Eve
Waking up jobless isn’t as bad when I get to do it in Cameron’s bed. I’m tucked to the front of his body, his big arm heavy over my waist, and everything seems hopeful from here.
The newly risen sun barely filters in through the thick wooden blinds. It must be early. I turn my head to the clock and groan. It’s early.
After a few minutes of staring, sleep doesn’t come, and I push out from under his arm. He rolls and I take a minute to admire his back. I have no idea how often this guy works out, but he’s clearly friendly with the inside of a weight room.
In nothing but one of Cameron’s tees, I tiptoe out into the hallway and softly close the door behind me. Maybe I can whip up another breakfast masterpiece. It would be a good way to apologize to Ryder after the way his dad treated him last night. If he’s even here.
I dig through the kitchen and pull out some bacon, eggs, and a few veggies for omelets. The ones I make are never as pretty as the pictures, but they taste pretty good. As quietly as I can, I find an empty bowl, a cutting board, and a knife.
With the lack of distractions in the quiet house, a vision from last night assaults my mind: Cameron standing in the doorway looking every bit the predator and ready to kill. My insides clench at how his jealousy hit me in very private and personal places. It made my stomach flutter and my skin flush with the excitement.
It’s wrong. So wrong. There’s nothing normal about a woman who gets excited by her boyfriend’s jealousy. I’d never try to make him mad on purpose, but it doesn’t change the fact that it feels good—no, it’s hot as hell—to know I’m important enough to him that he’d get upset at the thought of me with someone else.
A soft knock on the front door shakes me to the present.
I check my phone for the time. “It’s not even eight.” Who the hell would stop by so early on a Sunday?
Seconds pass and I hear the knock again. I better get that before they start ringing the doorbell and waking the whole damn house. I swing open the door, and butterflies flutter in my stomach. Fan-girling still.
“D’lilah Monroe!”
She steps back and almost stumbles. “Oh, you’re here?” Her gaze runs down the length of my torso and back up.
“Yep.” I am, but what the heck is she doing here? I open the door wider. “Come in.”
She moves through the doorway, but she does so with timid steps. “Hey, Eve, right?”
“Yeah, shhh . . . the guys are still sleeping.” I wave her to follow me into the kitchen. “I’m making breakfast. You hungry?”
“Uh . . .”
She doesn’t answer, so I turn and find her face pale, especially in contrast to her hot pink shirt and matching shorts.
“Here.” I pull out a barstool from the island. “Have a seat. You want some coffee?”
She drops to her chair and nods. “Sure, if it’s not too much trouble.”
I busy myself with the coffee while putting pieces of what I know about Cameron’s ex-wife together. My experience with divorcees is limited, but her surprise visits seem to happen more than I’d expect.
The room is heavy with silence and a strange tension I didn’t feel the first time we met. I grab a couple coffee mugs and some milk from the fridge then dig through the pantry for sugar.
“So you’re”—she fidgets with the mug, and her fingers tremble—“spending the night?”
My face gets hot and my palms sweat. Cameron hasn’t talked to her yet. “Yes, I am.” I clear my throat and keep my eyes on cracking eggs. “I’ve spent the night a couple times.” I don’t lift my eyes to see her reaction, but I can feel the shock that charges the air between us.
“That’s um . . . surprising.” Her voice shakes.
This is ridiculous. From what Cameron’s told me, they’ve been divorced for going on ten years. Not that I’d be surprised if she still had feelings for him, but I’d expect her to be a little less obvious.
I take a deep breath and turn toward my childhood idol. “It’s not a big deal, D’lilah. We’re adults and don’t have to clear the status of our relationship with anyone.”
She blanches. “Not a big deal? How can you say that?”
Is she for real? “Um, pretty easily. I mean we’re consenting adults, and frankly, I’m uncomfortable talking to you about this. If you don’t approve, take it up with Cameron.”
“Take what up with me?” Cameron’s booming voice comes from the entryway to the kitchen. He’s wearing workout shorts and a faded blue Tap-Out tee, his hair sticking up in a sexy way that I know is from my hands being buried in it last night. “’Li, what are you doing here?”
I step back from the counter as he pins her with a glare and crosses to his ex-wife.
“It’s Sunday.” She slides her trembling hands off the countertop and into her lap.
“I’m aware of what day it is. What I’m not aware of is why I wake up in my house to find you in my kitchen on a Sunday.”
D’lilah’s back goes rigid. “So you know she’s spending the night?”
