He huffs out a laugh. “That, and I told him that you’re my girlfriend, that I’m in love with you, and that he’s lucky I didn’t take off my gear, because if I did, he’d need facial reconstruction surgery.”
My breath catches somewhere between my lungs and my throat. Leave it to Cameron Davies to include a threat in his declaration of love.
“You told an opponent that you love me,” I say slowly, my voice high-pitched, “before you toldmeyou love me?”
An expression flickers across Cameron’s face—regret, maybe, or embarrassment. He’s still cupping my cheek, his thumb moving in circles, the gentleness of his touch completely at odds with the way he used that same hand to punch another player tonight.
“Yeah, but that doesn’t make it less true.” He brings his other hand up, both palms framing my face like I’m precious to him. “I love you, Kennedy. I’ve probably been in love with you since the moment you told the waiter I was celiac, if I’m being honest. I love you so fucking much it scares me.” His voice drops, going rough around the edges. “I know that doesn’t excuse what I did. I know you’re upset?—”
“I love you, too.” My chest feels too full, too tight, like my heart is trying to expand beyond the space my ribs allow. “Even though you?—”
“You love me,” he interrupts, as if he needs me to repeat myself so he can confirm he wasn’t imagining it.
“Yes, even though you’re an idiot who gets into fights and gets suspended and thinks violence is an appropriate response to?—”
He kisses me, cutting off my rambling with his mouth on mine. It’s soft and gentle and claiming, a reminder that I’m his. When we break apart, we’re both breathing hard.
“I fucking love you, Kennedy Caplan.”
I smile against his lips. “I fucking love you, Cameron Davies, but if you interrupt me one more time,you’regoing to need facial reconstruction surgery.”
His smile is boyish, but he doesn’t say another word.
“I’m upset that you’re facing a suspension because some asshole talked shit aboutme.”
“Kennedy. No.” His voice is firm, almost sharp. “This is not your fault. This is Gigi’s fault. She’s the one who leaked confidential documents. This is Hertz’s fault. He shouldn’t have run his mouth. This is the media’s fault for turning a legitimate investment into a scandal. But there is nothing wrong with accepting help when you need it, and that’s all you did. You’re building an amazing business. And it’s sure as hell not your fault that I beat the shit out of a guy who disrespected you.”
“You shouldn’t have had to?—”
“I wanted to.” He leans forward, resting his forehead against mine. “And I’d do it again and again, sweetheart, because you’re worth way more than a few games and a fine. You’re worth all of it.”
I let out a sound that’s half laugh, half sob. “You’re insane, Cam.”
“About you? Yeah.” He brushes away my tears with his thumbs. “Completely insane. Out of my mind. Absolutely gone for you.”
After someone posted my personal number online yesterday morning, I decided ignorance is bliss and kept my phone off. I’d planned to turn it back on last night, but Cameron showed up at my door after the game, wild-eyed and bleeding. Then he said “I love you” and kissed me with a desperation that made my knees weak… so, yeah, turning my phone back on slipped my mind.
But now it’s closer to noon than midnight, and I can’t avoid reality forever.
Cameron’s still asleep, sprawled across my bed, uncovered except for one corner of a comforter, the morning light cutting across his chest.
He’s breathtakingly beautiful.
And he’s mine.
I place a featherlight kiss on his chest and slip out of bed. Then I snag his t-shirt from the floor, pull it over my head, and pad quietly to the kitchen.
My phone is where I left it on the kitchen counter, screen dark and lifeless.
I stare at it for a long moment before finally pressing the power button. It takes a few seconds to turn on, and then the notifications roll in one after another after another. Texts, missed calls, voicemails… it’s nonstop.
One notification near the top—between a text about a local boutique’s sale and a spam email regarding a free cruise I supposedly won—makes my stomach sink. Before I lose my nerve, I unlock the screen and open it, my hands trembling.
From:[email protected]
Subject:Ashford-Chen Wedding – Contract Review
