"Damn it, Malik! Stay on sides for god sake," Shawn said, walking back toward center field as the opposing players positioned themselves behind the ball.
"Can it, Mendes. I am. It was a bad call." Zayn trailed behind just slightly.
"Which time? This specific one, or the other four times you were called today?" Shawn shook his head. "I swear to God, I'm going to knock you on your ass if you don't pay attention."
He knew he was having a total girl fit, and it was just a practice scrimmage, but he'd had it with Zayn. The fact that Zayn had just been moved up to starting left forward was just the catalyst for a much bigger matter—the issue of Zayn shamelessly throwing himself at Camila the entire week. Logically, Shawn knew it wasn't Zayn's fault since no one knew about himself and Camila. But that didn't stop him from taking his possessive jealousies out on him whenever he could. Yep, that made him a douche of the highest order, but he couldn't seem to muster the energy to care.
Shawn had been dying for a reason to wail on Zayn since the arm slinging incident on Monday. Add to that each and every time he spotted him waiting at Camila's locker or plopping his ass down next to her at lunch. In his mind, the guy was hitting on his girl—it didn't matter that he didn't know, or that Shawn and Camila hadn't even discussed the specifics of what they were to each other yet. Semantics.
"What's your problem, Mendes? You've been on me all week."
As much as Shawn wanted to give him the rundown on all the reasons why he had the irrational urge to rearrange his face, he knew he couldn't. "You think this is me being on you? Keep it up and I'll show you exactly what that means, Malik."
Zayn ran a hand through his hair, a slightly exasperated look on his face. It probably should have made Shawn feel bad for being such an ass, but as with anything, it didn't.
"Sorry," Zayn said. "I'm just distracted."
What the hell could he have to be distracted about?
"Whatever. Just save it for when you're not on the field." Shawn shrugged off the curiosity he felt over what could possibly distract Zayn from what was going on around him. He sincerely hoped whatever it was did not look especially tempting with long brunette Pippi Longstocking braids or he'd have to go back on his self imposed "do not mess up Zayn" vow.
"Mendes! Malik! Problem?" Coach Mark's voice thundered from the sidelines.
"No Coach," Zayn answered. Shawn remained silent.
"Good. Keep it that way or you'll both be running laps."
"Suck up," Shawn muttered.
"What? You want to run laps?" Zayn whisper shouted.
Shawn shrugged, truthfully not caring at that point. He was a soccer player; running was second nature to him and the threat of it as a punishment was laughable. At least the physical activity kept his frustration at bay. Ever since the night of the dance, he'd felt an overwhelming sense of anxiety he couldn't shake. He knew being with Camila would be difficult, but just how difficult he'd never realized. Not that it should have come as a surprise. Camila was a good girl: sweet, innocent, and caring. And he, well, he wasn't. In fact, he was the exact opposite of all of those things. He was not good, sweet, caring, and he definitely wasn't innocent.
His conscience told him he shouldn't even entertain the idea of being with her, corrupting her, but he couldn't stay away. Something about the way she looked at him made him wonder if maybe he wasn't a lost cause after all. No one had ever looked at him the way she did, like he was something special. Even the Jauregui's looked at him with a sense of pity, sadness. It had been such a long time since Shawn felt anything outside of anger. But she made him feel—more. He wasn't entirely comfortable with it all, but the fact that he felt something was intriguing.
After practice ended, Shawn sat on the bench inside the locker room tying his shoes after showering and changing, when Zayn and another member of the team came out of the showers.
"So what did she say?" the other guy, Jared, asked while running a towel through his auburn, wet hair.
Zayn sighed and opened a locker a few down from Shawn. "I don't know, nothing much. It's like she's avoiding. Maybe she's seeing someone."
"Maybe you should ask—hey, don't you live next door to Cabello's sister, Mendes?"
Shawn didn't look up, fearing his face would betray him. "Yeah, so?"
"Come on man, help a guy out," Jared said. "Does the girl have a guy friend or not?"
Shawn stood, snatched his bag from his locker, and slammed it shut before facing his two teammates. He did not want to talk about Camila with those two asshats. Jared stood with a smug smile stretching across his face as Zayn looked down at the ground, his cheeks pink. Shawn almost felt sorry for him—almost, but not really. "How the hell am I supposed to know that?" The crazy thing was, he actually didn't know the answer to that question.
