted to do and decided to go for it. Life is too short not to, you know?”
My heart beats a rapid rhythm. I have to admit, I want to know more. “What’s on your list?”
5
Cami
For a moment, I wish the ground would open up and swallow me whole. I don’t want to admit what’s on my list to this gorgeous, confident man. But then, I’m practicing being brave and owning who I am, and this is the perfect opportunity to do just that. I bring the list up on my phone and hand it to him. He makes a sound in the back of his throat while he reads it.
“Why do you need to make a friend?”
Despite my cheeks heating to two million degrees, I manage not to bury my face in my hands. “Because I’d like to have one, and I don’t at the moment.”
He frowns. “That can’t be right. What about Tony, or the people from CFC? Or surely you have a friend at work?”
“No.” The admission deflates me because it’s embarrassing as hell. What kind of woman in her late twenties doesn’t have at least one close friend? “I have people I get on well with, but no one I’d call if I was upset at three o’clock in the morning.”
“That’s your threshold for friendship?” he asks.
A server chooses that moment to appear with a black coffee for Leo and a latte for me. I pause while she places them on the table, then when she’s gone, I pour two packets of sugar into mine and stir.
“I don’t want a friend for the sake of having a friend,” I tell him. “I want someone to ride all the ups and downs with me. Someone who can be my rock, and I’ll be theirs.”
His lips quirk. “Sounds like you’re looking for a relationship more than a friendship.”
I lift one shoulder and let it fall. “I’ll take a friend in whatever form they come.”