“Do I know?” He tilts his head and studies her face. “You fucked up?”
A gasp shoots from her lips. “No, I am not fucked up.”
He runs his gaze over her. “Shit, ’Li, you’re shaking.”
“Don’t change the subject, Cam.”
“How long since your last drink?” There’s a tiny hint of that softness in his voice that I’ve heard before when he speaks to her.
She blinks. “How long since you’ve been allowing this girl to do God-knows-what under your roof?”
It’s official. D’lilah Monroe has lost her damn mind.
“Mom?” All eyes swing to Ryder, who stumbles into the kitchen in workout shorts similar to Cameron’s, shirtless, and scratching his scalp through wild blond hair. “What are you doing here?”
D’lilah’s staring at her son, Cameron’s scowling at her, and Ryder’s looking back and forth between them. Suddenly feeling very out of place, I sidestep the group and move to disappear from the room.
“Eve. Don’t take another fucking step.” Cameron’s growled words freeze my progression.
“All righty.”
“’Li, who I have spending the night in my house isn’t your concern,” Cameron says, his tone vacant and borderline angry.
“I disagree.” She motions to me with a flick of her hand, and for the first time I’m seeing more of the confident diva I expected in D’lilah Monroe. “I know you guys want to live like a couple of playboy bachelors, but, Cam, allowing our seventeen-year-old son to have sex with his girlfriend under your roof is irresponsible.”
Oh fuck.
Everyone in the room goes still, with backs ramrod straight, and stares at D’lilah for a few silent seconds. Ryder clears his throat, but doesn’t swallow the high-pitched groan of restrained laughter. I slide my gaze to him, and he throws his head back in a booming roar.
“Fuckin’ hell.” Cameron braces his weight on the counter, drops his chin to his chest, and shakes his head.
She moves her eyes through the room, confusion etched on her pretty face. “What?”
I step forward, and Cameron turns his narrowed eyes toward me.
I ignore him and look at D’lilah. “I’m not spending the night with your son.”
“Eve.” Cameron’s warning me, but against what? Upsetting her? What’s worse? Her thinking her son is having sleepover dates or her ex-husband?
“Cameron and I are dating.” There. I said it. “And I’m twenty-one years old. Not underage. But I’ve been told I have a baby face if that makes you feel better.”
Her jaw goes slack for a second before realization tightens her expression. She glares at Cameron. “Is this some kind of a joke?”
“’Li.”
“You do see what you’re doing, right?” She motions to me with a forceful swing of her arm. “Look at her!”
What in the hell is she talking about? Yep, she’s definitely off her rocker.
“Mom, calm down.” Ryder moves to my side in a way that feels like support.
She keeps her glare on her ex. “Tell me you see it, Cam.”
Cameron looks at me with a blank stare, as if he’s doing it to make her happy but not really looking for anything. “D’lilah, you need to get your ass home.”
Her shoulders slump. “I can’t believe you don’t see it: her youth, hair, face. Look at her, Cam. Really look at her.”
Everyone stares at me, and I watch in shock as something registers on Ryder’s face. But what?
“Holy crap.” Ryder’s looking between his mom’s face and mine. “That’s some freaky shit.”
Cameron doesn’t say anything.
She slaps her palm on the granite countertop. “She’s me fifteen years ago!”
“What?” Pain twists in my chest. I stare at Cameron, who’s staring right back at me, and I can see it. As if the words were written across his expression, he agrees with her.
It makes sense. I’ve idolized her most of my life. All those years of studying her image in magazines, I never saw it until now. Even our face shape and coloring is similar. Nausea rolls through my belly. Is that why Cameron’s with me? Searching for something he lost, or maybe an attempt at a second chance?
“Oh my God.” I cover my mouth and shake my head.
“Ry, take your mom home,” Cameron says with a growl so fierce I feel it in my blood.
Ryder groans. “Come on, Mom.”
“No, it’s Sunday. I’m going with you guys.”
Cameron’s eyes snap to hers. “What?” He spits his question through gritted teeth.
For the first time since she showed up, she looks scared. “Cam, don’t—”
“You show up here, upset my woman, and now, without warning, you decide you’re ready to step up and be there?” Cameron leans over the breakfast bar. “Go the fuck home!”
“We all made that promise before—”
“Do not talk about that like you give a fuck, ’Li. It’s been too long, and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna . . .” He blinks as if he just realized he’s in mixed company. “Just go home.”