Seriously, he probably should, but he and Camila hadn't had that particular "discussion" yet. He knew that soon they would have to establish what exactly this was between them but hell, he didn't really want to have that conversation through texts or on the phone, and finding time together was nearly impossible with their schedules. Shawn had practice every night except Friday's, and Camila had worked at her mother's shop almost every day that week as well. If he was the sort to be paranoid, he may have thought Sinu had an idea of their relationship and was deliberately trying to keep them apart. Then there was Lauren. Damn Lauren. Why couldn't she get involved in some sort of extracurricular that took her away in the evenings? She seemed to dominate all of Camila's evening time until her curfew. It was really starting to grate at his nerves.
"Well, maybe you've noticed someone coming and going ..." Jared waved his hand in front of him in a motion that suggested, "and so on."
Shawn scowled. "Yeah, because I have nothing better to do with my time than spy on my neighbor." He glanced at Zayn. "If Malik wants to know, maybe he should ask her instead of whining about it like a little girl."
Jared snorted and thumped Zayn on the back. "Yeah man, you are starting to sound a little pathetic."
Zayn shoved Jared against the row of lockers.
Jared just laughed and turned to Shawn. "So, what did you do to Alexandria? She's following you around like a lovesick puppy." He shook his head. "I've been trying to get with that for like a year."
Shawn looked Jared up and down with a raised brow, fighting back an eye roll. "I can't for the life of me see why you haven't succeeded."
Jared gave him a dumb look, not catching the insult.
Shawn sighed and slung his bag over his shoulder. "Maybe you should treat her like crap and then ignore her. That's what I've done and she won't get off my ass."
"I wish she'd get on my ass." Jared looked up at the ceiling dreamily.
"You're an idiot," Zayn said with a grin as he turned to the locker in front of him and pulled out his gym bag.
"What?" Jared said. "It's not like you don't think that way about Camila, Zayn. You're always all "Camila this, and Camila that." He raised his arm to his face and started slobbering all over it.
"Shut up, you meathead." Zayn shoved him again.
"Good God, I sincerely hope that isn't how you kiss real girls." Shawn gave Jared a disgusted look.
Jared looked up. "What? What's wrong with it?"
Zayn laughed, shook his head, and finished putting his clothes back on.
"I'm not even going to dignify that with a response," Shawn said and turned toward the outer doors, needing to get out of there before either of them said something about Camila that would make him lose it. Pushing them open, he stepped out into the bright sunlight. In his periphery, he caught sight of a flash of brunette. Turning toward the field, he spotted her, sitting on the bleachers, her head down and body hunched over her lap. With a grin, he moved toward the field, stopping when he reached the bottom row of the bleachers. She didn't look up.
He cleared his throat and she started at the sound. But when she saw him, a smile slowly spread over her lips.
"So, Pippi. Waiting for someone?"
"Maybe." She stood and made her way down the bleachers, her feet clattering against the metal seats. When she reached the step just above where he stood, she leaned toward him and whispered. "I heard a rumor that there's this really hot new player. I just wanted to come check him out."
"Really?" He raised his hand to his chin, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger and looking toward the locker room doors. Turning back and moving his face even closer to hers, he said, "You know, most of the team is still in the locker room if you want me to sneak you in. Maybe you can find this new 'hot guy.'"
"I don't think that'll be necessary." She came even nearer, her breath brushing over his cheeks. "You'll do." She grinned, pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, and bent down to him. Just before her lips touched his, the locker room door banged open and they wrenched apart.
A group of loud boys filtered out, none of them turning toward the field or paying any attention to Camila and Shawn.
"We should get out of here," Shawn said, stepping back from the bleachers to let her down while keeping his eyes on the door.
She nodded and flung her backpack over her shoulders. "Do you need to go straight home?"
"No." He glanced down at her. "Do you?"
She shook her head and smiled up at him. "I finally have an afternoon off."
"Finally, huh?"
"Yeah. I know I haven't been around much. My mom added a few more classes and she needed help getting stuff ready for them."
"It's okay." He walked beside her, his hands stuffed in his pockets, although what he really wanted was to reach out and take hers. "I've had practice all week anyway."
Camila let out a slow breath and kept her gaze forward. "This is frustrating, isn't it?"
He laughed. "Yes."
