Page 25

He looked tired when he left the library. I walked him home and watched the lights in his bedroom turn on, then off. I imagined him tucking himself into his bed. I don’t know how he sleeps, and it torments me. It feels unfair that something so fundamental is missing from the catalog I keep of Cameron in my mind.

But at least I have the selfie of him. Even if he sent it to Gwen, it’s still mine. His face is angled toward the camera, his lips tight in a kiss that’s somehow both ridiculous and devastating.

Something about the way he’s looking at the camera, half-lidded and vulnerable, empties my lungs. His dark lashes throw shadows across his cheekbones, and there’s a faint bruise beneath his eyes, the kind that comes from exhaustion or tears.

I wonder if this is what his face looks like when he’s about to come. Oh fuck. His eyes would go half-shut just like this, the vulnerability laid bare, that beautiful surrender entirely mine to witness. The weight of not knowing is almost unbearable. But I don’t let myself spiral into almost. Someday, I’ll know exactly what that expression means. Someday, he’ll look at me like that.

Here’s the thing about Cameron: he has no fucking idea how hot he is. None. If he knew, if he had even the slightest awareness, he’d be different, cautious, less himself. But he’s not. He’s just sending a quick selfie to a girl he thinks he’s flirting with, completely oblivious to the fact that he’s destroying me. I’m sitting here staring at his face, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my dick.

I zoom in on his lips and the way they’re tightly pursed…

I need to stop.

But I can’t. My dick is begging for more of Cameron.

I jump up from the bed, my hands shaking, and cross the room to lock the door. It’s already locked. I check it anyway, twisting the knob to make sure, and then I turn back to the bed, my pulse racing.

I sit on the edge of the mattress, my phone still in my hand, the photo still on the screen. And then I unbutton my jeans. I release my cock and start stroking, slowly at first.

I close my eyes and immediately imagine him.

Cameron on his stomach. His stupid white baseball cap still on his head, turned backward. His face turned to the side, his lips parted, his eyes half-closed. I’m on top of him, watching the muscles in his back flex. Cam. I grip myself harder, stroking faster. I imagine my hands on his hips, holding him in place as I push into him, controlling the way his body tenses and then relaxes, making him gasp and arch his back.

My orgasm takes me by surprise. My whole body jerks and hot cum spills over my hand onto the bedspread beneath me.

“Fuck,” I gasp, my hand still moving with the fantasy.

I see the mess, all over my hand and the expensive, dry-clean-only Italian bedspread my mother bought for me when I moved in.

It’s basically ruined.

“Fuck,” I say again, louder this time, truly pissed.

I didn’t have time to grab anything. I didn’t have time to think.

I look down at the stain already setting into the fabric. I grab a tissue from the box on my nightstand and start wiping at the mess, but it’s useless. The stain is already there, dark against the pale fabric. I ball up the tissue and throw it across the room, my hands curling into fists.

Cameron’s to blame for this. He makes me like this. He makes me lose control. He makes me think things I shouldn’t think, want things I can’t have. And he has no idea.

He’s probably at home right now, in his perfect apartment, thinking about how perfect Gwen is. He has no idea that Gwen is me. I’m the one he’s falling for. I’m the one who told him the truth tonight, that I want to find my person and take care of them so completely that they don’t need anyone else.

Cameron is my person. I want Cameron to need me. Only me. I want to be inside his head, his heart, his life, until there’s no space left for anyone else.

I look down at my phone, clutched in my other hand, his stupid, adorable face still on the screen.

I stand, tucking myself back into my jeans. I strip the bedspread off the bed and ball it up, shoving it into the corner of the room where I won’t have to look at it. I’ll deal with it tomorrow. Or I’ll throw it away.

I sit back down on the mattress, phone still in hand, and scroll through our conversation. I read his words, his thoughts.

He wants me. He just doesn’t know it yet.

And when he finally figures it out, I’ll make sure he never wants anyone else.

9

CAMERON

Gwen