Cameron Cole has a plan.
After yet another relationship ends because of certain shortcomings-literally-Cameron decides it's time to swear off dating and focus her energy into her junior year at the University of Charlotte. There's an internship up...
Hey y'all—just a little warning there's some sensitive topics discussed in this chapter so take it easy, breezy covergirl xx
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"I hit puberty early," I say, my voice soft but steady, as though I'm reciting something I've been keeping locked away for years.
The room is quiet, except for the soft patter of rain against the window.
I'm sprawled on my back, naked, my body warm, flushed, and humming with the aftershocks of the last few hours.
Wes lies on his side beside me, just as naked, one hand propping up his head above me. The sheets are pushed dangerously low on his hip, just barely covering all of him—and all of me, too.
His thumb traces a slow line down the center of my chest, his fingers splaying briefly over my stomach before moving back up. His hand is warm, soothing, like he's trying to ground me with every gentle touch.
"By the time I was thirteen, I already looked like I was sixteen," I continue, my gaze fixed on the ceiling.
The bedside lamp bathes the room in soft light, and I can feel Wes' eyes on me, steady and patient, as if he can hold the weight of my words for me.
"By the time I was sixteen," I go on, my voice tightening, "I looked like I was in college. And... everyone noticed."
I can feel his eyes on me, heavy and steady, but he doesn't interrupt.
His hand moves lower, fingers brushing down the center of my stomach now, light and deliberate. He stays close, his body pressing against my side, the warmth of his skin seeping into mine.
"The girls hated me for it," I say, letting out a quiet, humorless laugh. "They called me a slut before I even knew what sex was."
I trail off, my throat tightening.
Wes leans in again, his lips brushing over the curve of my shoulder, then lower, trailing faint, featherlight kisses down my arm.
Dear Lord.
That one tiny little action has tears brimming in my eyes.
His hand stays steady on my stomach, his thumb sweeping soft, soothing circles against my skin.
"They'd pass notes in class," I continue, my laugh bitter and humorless. "Calling me a feral sex fiend who needed to be tamed. They'd write the most disgusting shit—stuff that wasn't even true—and pass it around for everyone to read. And when a teacher finally got ahold of one of the notes? I was the one who got detention."
Wes' jaw tenses slightly, his body pressing closer against my side.
"They keyed my car once," I say, swallowing hard as the memory surfaces. "Wrote 'slut' on the hood in big, ugly letters. Threw eggs on the windshield so it would dry in the sun and be impossible to clean off. Sometimes they'd fill condoms with mayonnaise and leave them in my locker, like some disgusting prank."