Groups of students milled around, leaving after school group activities and sports practices. Several kids gave them strange looks as they walked by, probably because they seemed so incredibly different from one another. Shawn, a popular athlete and Camila, a nobody artist. They definitely weren't a match anyone would suspect. Shawn smiled at the thought. He liked that they didn't conform to the high school form of coupledom. It wasn't a secret to either of them that they were different from the outer personas most other people saw.
They stayed silent as they crossed the parking lot. Camila paused when they reached the sidewalk and glanced back toward the school.
"Where's your car?"
"Dad needed it so he took it this morning."
"Oh, so you're walking?"
He nodded.
"Wanna go to the park?" She looked down at her feet, her cheeks turning a faint shade of pink. "I've missed hanging out with you. I'm not ready to leave yet."
Shawn chuckled and she looked up at him, her brows furrowed.
"What?"
He shook his head and gestured for her to keep walking. "Why is it that back there," he cocked his thumb over his shoulder toward the fields, "you can be so seductive and flirty, but you blush just asking me to hang out?"
"Shut up. I'm no good at this stuff."
"Yes, you are. Better than you think."
After a minute, she gazed up at him and smirked.
"What?" he asked.
"Seductive, huh?"
He nodded. "Very."
She smiled wider and focused on the street in front of them.
He chuckled. "Don't get a big head, now."
She laughed. "Why not? Yours is already huge so even if mine gets a little inflated yours will still be bigger."
Within moments, they'd reached the edge of the small park next to the cemetery. Most of the children played on a large, plastic play set shaped like a pirate ship the city built on the side furthest from the cemetery. They ran and squealed as they climbed the steps, jogged across the bridge, and slid down the covered slide. The swings on the opposite side stood empty.
Shawn and Camila crossed to them, dropping their bags near the poles and sat, Camila facing the cemetery and Shawn facing the park. Camila twisted in the swing until the chain was braided all the way to the top, allowing herself to spin quickly as she raised her feet from the ground. When she stopped, she kept her eyes fixed on the ground, her face suddenly downcast.
Shawn turned toward her and grabbed her swing, pulling her closer to him. "What's the matter?"
She sighed, looked up and met his gaze for a moment before her eyes flicked toward the cemetery, and back to the ground. "Carlos's birthday is tomorrow."
Shawn said nothing, knowing how much empty words of sympathy didn't help. Instead, he reached over, drew a stray curl from her face, and tucked it behind her ear.
Camila glanced back at him, her forehead creased with emotion. "I feel better, you know? I mean, every day I feel stronger, like maybe that could be the day that I could finally cross the barriers I set for myself." She sighed, looked down, and kicked at the dirt groove beneath the swing. "But each time I try, I fail. I still can't go in his room. I still can't go to his grave." Closing her eyes, she raised her face. "I just want to be able to do those things. I just want to feel close to him again, and I can't do it." She opened her eyes and gazed at the cemetery.
Shawn saw the longing in her face. He could see how much she wanted to overcome those hurdles, how much she needed to feel like she was past that part of the grieving process. Standing from his swing, he stepped in front of her and squatted down. His eyes rose to hers and she looked at him with curiosity.
"Maybe you can't because you've been trying to do it all alone." He stood and held out his hand out to her. "You don't have to do anything alone anymore."
Camila looked up at him, her eyes wide with understanding. She swallowed visibly and slowly raised her hand, slipping it carefully in his, her fingers lacing through and locking them tightly together.
__________________________________________________________
With Shawn's hand firmly grasped in hers, Camila stood before the large iron gates of the city cemetery. Her heart pounded against her ribs and the blood rushing through her veins roared in her ears. She felt herself trembling, but had no way to stop it.
Shawn leaned over and whispered, "We don't have to go any further today if you're not ready."
Camila shook her head. "I want to go." She glanced up and met his eyes. "I need to go."
He studied her for a moment before nodding and reaching forward to cup her cheek with his other hand. Bending down, he touched her lips softly with his. "I'm here."
She closed her eyes as he rested his forehead against hers, and let out a slow breath. "I know." Opening them again, she turned toward the gate. "Let's go."
Taking a tentative step forward, Camila crossed the threshold and entered the cemetery. Perfectly manicured green grass peppered with headstones stretched out before her. A chill shot down her spine and she gripped Shawn's hand harder. He gave hers a supportive squeeze. With a deep breath, she started down the gravel path, her footsteps crunching against the loose stone. Somehow, she knew exactly what direction to go even though she'd only been there once before. It was almost as if she could feel Carlos's presence calling to her, showing her the way.
