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...
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My bedroom is dark and warm, cocooned in the quiet hum of the rain outside. The morning light fights its way in—gray and dull—but it adds to the coziness.
We're tangled up in the sheets, in each other, in everything.
I'm tucked into his side, my naked body pressed flush against his.
Wes leans back against the pillows, one arm locked around me as I rest my cheek against the soft flesh of his bicep. His fingertips trace slow, lazy lines across the top of my back, dipping lower and then back up again in that way he knows I like.
I trail my own little pattern on him—over his chest, mapping out the dips and ridges of muscle—my nails dragging lightly down the solid planes of a stomach that I can't believe is all mine. All mine to touch, to kiss, to lick. All mine, mine, mine.
We're talking, murmuring into the soft quiet, about my weekend. About Jenna. About Nana Bea and the retirement van. It's funny how weeks ago, all I dreamed about was getting a fat piece of duct tape and putting it on Wes' mouth to get him to shut the fuck up.
Now he's the first person I want to run to and talk to when anything happens, no matter how big or how small.
I tried a new coffee order? He's getting a full rundown.
Someone at the grocery store pissed me off? He's hearing the full rant.
I got a new top? He's getting a front-row seat to my fashion show.
Every little thing that happens in my life, I want to share with him. I can't help it. I need to see his reaction, to hear his voice as he hypes me up or talks me back from the edge of murder.
And after the whole Jenna-the-Clown shitshow over the weekend, there wasn't anyone I wanted to talk about it with more than Wes. Oh—Scarlett too. But Wes was the first one I called once he had finished his game.
He was still in the locker room when I called, and I felt bad for stealing him away from his teammates. But he didn't care. He walked out into the hall and stayed on the phone with me for almost forty minutes. Just talking.
Fuck. This is getting bad, isn't it?
Wes laughs as he pulls the sheet a little higher over my waist when I shiver—but it isn't from the cold. It's from his touch.
"Cam—baby—just a list of names," Wes insists, trying to get more information out of me.
I laugh, tipping my head back slightly, my cheek warm against his bicep. "Wes—"
"No, I'm dead serious," he says, his voice low as he glances down at me. "Because I got time. I got so much time. I'll find them—all of them—and break their fucking jaws. I'll fight every single one of them. Their husbands. Their wives. Their kids. I don't give a shit."
"Oh my god! You're insane. My boyfriend is clinically insane!" I giggle as Wes turns us so I'm on my back and he's hovering above me, one forearm braced by my head while his other hand curls around my waist. He sandwiches his arm between me and the mattress, bringing my body up into him.
