PRESENT
ROLLING OVER, I pull Cammie's warm body against mine and inhale the faint strawberry scent from the lip gloss she's always worn. I must have done a shitty job last night kissing her for there to be any trace of that remaining. I'll make sure to do better this morning. Ever so softly, I move her chestnut strands to the side and plant my lips on her neck. "Rise and shine, tigress."
It's been a week since we moved her to the guesthouse. It's also been a week since I slept at my place. Even though we haven't had sex, the mere thought of leaving her, of not sleeping with her, frightens me in a way I'm not sure how to describe. I think it's because in our past, too often we were separated and something bad happened. Or maybe it's that I've been away from her for basically nine years, and I'm hell-bent on making up for lost time.
"Cam?" I ask.
"Hmm."
"Wake up. I wanna ask you something."
She rolls over, pressing her front against me and my rock hard erection before wrapping her arms around my neck. "Answers in exchange for kisses."
I smirk. "If that's the Sunday special, then I hope you're ready because I'm going to assault you with questions...and kisses."
"I like the way you think." She laughs. "Ask, er, kiss away."
Planting my lips on hers, I let my tongue lightly caress her lips before pulling back. It'd be so easy to get lost in her right now. "I thought we could start making some traditions."
"That's not a question, Masters. You're starting to let me down here. Do I need to remind you of how Webster defines question?"
I chuckle. "No, smartass."
Her eyes widen. "It's way too soon for this, but considering for a period of time I pretended to be Mrs. Holden Masters, if we ever get married, I can't think of a better name to assume than Mrs. Smartass."
I stare at her in utter amazement. There's no one I'd rather share that name with than her. Giving her ass a spank, I tsk. "I was thinking we could go to Rind 'N Grind this morning for breakfast."
She shakes her head, mischief written all over her face. "Still not a question."
She's right. Even though laser tag was my ridiculously flawed attempt at asking her out on a date, it was so horrible she didn't even know it. And a week ago when I won her auction, she didn't even get a say. And we all know if she'd been able to turn me down, she would have. She tried. Damn, am I glad that didn't work. But this is my chance to finally ask her out the way she deserves. Although, we're totally doing shit all kinds of backward. "Cam," I say, kissing her nose. "Will." I kiss her cheek. Who cares about backward? This is way better than any way I could have asked her before. Goosebumps erupt on her skin and she closes her eyes for a second before flashing them open, like she wants to see and hear what's happening. "You."
My lips move to that sensitive area behind her ear. I breathe in it like I did ten years ago, the first time I started playing with the idea of risking our friendship for more. "Go." She shivers. "Out." I lick her lobe. "With." It's like we're in high school all over again. My dick is so hard, my heart feels like it's had electricity shocked through it, warming my blood as it courses through my veins. "Me?" My hands roam down her side before gripping her waist. "I think that should have been enough kisses to pay for a single answer."
She sucks in a breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She puts her hands on my cheeks and gazes into my eyes for what seems like forever. I bet this is what it feels like when guys ask a girl to marry them and they hesitate before answering. What's taking her so damn long? It's just breakfast. Just a date.
She leans in and traces my lips with her tongue, but it's like that game people used to play where they drew something with their finger on your back and you had to guess it without looking. Except, I'm not looking away. I stare down at her tongue, crossing my eyes in order to do so, as she traces the word yes against them. Fucking yes. That's hot as hell.
I open my mouth and she dips her tongue inside, exploring, giving and taking, saying so much more than a word ever could.
Rolling onto my back, I pull her onto my lap. She straddles me, her nightshirt riding up to her hips and her wet panties grinding against me. Rubbing my hands up and down her sides, I watch as her lips curve into a delicious, devilish smile. "Answers in exchange for clothes?"
"Definitions in exchange for clothes."
She tosses her head back, laughing. "You must not care if I keep my two pieces of clothing on because I'm going to kick your ass at this game."