They followed the winding path up the hill until they came to a crossroads. Turning to her left, Camila led them to a smaller section near a large weeping willow. Its branches swayed in the breeze, the leaves making a rustling sound as they rubbed against one another. The smell of freshly cut grass permeated the air and several birds chirped from the branches of the tree. A few yards away stood a small wood sided maintenance shed. Various landscaping tools and a weed eater sat propped up against the closed door. A few workers trimmed hedges and clipped grass nearby.
Camila walked to the edge of the path facing the tree and stopped. The bright white stone stood out stark and new against the vivid green surroundings. Thick, plush grass covered the ground in front of it, and even though Camila knew it would, the sight still startled her since the last time she'd been there, only a hole occupied the space. Her breath hitched and she closed her eyes before forcing herself forward. The grass squished under the soles of her shoes, a much more comfortable feeling than the sharp gravel.
When she reached the edge of the grave, she let go of Shawn's hand and took a few more steps forward. An overwhelming pressure swelled in her chest, making it hard to breathe, but still, she moved ahead. Just before she reached the headstone, she stopped, her legs no longer allowing movement. They trembled beneath her, threatening every moment she stood there of giving in. Finally, they did, forcing her to her knees a few steps before the headstone. Even though the grass was soft, pain still shot through her knees and followed the nerves up into her thighs. But not even that could rival the unwavering agony in her heart.
Leaning forward, she touched her forehead to the cool, hard stone, her fingers tracing the letters of his name as she tried to control her emotions. She didn't want to cry. Not because Shawn was there, but because she knew Carlos wouldn't want that. Wouldn't want this to be so hard for her.
"I know it's not until tomorrow," she whispered to the granite, "but I wanted to tell you happy birthday." Her voice caught at the end. "I'm sorry I haven't come before now. I just—I couldn't. I hope you're not upset, but I'm here now and I'm—" her throat clenched, "so sorry." She finished just as a sob choked her and she couldn't contain her tears any longer.
Her hands slid down the smooth front of the headstone and she lowered herself face down into the soft grass. She fisted her palms into it and wept harder than she ever had before. Harder than the night of the accident, harder than at the funeral, harder than all the times she couldn't open his door or enter the cemetery. Each wave of grief, higher and larger than the last, crashed over and pulled her deeper into the despair she'd avoided all those months.
She sensed him all around this place—in the wind flowing through her hair, in the sunshine warming her skin, in the songs of the birds flittering above. Every sound was filled with his voice, every smell with his unique scent, every physical sensation with his touch. It overwhelmed and gutted her at the same time. She embraced and repelled it in equal measure. The need to be there, wrapped up in him and his spirit, overshadowed her desperate need to run away, to shelter her heart from the pain ripping it apart.
After a moment, she felt a hand on the back of her head. A touch so gentle, so soothing, she had to look up. When she met Shawn's eyes, they didn't look at her with pity or sympathy. They looked at her with understanding. A deep, painful comprehension. He knew she wasn't looking for someone to tell her they were sorry. She needed someone who knew to say nothing, to just be there. And he was.
Suddenly, she just needed him to hold her, to give her something tangible and good and warm to cling to.
She sat up and flung her arms around him, burying her tear-stained face into his chest. He pulled her to him, holding her tightly against his body, one hand stretched across her back and the other still on her head.
"I miss him," she said into his shoulder.
"I know." He pressed his lips to the top of her head.
The pain swelled inside until it was almost too much to bear. But the harder her sobs grew, the tighter Shawn held her. He didn't speak, didn't try to calm her down. He just let her cry, because he knew that was what she needed. Somehow, someday, all that anguish needed to come out and she guessed it was starting today.
Camila didn't know how long they sat beside Carlos's grave with her clutching Shawn for dear life. All she knew was that she was tired, so tired. Her body felt waterlogged, limp. She tried to move away, but she didn't even have the energy to lift her head. Finally, she felt Shawn shift beneath her. She tried to move again but it was almost as if she had no strength left.
"It's all right," he said. "I've got you."
She felt him throw both their bags over his shoulder and lift her into his arms, cradling her gently to his chest. Part of her wanted to protest, to insist she could walk, but she couldn't even open her mouth to speak. She felt bad that he'd have to carry her the two blocks to her house.
