The sadness I hear makes sense. Because that freedom she’s talking about came with a steep price.
Her grandfather’s life.
I wrap an arm across her shoulders, giving her a soft squeeze of comfort. “There’s no rush to figure it out, Cam. Take as long as you need.”
Her head falls to the side, landing on my chest. “Thanks, Beck.”
After our walk, we head back to my house. “Popcorn and a movie?” I ask over my shoulder as I unlock the door.
“Sounds perfect. I’m gonna take a quick shower first, if that’s okay.”
I close the door behind her. “A normal person’s quick shower or Camilla Byrne’s version of quick?” I tease.
She pops her hip to the side and glowers at me, a smile playing at the edge of her lips. “Ten minutes. Tops.”
A snort of laughter escapes me. “In all the years I’ve known you, you have never taken a shower less than twenty minutes long.”
“Watch me.”
Trust me, I’d love to.
I force that dirty idea out of my head just as quickly as it comes to me. “Okay, I’m gonna get stuff ready, and I’m starting the movie in fifteen minutes whether you’re ready or not.”
Cam shoots me a grin before hurrying down the hall to her room. Chuckling under my breath, I go to the cabinet in the kitchen and pull out everything to make some popcorn, then start looking up movie options while I wait.
When she strides into the kitchen with a cocky smirk on her face twelve minutes later, I let my jaw fall open in shock. “Who the hell are you and what have you done with my friend?”
She slugs me in the arm as she walks past me, opening the fridge and grabbing two beers. Passing me one, she says, “Told you I could do it.”
This confident, full of life, and sparkling with energy version of Cam is the one I fell hard and fast for in university. She was always the one determined to prove everyone wrong. The best way to get her to do something was to tell her she couldn’t.
“Do you remember when Deanna Wong told you she didn’t believe you could beat her grade on the stats exam?” I ask as we settle on the couch. Cam shifts onto her back, stretching her legs out so her feet land in my lap. My hands automatically fall onto her shins. It’s comfortable, a position we’ve watched many movies in, yet it feels more intimate this time.
If Cam feels the same way, she doesn’t show it. Letting out an indignant huff, she replies, “Like I’d ever forget that. Seriously, that woman had a stick lodged so far up her ass it came out her mouth every time she talked.”
I shudder at that visual. “Thanks for that.” Cam picks a piece of popcorn out of the bowl and chucks it at my head.
“You know I’m right.”
“I do, but that doesn’t mean I need you to paint me a picture.”
Cam just blinks innocently at me, her lips curving up into a smile that is anything but sweet. “But Beckett, I’m an artist. That’s just what I do.”
We both erupt in laughter for several minutes, and for a small window of time, it feels like nothing’s changed. Like I’m not weighed down by watching Cam struggle through her grief, a marriage no one knows about that means nothing outside of some paperwork, and the futile resurgence of my feelings for her.
For just a little while, I can convince myself we’re still two friends, hanging out, our futures ahead of us. I can pretend I don’t want more than she can give me. I can ignore the guilt I feel hiding stuff from my family.
I press play on the movie and tell my traitorous heart to stop whining. If this is what Cam can offer me, then I’ll take it.
But that doesn’t stop my hands from rubbing gently up and down her legs, wishing they were bare and not covered in the soft black leggings she has on. And when she shifts, and her foot brushes my cock, I can’t help the fact that it’s halfway to hard.
Her entire body freezes. “Just ignore it,” I grumble, keeping my eyes trained on the TV.
“I’m sorry,” comes her whispered reply, and my hand squeezes her calf in response.
“Don’t be.”
I feel her relax, but I’m also acutely aware of how gingerly she moves her foot away from my crotch. I suppose, at least she isn’t pulling away completely.
