Try telling that to my cock. And the heart that still fucking beats for her.
Streaks of gold and red headlights glide across wet asphalt, cab horns fading into the buzz of traffic.
Neither of us speaks, our silence amplified by consistent, rhythmic sounds of wiper blades across the raindrop-coated windshield.
Cami sits angled toward the window, fingers still twisting her clutch in her lap.
I ache to reach for her hand like I always did when we drove anywhere this summer.
Instead, I grip the wheel tighter, every muscle in my arm wound tight enough to snap. Every turn of the tires pulls me closer to something I shouldn’t want but still do.
The Langley comes into view, standing like a majestic monument, all glass and stone, glowing against the rainy night.
Exhaling a breath, I pull up to the curb and shift into park.
Cami doesn’t move. “I’m not ready to go home,” she says, her quiet admission quivering in the space between us.
I keep my eyes fixed on the windshield because if I glance her way, I’ll fall apart. “Cami…we can’t.”
She turns toward me, and even without looking, I can feel her eyes on me. “I want to see Stripe and Shadow.”
The smart move is to sayno, drop her off, drive away, and pretend this night never happened.
But every part of me that remembers her in my shirt, laughing in my kitchen, us making love under moonlight, urges me to give in.
“Please, Knox,” she says, soft and pleading. “I miss them. I miss…us.”
Jaw tight, I grip the wheel and floor the gas, her apartment building shrinking in the mirror behind us, my indie playlist drowning out every rational thought I’ve ever had.
By the time I pull into my building’s garage, the rain’s turned to a fine mist, the city still pulsing above us.
I park beside my Rover, cut the engine, and step out.
Cami hesitates for a beat before I circle around and open the passenger door, her heels clicking against concrete as she steps out.
Shoulders brushing, we walk toward the elevator in silence, and once inside, I hit ten.
Twin doors slide shut, trapping the scent of her perfume and the uneven rhythm of our breathing.
Electricity curls in the space between us, my heart a beating drum.
If her last name weren’t Beaumont, I’d already have her pinned to the elevator wall, my hands mapping every curve, her legs wrapped around me.
But, I stand here, fists clenched, pretending the desire to reach for her doesn’t feel suffocating.
When the elevator doors slide open, I lead us down the hall, my hand against the small of her back like a magnet.
When we reach door 1012, I stop. “Cami, this can’t go beyond?—”
“I know.” Her eyes lift to mine, glossy and aching. “I just want to see my fur babies.”
One beep and a click, then the door eases open, dim light spilling out, the rhythmic patter of rain against tall glass.
Stripe and Shadow bolt from their cat tree the second they see their mom, tiny blurs of fur and sound. Stripe circles her ankles, mewing like he’s been abandoned for years. Shadow launches herself into Cami’s lap the moment she kneels, burying her face in the silk of her dress.
“Oh, I’ve missed you two so much.” She squeals, pressing kisses to their tiny heads. “Thought I lost you forever.”
It feels good seeing her like this again, the storm darkening her blue eyes finally softening under their tiny paws.