"I can walk," she said weakly when she finally found her voice.
He chuckled, the feel of it vibrated against her. "I really don't think you can. You feel like a big pile of jello."
"Is that your polite way of calling me jiggly?"
"I plead the fifth."
"I'm going to hit you when I get my strength back."
He laughed again. "I'll look forward to that."Shawn hung to the shadows once they got back to their houses. Luckily, the sun had set sometime between the time they'd left the cemetery and arrived home. Camila couldn't be certain since she'd had her face buried in Shawn's neck nearly the whole way.
"Is your mom home?" he asked.
"No."
"Okay." He hurried up the porch steps and paused in front of the door. "Where's your key?"
"There's one above the door frame." She really wished she felt strong enough to stand because she was starting to feel like a major tool.
Shawn juggled all her weight onto one arm and reached up, running his fingers along the frame above the door. Camila heard the clink of metal as he found it. He lowered his hand and shoved the key in the lock, twisting until it clicked. After opening the door and replacing the key, he swept his arm under her legs once more and carried her over the threshold, kicking the door shut behind them.
He navigated her dark home quite easily, most likely due to the fact his was laid out exactly the same except flip-flopped. Camila clung tighter to him as he made his way up the stairs, not even protesting when he took her straight into her room and laid her carefully on the bed. As he pulled back, Camila fisted her hand into his shirt, not allowing him to move away. He met her eyes, questions in his.
"Don't go. I don't want to be alone."
He furrowed his brow. "I could get Lauren."
She shook her head. "I don't want Lauren. I want you."
"Mila, I don't want your mom to catch me here."
"She won't be home until late. She's got a class and then a date afterward." Camila begged him with her eyes. "Please. Stay."
He studied her for a moment before nodding. "Okay. Just give me a second." Dropping their bags on the floor, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, pressing one of the buttons. After a few seconds he spoke, "Lauren. Tell mom I'll be late. Why do you care? Yeah—shut up and just tell her, all right? Whatever." He pressed a button and hung up the phone, smiling down at her.
"Do you two ever get along?"
"Not even a little bit." He kicked off his shoes and stretched out on the bed next to her, scooping her up into his arms and tucking her into his side.
Camila extended her arm across his chest, laying her palm flat over his heart, feeling it beat hard and strong against her. A small smile broke over her lips.
"Shawn? Talk to me."
"About what?"
"I don't care. Something about you. Something happy. Anything. I just like listening to your voice."
"Something happy, huh?"
"Um hmm."
"Okay." His arm drew up around her, holding her tighter. "Let me think for a minute."
It didn't miss Camila's attention that he had to actually think about it before he could tell her something good about his life.
"Okay, I got it." He shifted and pulled his free hand up and tucked it under his head. "I don't know how old I was, but I was pretty young, maybe four. My mother took me into town and after an incessantly annoying amount of begging on my part, she took me to the local pet store. I remember they had a litter of new puppies and the owner would always let me play with them." His long fingers traced up and down her arm, causing goosebumps to rise on her flesh. "I wanted one so bad, but my father refused. He was in the military and said it was too impractical to have a pet with how much we moved. Somewhere in my four-year-old brain, I understood that, but I still wanted one."
Camila hugged him closer, loving the insight she was getting into his former life, but feeling sad as well. At one point, he was happy. What happened to change all that?
"A few months later my father deployed again. I remember being sad and missing him. Which, now that I think about it, seems so strange because he was such an ass. He was very anal, kind of OCD, and a huge clean-freak. It drove him absolutely insane when anything was misplaced or things were not just so. My mother was a lot more relaxed. She didn't care so much about making sure everything was in its right place or whatever. So, they argued a lot about that. I remember that."
Camila stayed silent, never interrupting him to ask questions for fear he would stop, and she wanted to know as much as he was willing to tell her.
"Anyway, right after he left, my mother took me back to the pet store. The owner received a new litter just a few days before. They sat me right in the pen with them and those five little puppies jumped all over, barking and licking me. I thought it was the greatest thing ever." He laughed. "Then, my mother told me to pick one. I remember looking at her like she was joking but she just shook her head and told me every boy needed a dog and to take my pick. So I did. There was a black one that was really hyper and I wanted him. I told my mother his name was Spot."
Finally, Camila asked a question. "Why Spot?"
