All or Nothing

5

Lauren lets out a deep breath as she shuts her front door behind her, shutting out Camila sunny Cabello and the ridiculous way she makes her feel.

She should have never agreed to this, to model for her, but she'd been so thrown by the sight of Camila in her bullpen that she hadn't been able to resist pulling Camila away from Lauren's computer hobbit, eyeing her up like she was a piece of meat, away from the lunch date with the woman she insisted was just a friend, and Lauren just couldn't seem to keep away.

And she'd been doing so well, only seeing Camila for the few seconds it took for her to collect Leo from her studio on the nights he spent painting beside her, only making the briefest of small talk as Leo had washed his hands and traipsed back home and into bed.

He's asked Lauren, a few times if Camila could come over for dinner again, but Lauren had always been ready with an excuse. Sometimes his face had fallen, and her resolve had nearly wavered, but then she'd remember the temptation of Camila's lips when Leo had gone to bed the last time she was in Lauren's apartment, and she tells herself that things are better this way.

Camila Cabello deserves better than for Lauren to ruin her like she has every single other person she's ever dated – the reason she hadn't found love since she'd divorced her ex-husband had been because she'd given up looking for it.

She hadn't needed it. She had her work, which kept her too busy to have any kind of relationship, and she had her son, to keep her company after a long day at the office, and she didn't need anything else.

And then along came Camila, who made her heart feel something other than cold for the first time in years, who made it race and her breath quicken, made her wonder whether she'd be happy with a lifetime of loneliness, after all.

And here she is, fifty years old and starting to develop feelings for a woman half her age, the very definition of a mid-life crisis and she cannot, for the life of her, understand why Camila looks at her the way she does, like Lauren holds the sun and the stars and the whole damn world in her hands.

Like she'd kiss Lauren back, if she ever built up the courage to kiss her first.

Lauren wonders if it's too early for a drink as she makes her way into her office, glancing longingly at the makeshift bar she has against one of the walls, the room almost an exact replica of her Jauregui Inc office, of her home away from home.

She itches for the burn of bourbon at the back of her throat, to wash away the intensity of Camila's gaze as she'd stared at her, splayed out in a bed that smelled like her (Camila's perfume still lingers in Lauren's hair, on her skin, and she almost regrets handing that t-shirt back to her because it had smelt like Camila, almost felt like she'd been wrapped around her, and it had been intoxicating), and god, she should have never agreed to it.

But she'd been thrown by Camila's appearance and then by her request, and then when Camila had mentioned that she could always ask someone else to do it instead...

It's not often that Lauren gets jealous, but the thought of someone else getting to watch Camila paint them onto canvas, of getting to watch Camila work when it's something Lauren's been craving almost since the moment they met... something had snapped inside of her, and she'd agreed before she could remind herself what a terrible idea that would be.

And oh, she should never have suggested moving things to Camila's bedroom, but if the girl thought she was going to stretch out on the floor at her age then she had another thing coming. But maybe she should have suffered through it, because now she's sure the explicit dreams she'd been having with increasing regularity ever since Camila's body had curled around her as she'd sat at that damn easel are going to become even more vivid, is sure that tonight she will dream of a hot mouth moving down the column of her neck, her hands clenching into fists around Camila's purple sheets.