Shaking my head, I swallow as she rocks back and forth against my restrained cock. I don't want to rush things, but damn, she's killing me. "Urban Dictionary Edition," I say. It's the only chance I have at getting her naked. I swear she has Webster memorized.
"Challenge accepted."
"Because I'm a cocky bastard." I arch a brow and push up against her so she can feel just how much that's true. "I'll let you go first."
"Hmm." She puts her finger up to her lips before sticking it in her mouth and sucking it hard, like it's a lollipop...or my dick. Pulling it out fast, it pops. "Chicken head."
"That's the best you can do?"
She shrugs. "You're stalling."
"No, I'm trying to decide whether to play stupid so I can free my cock and get it closer to your pussy."
Her cheeks redden, and that answers my question. "The person on top when chicken fighting." I know that's wrong. But it's her. She's always on top. I'm always under her, being driven fucking crazy by the way her thighs squeeze around me.
"Oh, but you're only wearing boxer briefs, so does that mean you already lose?"
I laugh. "If this is losing, I never wanna win."
"Touché. But I think you're cheating, so I'm inclined to make you go another round. Let's call it double elimination."
I nod. Fuck yeah. I'm all for that. "Give me a second to think of one. You took the one I was going to use." I wink at her.
"You were not going to use that one."
"You'll never know, though. Just like you'll never know if I was cheating."
"If you were going to use it, then you knew the answer, and you just proved you're cheating."
I bite my lip. "Your evidence is all circumstantial, though."
"Uh huh. Hurry up with your word or you're disqualified. I'm hungry."
"Karissa's Tits."
Her amused expression quickly fades, and I rub my hands up and down her delicate skin, lifting her shirt, going a little higher each time while singing the Jeopardy theme song.
"Shh. You're distracting me."
"Welcome to my world, tigress." I grin. "Welcome. To. My. World." This last time, I get the shirt over her own tits, and I don't let it fall back down. "Time's almost up."
"Those coconut things the Hawaiian girls wear."
"They're called hula dancers," I say, removing her shirt, tossing it to the side. "And screw double elimination. We're playing double article removal." Flipping her over, I yank her panties down before taking one of her nipples into my mouth.
She threads her fingers in my hair.
"What does it mean, then?"
"The fruit from the finest guava trees. Juicy fucking melons."
She sucks in a breath, then arches, pushing herself against me.
"But I think I'm going to add my own definition to the Urban Dictionary. Cammie's Tits: My favorite coconuts."
"Don't you dare!"
"Maybe I'll just make a dictionary for us and add it there," I say in between sucking my way down her taut stomach.
"Now, that'd be hot."
Note to self: Define us. Give her the world. And a fucking dictionary.
I'M ON CALL this weekend. We were about to hop in the shower together when a call came in for someone having chest pains right outside of the neighborhood. I kissed her, told her to be ready when I got back, and headed out, annoyed that once again I felt torn between being there for someone else and her.
Luckily, I'm only on call—just a first responder—so the call is quick. Ten minutes later, and I'm already back on my way home because the paramedics arrived before me. The person's vitals were good, but that doesn't always mean anything. And I know some medical professionals think you can look at someone to determine their severity, but I know better than judging on that criteria.
Statistically, though, only six percent of chest pain cases in emergency medicine are actually life-threatening. Of course, when I think about that, it just makes my own hurt so fucking bad. I guess Violet doesn't really fall into that statistic. By the time she got to the hospital, there wasn't any pain because she was in cardiac arrest, but she was life-threatening with a true heart condition.
Pulling back into the parking lot, I push her to the back of my mind. As far back as I ever can send her. Today is about Cammie. It's the first Sunday since the fallout with her parents, since her father found us in that compromising position at Rind 'N Grind. Just thinking about the son of a bitch makes my blood boil, but for the last nine years, I've been working on my self-control and my rage where he's concerned in an effort to prove I'm not what he said I am. It's funny because I said I don't give a damn about what anyone thinks of me, and I think there's truth in that. But I heard it enough from him that I think I started to believe it about myself until I realized that day at the springs it wasn't true. And there's a difference between caring what someone else thinks of you and what you think of yourself.