She felt him shrug. "I don't know, I was young and not really creative when it came to naming a dog. Plus, one of the families on our block had a dog named Spot and he was a badass. I wanted a badass dog too. I guess I figured he'd be one if I named him Spot."
Camila laughed at his four-year-old rationalization.
"So, we took Spot home and I played with that dog every waking moment of every day. My mom helped me train him since I wouldn't have had a clue how to do that at my age. We took him for walks, played fetch, and chased him down the block when he got off his chain. He slept in my bed every night." Shawn's hand moved from Camila's arm to her hair, brushing through it with gentle strokes. "It was the best summer I can remember."
Camila smiled at the happiness in his voice.
"But then my father came home. He got really angry when he saw my mother had disregarded his feelings on the whole pet issue. I fell asleep with Spot in my arms to the sound of them arguing." Shawn let out a slow breath. "When I woke up in the morning, Spot was not in my bed. I remember calling for him, but he didn't come. I got up and found my mother crying in the living room. When I asked her what was wrong she just looked at me and said we had to get rid of Spot. That father had taken him to the local shelter."
A bubble of anger grew in Camila's chest. Why would his father have been so cruel? Why couldn't he have just let his son be happy? It had to have been hard enough, moving around all the time. Why couldn't he have one constant?
"When my father returned from taking Spot, he came to my room and found me crying on my bed. He made me sit up and told me to wipe my eyes and to stop crying. He said it was 'irresponsible' for people in our position—I assume he meant with how much we moved—to form attachments to anyone or anything. Because, who knew when we'd have to leave again. He told me it was best that I learn that lesson then instead of later when it would be so much worse." Shawn's movements on Camila's hair ceased. "That was the last time I cried. The last time I let anyone or anything in, because I never wanted to feel that again."
Camila took in a sharp breath. "That was not a happy story."
Shawn chuckled. "Sure it was. Not all happy stories have a happy ending, Mila."
Camila sighed into his chest. "Well, they should."
"Maybe so. But they don't." He kissed the top of her head and fell silent.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"Don't be. It was a long time ago."
Camila sighed. "He was wrong, you know."
"Was he?"
"Yes, he was."
Shawn didn't speak again.
Camila closed her eyes and laid there for a long time, just listening to the sound of his breathing and the beating of his heart. At some point, she must have fallen asleep because when she opened her eyes again, the lamp on her nightstand was on and Shawn was softly singing to himself. Lying completely still, she listened to him just as she did every night, only this time, not only could she hear, but she could feel the music moving through him. It vibrated against her hand and her cheek, lulling her into peace and contentment.
I see it around me, I see it in everything
I could be so much more than this.
She had the urge to pull him closer, tighter, but she didn't want him to stop singing either. Hearing him always made her feel better, safe. She couldn't explain how or why, she just knew it did.
I said my goodbyes
this is my sundown
I'm gonna be so much more than this
With one hand high
you'll show them your progress
You'll take your time but no one cares
No one cares, no one cares
Camila wondered if all the songs he sang related to how he felt. She'd noticed when he looked more depressed, he sang more depressing songs. If that was true, what did he feel then? Inadequate? Uncared for?
I need you to show me the way from crazy
I wanna be so much more than this
With one hand high, you'll show them your purpose
You'll take your time, but no one cares
Unable to control herself any longer she squeezed him gently. His singing stopped.
"Hey, you're awake."
"Um hmm."
"Sorry." She felt his lips brush against the top of her head. "I didn't mean to wake you up."
"You didn't." She snuggled in closer. "What was that?"
"What was what?"
"What you were singing."
"Oh." He drew his hand up and lightly ran his fingers through her hair. "Just a song. Nothing special."
"I liked it."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." She paused. "Shawn? Can I ask you something?"
"Sure. I guess."
"How are you feeling?"
His hand stilled on her hair. "Shouldn't I be asking you that question?"
Camila sighed. "I'm feeling—tired, but better. Now answer mine."
"Right now? Hmm ... well, I'm kind of hungry, and my arm is falling asleep."
Camila pushed herself up onto one elbow, freeing his trapped arm, meeting his eyes and giving a look that clearly said, be serious.
He grinned. "I feel the same as usual."
"And what's that?"
He shrugged and dropped his gaze. "Fine, I guess."
Camila sighed and inched up so her face hovered level with his. "You know or you guess?"