Her eyes widen and fill with tears.
“No, not this time. You do not get off the hook by crying.”
An eerie silence fills the room, as if whoever talks first loses.
“Get her home, Ry.” Cameron moves toward me, snags my hand, and pulls me from the kitchen, down the hallway, and to his bedroom. He slams the door shut then pins me to it.
“Cameron—”
His mouth comes down on mine in a brutal kiss that’s so heavy with emotion it tightens my chest. He pulls my lips between his teeth, lashing his tongue against mine. Hands at my hips, he holds me in place, grinding his hard body against my soft one. This isn’t the kiss of seduction or one of sexual need. The sear of his lips screams of emotional release, the physical expression of an angry confession.
I want to give that to him, be that for him.
My hands fist into his hair, pushing myself up while pulling him deeper into me. Legs turn to jelly, and I force myself to stay upright and pray he doesn’t let me fall. He bites my lower lip and a gasp slides from my throat.
That was a side of Cameron I’ve never seen. The way he spoke to D’lilah was vicious and unrelenting. I don’t know what happened between them, but abandoning a five-year-old boy in favor of alcohol is enough to make anyone angry. I still can’t help but feel sorry for her.
“What she said about you,” he says against my mouth and runs his teeth along my jaw to my neck. “Don’t let that in.”
“But she’s right.” I tilt my head while he drags his stubbled chin from my earlobe to my shoulder. “I look like her. You must’ve realized it on some level before now.”
“I didn’t.” He nips at the tender flesh near my collarbone. “You’re nothing like her.”
“Our looks, neediness . . .” I groan and hate what has to be said. “God, Cameron, you probably picked me because I’m her.”
His fingers dig into my skin. “You’re not her.”
“No, I’m like the drag-queen version of her.”
His lips still against my neck.
“You know, pretty enough, but missing the most important parts.”
He pulls back, his lips twitching. “You got all the important parts, doll. Tasted every single one of ’em.”
I sigh heavily. “Not those parts, just the knockout parts. She’s tall with long legs and a striking smile. She’s a fucking supermodel for crying out loud.” I shrug. “I’m average height, curvy, and normal.”
“Nothin’ about you is normal, Yvette. And you’re ten times the knockout D’lilah ever was.” He dips to press a kiss to my forehead. “Perfect height so I get the sweet smell of your hair without even trying.” His fingers flex into my bottom. “Fuckin’ curves to fill my hands and mouth; my dick gets hard just thinking about ’em.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. I’m at work, have the taste of you on my tongue from the morning, thinking about that ass pressed against me.” He sucks in a breath. “It’s like puberty all over again.”
A giggle burst from my lips, and I drop my forehead to his chest.
“Tell me you’re okay with all that shit that went down.” His strong hand sifts through my hair. “I’m happy to lock you in this room until I’m convinced you’re good about us.”
Us. My heart jumps. Will I ever get used to hearing that?
“Is D’lilah good with us?” I trace his hairline to his strong, corded neck.
“Don’t give a shit.”
It’s a sweet answer, but it’s also an obvious lie. Whatever dynamic there is between D’lilah and Cameron, it’s fragile. And he cares.
Compassion saddles my panic. As badly as I feel for Cameron’s ex, I don’t want her causing problems for us. Our age difference causes enough strain, and adding a volatile ex-wife could seal our fate. For whatever reason, he feels he needs to take care of her. He’d said that night at the Fourth of July party that he owed her.
So what I need to figure out is if it came down to him choosing between D’lilah and me, whom would he pick?
~*~
Cameron
I’m loading the dishwasher after another one of Eve’s gut-busting breakfasts when Ryder drags his Doc Martin clad feet into the kitchen. After he escorted D’lilah to her car, he must’ve taken a shower and gotten ready to go out for the day.
“How’d it go with your mom?”
He hops up to sit on the counter. “As you’d expect—crying, apologizing, explaining how unhealthy it is for you to date a woman my age.”
“I’m sorry, Ry. Last night from me and this morning from your mom, bet you’re getting sick of everyone accusing you of shit you didn’t do, huh?”
“I should’ve expected it with Mom. Fourth of July when I took her home, she kept talking about how Eve was such a sweet girl. I didn’t put it together. Makes sense now.”
I shake my head, shocked at how quickly I assumed the worst and jumped all over Ry’s shit. “No excuse for that.”
