Cameron Davies
Riveting. An actual fun fact would be that Cleopatra lived closer to the invention of the iPhone than to the building of the Great Pyramid.
Or that Iceland’s phone directory is alphabetized by first name, not last.
I can’t help but laugh. Of course Cameron has weird, fun facts handy in that nerdy brain of his.
Kennedy Caplan
Yeah, okay, sure, but my fun fact is relevant because Amelia wants to do brunch with us tomorrow.
When he doesn’t respond right away, I toss my phone onto the bed, needing to focus on anything but what he might say. This can go one of two ways. He freaks out and doesn’t wantto goorhe has no problem with going, which then begs the question: Why is he so chill with it?
I should unpack, or text Maya to see what she’s wearing, or check my email, or do something productive. Instead, I find myself gravitating toward Cameron’s suitcase.
It’s not snooping if we’re dating, right? That rationalization probably doesn’t work since we’refakedating, butoh well.He’s the one who left it unzipped.
The suitcase is surprisingly well-organized for a guy who lives on the road, with all his clothing in neatly labeled packing cubes. I suppose he’s got his packing strategy on lock after being in the NHL for so long. Nothing exciting catches my eye, so I move to the bathroom, where his small toiletry bag rests to the right of the sink.
I probably shouldn’t open it.
I do it anyway.
It’s full of all the standard stuff: deodorant, cologne, a razor, eye drops, allergy meds.Boring. I’m about to zip it back up when I notice a folded piece of paper tucked under his toothpaste. Hotel stationery, by the looks of it.
My fingers itch to grab it, but what if it’s something meaningful or private? Like a good-luck note he wrote to himself?
Nah. Cameron’s not the type.
I pull out the paper, carefully unfolding it. The message is written in bold, slightly messy handwriting.
Stop snooping, Kennedy
I freeze, then burst out laughing, the sound echoing across the marble floor. I’m caught somewhere between embarrassment—because damn, am I really that predictable?—and grudging admiration for how well he played this. He knowsme well enough to not only anticipate my nosiness but to plan for it, too.
That thought is followed by a little tendril of unease. Not wanting to untangle the mess of feelings that intimate realization leaves, I opt to get dressed for the game.
Last week, Cameron had an entire box of jerseys delivered to my apartment. The package was full of a variety of styles, home and away, and even a replacement for the vintage one that got spilled on. I can probably attend every game for the next three seasons without repeating an outfit. I’m debating between the two I brought when my phone dings.
I snatch it up quicker than a Venus flytrap.
Cameron Davies
Ugh. The sound that escapes me is guttural. A fucking thumbs-up emoji? What the fuck does that mean? Is he agreeing? Being passive aggressive? Indicating that he’s going to hitchhike back to Boston after the game so he doesn’t have to go? Did he even read my message or did he simply skim it and fire off the world’s most noncommittal response? The emoji equivalent of a “k.”
Kennedy Caplan
Did you read what I said? Amelia wants to go to brunch so she can MEET MY “BOYFRIEND.”
Cameron Davies
I know. I sent a thumbs-up.
Kennedy Caplan
My brother-in-law will be there, too.
Cameron Davies