"I don't know, Mila." He sighed. "I'm fine."
She let out a frustrated breath and flopped back onto the pillow next to him. "If your usual feeling is'fine,' why do you always sing such sad songs?"
Shawn laughed, shaking the bed beneath them. "Is that what this is about? You think I sing sad songs because I'm sad?" Propping himself up on one arm, he gazed down on her. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe I just like the song?"
She studied him carefully, her eyes roaming over every facet of his face. "Yes," she said quietly, "and if that was the only reason, I'd believe you. But it's not just that." Raising her hands tentatively to give him enough notice that she wanted to touch him, she placed her palms over his cheeks, cupping his face between them. "I can see it, here." She ran her thumbs over the barely discernable creases on his forehead. "And here." Lowering them to his eyes, she lightly touched his closed eyelids. "And here," she whispered, brushing her fingertips along the curve of his mouth.
He released a shaky breath as he opened his eyes and met her gaze once more. "Sometimes, yes, I sing things that reflect my mood, but I really am okay today."
"And the rest of the week?" She dropped her hands from his face.
He closed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair before opening them again. "I don't know. I was—kind of anxious, I guess."
"Why?"
He raised his brows. "Why? I don't know, maybe because I have no idea what I'm doing."
Camila frowned. "What do you mean?"
"This," Shawn pointed to himself and then her, "us. I have no idea what's going on right now."
Camila's heart quickened and she spoke quietly. "What do you want to be going on right now?"
"I want—" his eyes wavered between hers, searching her face for something, although she had no idea what, "you," he breathed. "I want you to be mine. Just mine." He lowered his face, resting his forehead against hers. "I'm a possessive, jealous ass, apparently, and it drove me insane watching Zayn throwing himself at you all week. Especially since I had no idea what was going on here or if you even wanted—"
Camila reached up and grabbed his face, causing his eyes to widen slightly. "I want," she said. "I really, really want."
Shawn froze for a moment before letting out a slow breath. "Okay, but let me warn you. I've never done the whole relationship thing and I may be horribly incompetent at it."
"You? Incompetent at something? I highly doubt that," Camila teased.
A small grin tugged at one corner of his mouth. "That's true. I am normally freakishly good at everything. Being someone's boyfriend should be a piece of cake, right?"
Camila's stomach squirmed when he called himself her boyfriend. "That remains to be seen."
"Are you doubting my skills?"
"Maybe."
"Hmm. Well, I'm just going to have to do something about that, aren't I?"
"You most certainly will. But first, can you promise me something?"
"What's that?" He reached up and removed her hand from his cheek, entwining his fingers in hers and pressing her hand into the mattress next to her head.
She swallowed against the butterflies having a party in her stomach. "Keep telling me things about yourself, like you did tonight. I want to know. Don't keep everything all bottled up. Talk to me. Please."
"I can promise you that I'll try. I'm not used to this, so that might take some time. Can you be okay with that?"
"Yes, as long as you try." Camila's lips tingled in anticipation as she focused on how close his were to her. "Shawn?"
"Hmm?"
"Were you," she licked her lips and caught her bottom one between her teeth, "planning on kissing me anytime soon, or do you enjoy torturing me?"
His smile widened. "Yes and yes, but I'm waiting for you to say it first."
She furrowed her brows. "Say what?"
He moved slowly toward her ear, his nose tracing the edge of her cheekbone. "That you're mine," he whispered. "Please. I just want to hear you say it."
A shudder ripped through Camila's body as the feel of him so close, the warmth of his breath, and the reality of what he was asking washed over her. She untangled her hand from his and raised both of her palms to his cheeks, pulling him back to her. Looking straight into his eyes she said, "I don't want anyone but you. Of course I'm yours."
He closed his eyes and lowered his forehead to hers once more. "Thank you," he whispered. "Now, close your eyes."
Camila did as he asked, holding her breath as she waited. It seemed like an eternity before his hands gently cupped her cheeks and his mouth touched hers, soft and barely there at first but becoming firmer and more forceful as his lips moved against hers. She trailed her fingers along his jaw, across his cheekbones, and up into the silky curls at the nape of his neck. His touch stayed light on her face, cradling her as if she were made of glass. She'd never felt more precious, more cared for, or more wanted than she did at that moment. She hoped she made him feel that way too. And that somehow, she could be the one to show him that a happy story should most definitely have a happy ending.