“I get it Dad. Eve’s four years older than me, and in less than a week, she’ll be three years older than me. That’s gotta mess with your head. Mess with anyone’s head. Mom’s going off the rails because my birthday’s coming up—”
“Eve’s young. Her age was a concern in the beginning, but when I’m with her, I forget.”
A slow grin pulls at his lips. “I bet you do.”
“Ry.”
He holds up his hands. “Just an observation. She’s not hard on the eyes; that’s all I’m sayin’.”
“You finished.” Fuckin’ insane shit that the woman I’m dating is also datable to my kid. I lean to look behind him toward the living room to make sure we’re alone. “You know I haven’t talked to Eve yet about Rosie.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “This thing between you two serious?”
“Not really.” Or is it? “I mean I don’t know yet.”
“No sense sharing the past with someone who you don’t see a future with.”
How the hell did he get so smart?
He hops down from the counter. “Right, well, I’m outta here.”
“Ryder. It’s Sunday.” He’s been blowing me off for weeks, and after the showdown in the kitchen this morning, I’d think he’d want to go with me.
“Yeah, I know, but I made plans and . . .” He shrugs.
I never wanted to be the kind of parent who forced things on their kids. What’s important to me isn’t as important to him, and I should respect that. “You sure you don’t want to come?” I give him one last chance and hope he gives the right answer.
“Yeah.” He keeps his eyes to the floor and skirts by me. “See ya this afternoon.”
With a deep breath to push past the heavy weight that presses against my chest upon hearing Ry’s answer, I head back to my room. Eve’s on the couch, folded over and putting on her shoes. Her hair hangs in long damp strands over her shoulders.
“How was your shower?” I move to her but sit in the club chair rather than on the couch next to her out of fear that I’ll pull her into my lap and drag her to my bed.
Her eyes are bright and sparkle in my direction. “I’ve had better.” She bites her lip, and I groan as a smile twitches its way to the surface.
“Good to know.”
She finishes with her shoes and sits up with a double slap to her black-slacked thighs. “If you don’t mind dropping me off at the Slade’s, I’ve got to scour the Sunday paper for a new job.”
Shit. With all the drama that unfolded this morning, I forgot about her losing her job. “Damn, that’s right.”
“I don’t even know how to apply for a job. It’s been so long.” She gathers her hair at her nape, twisting and flipping until it’s in a nice tight ball.
I lean forward, and my fingers itch to push her wet bangs back from her eyes.
“But first.” She motions to her oxford shirt and black pants. “I’m going to burn my uniform clothes. Then I need to polish up my resume, and by polish, I mean write one. I have to call my landlord and beg him not to evict me then get online and figure out what the hell I’m going to do with my life.” She flashes me a bright smile that’s so bright it’s dark.
“Let me help you with some of that.”
“You gonna give me a job?” Her sarcastic smile turns hopeful.
I never thought about giving Eve a job, but I’m sure I could find something for her to do until she gets on her feet. I’ll give it some thought, but until then . . . “Maybe, but first let me pay your rent for the month, get you caught up on bills, put you back in the black.”
Her eyes get so big they look as if they might pop out of her pretty face. “You tryin’ to Sugar Daddy me?”
I shrug. “I wouldn’t call it that, no.”
“I can’t, but thanks. It’s too weird, and we’ve just starting hanging out. It’s a sweet offer, and I know a million different people would call me stupid for saying no, but thanks anyway.”
“Pride is a dangerous thing. You need the help; let me give it to you.”
She stands and grabs her purse. “You remember what I told you about my dad?”
Of course, how could I forget? “Yeah.”
“I don’t want to be him.”
I blink, shocked and equally proud that Eve would take charity as an absolute last resort, if at all. She’s doing everything in her power to stay on her feet or go down swinging: a girl after my own values.
She takes a few steps closer, head tilted and eyes on me. “I’ll figure this out and do what I need to, but it has to be me.”
I hate it, but, damn, I fucking admire it. “Fine.” Standing, I pull her into my arms. “But you promise me if you’re on the verge of losing the roof over your head, you take my offer.”
“I can’t—”
I squeeze her tightly. “Yvette.”
“Fine.” A long sigh slides from her lips. “Bossy.”
“Atta girl.”
Her body melts into mine, and I grin at how even the slightest positive enforcement seems to affect her. And even with the weight of her body in my arms, decompression lightens my chest again. For a split second, my legs wobble with the force of it, and for the first time since the last time I dropped, I worry this lightening will knock me off my feet.