I'm not who he thinks I am.
But apparently Sundays aren't so much about him. I know based on her conversation on the phone with Oliver her mother is due to call today, and I'm worried that she won't since they've made no attempt to reach out to her.
I told her to just give them some time earlier in the week after she got settled in the guest house. I, of all people, know how hard that advice is to take.
Exiting my car, I walk around the yard to the guesthouse. I knock first because even though I have a key, it's not my place. It's hers. It's one thing for her to invite me in, ask me to stay over, but it's another to just barge in like I, well, own the place.
When she doesn't answer, I debate what to do. She could just be in the shower still. I know she's here because her car is out front. Dammit. Unlocking the door, I toss my keys on the table. "Cam. I'm back."
Nothing.
Walking to the bathroom, I pause with my knuckles in the air. Vomiting. Is she sick? Sniffing. Maybe she's crying. I tap on the door. "Vi—I mean Cam." Fucking déjà vu. I clear my throat. "Cam, are you okay?"
"I'll be right out," she says, totally ignoring my slipup. At least for the moment.
The commode flushes, and the water turns on. She swings the door open, and her face is pale.
"You're sick."
She gives me a weak smile. "I just need food."
Well, that's the opposite of what I heard last time. And the opposite of what someone would say if they have a stomach virus or if it was the first time it happened. Wait. The medic in me starts going through my checklist. She's sick. She needs food. I swallow. Do I say anything? "Do you puke often when you're hungry?"
She shakes her head. "I'm fine," she says in a reassuring tone. "Don't worry about me."
I nod, watching her as she sidesteps me. I'm not going to be able to let this go. We haven't had sex. I know she's not pregnant with my child. "Can I ask you something without you getting pissed at me?"
She shrugs. "Since when did you ever care whether I was going to get pissed at you?"
"Ha. Fair enough." I run my hands through my hair, debating whether to just let it go. I'm really going to look like an ass if I ask her. Or a hover boyfriend. I'm sure she knows about all the shit that went down with Vi and the whole eating disorder because of Wells. Maybe I should just wait and see if she gets sick again.
"So, are you gonna ask?"
"Do you still feel like going out on our date? If not, I can bring something back."
"I thought you were about to ask something else."
"Like if you could possibly be pregnant?"
She gives her head a little nod, and a tear trickles down her cheek. Shit. "Are you late, Cam?"
She nods again. "Just a couple of days."
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I start to pace. "I thought you're on the pill."
"I am."
"Been on antibiotics lately?" I ask.
"No."
"Are you taking them at the same time every day, not missing any doses?"
"Uh-huh. But they aren't one hundred percent. You know this."
"Have you taken a test?"
"Too scared to do that. Ignorance is bliss."
"But is it bliss? Because you could just be psyching yourself out. You could be torturing yourself with that scenario and stressing yourself out."
She gives me a small smile. "Ah, you're always the voice of reason."
"Not always." I smirk. "Do you really think you'll feel better if you eat?"
"Yeah."
"Then, let's go on our little date. We'll take a detour on the way home and get you a test." I cross the small room to the other side and pull her into my arms, kissing her head. "No matter what, it's going to be okay."
"I can't imagine having Oliver in my life forever. And I've been afraid to mention it to you for fear you'd bail."
"Don't ever keep a scary or bad secret from me, Cam. I wasn't the only one who made that promise."
"You're right."
When she goes into the bedroom to get dressed, I notice she left her phone on the kitchen table. I not so accidentally swipe her screen, immediately going to the call log in hopes her mother called while I was gone. I could have just asked her. I probably should have. But I didn't want to bring it up, if by chance, she wasn't thinking about it.
Now I feel like a shithead for doing that.
Note to self: Never breach her privacy again.