Chapter 11
The nest of butterflies had moved on from energy drinks to smoking crack. I alternated from feeling like I was going to hurl to wanting to run around my apartment like a lunatic.
I was totally overreacting.
According to Cam, this wasn’t a date. Just two friends hanging out. Not a big deal, nothing to get overworked about. It wasn’t like it was the first time we’ve hung out. It was just the first time he asked before coming over.
I took a shower—second of the day.
Cleaned up the apartment and then changed my outfit three times, which was really stupid, because I ended up settling on a pair of yoga pants and a long sleeve shirt. Then I spent an ungodly amount of time coaxing my hair into manageable waves that fell down to the middle of my back. I put some makeup on, scrubbed it off entirely, and then reapplied.
By the time there was a knock on my door, I wanted to slam my head through a wall.
Cam looked like he always did as he stepped into my apartment—absolutely, disgustingly divine. Dressed in worn jeans and a shirt with some long-forgotten band name on it, he had the baseball cap on, pulled low. In one hand was a stack of DVDs and in the other was a bag that smelled like Chinese.
My stomach grumbled. “Oh! What you got in there?”
“The stuff dreams are made of.”
Making grabby fingers, I grinned. “Shrimp stir fry?”
“Yep.” He handed the bag off and I rushed into the kitchen like a starving kid. “I brought a couple of movies over. Had no idea what you’re in the mood to watch.”
Pulling out dishes from the cabinet, I glanced over my shoulder. Cam took his cap off and ran a hand through his hair. The dark waves were an adorable mess. He caught me looking and his lips tipped up on the side. I looked away, flushing. “So, um, what did you bring?”
“Let’s see…. We’ve got a good selection here. In the horror movie genre, I’ve got the last two Resident Evil movies.”
“Two movies?” I placed the plates on the counter.
He chuckled. “You’re not getting rid of me easily.”
“Damn it. What else do you have?”
“In the comedy department, I have the latest Vince Vaughn and Will Ferrell movies. For action, I have a James Bond flick and another where a bunch of shit blows up. And I have The Notebook.”
I whipped around, almost dropping the silverware. “The Notebook? You own The Notebook?”
Cam stared at me blankly. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Oh, nothing is wrong with that. Its just such a… uh, chick flick.”
“I’m confident enough in my masculinity and sexuality that I can say that Ryan Gosling is just dreamy in this movie.”
My jaw hit the floor.
The blank expression slipped away and he started laughing. “I’m joking. I don’t own The Notebook. Never watched it. Didn’t bring any romance movies.”
I rolled my eyes. “You douche.”
Cam laughed again.
“I’ve never watched The Notebook either. Not big on romance flicks,” I admitted, opening the huge cartons.
“Really? I thought every girl has seen that movie and can quote it at a drop of a hat.”
“Nope.”
“Interesting.”
“Not really.” I grabbed a spoon. “How much do you want?”
“Get what you want and I’ll make do with whatever is left over.” He walked up behind me, and I stiffened. Tiny hairs rose on the back of my neck. I shifted so I was standing sideways. He tilted his head to the side. “You are so jumpy.”
“I did not jump.”
“It’s a figure of speech.”
I slopped a heaping of fried rice and shrimp on my plate. “It’s a stupid figure of speech.”
Cam looked like he wished to say something else but changed his mind. “What movie do you want to watch?”
“Let’s go with Resident Evil.”
“A girl after my own heart.” He picked up two DVDs and headed into the living room. My gaze followed him. “Zombies for the win.”
Sighing, I shook my head. I dumped most of the stir fry on his plate and then carried them out to living room, putting them on the coffee table. Cam was over by the TV, messing with the DVD player. I turned the lamp on, giving him light in the shadowy room. “What do you want to drink?”
“Do you have milk?”
“You want that with Chinese food?”
He nodded. “Need my calcium.”
My stomach turned, but I got him a glass of milk and me a can of Pepsi. “That’s kind of gross, you know?” I sat on the couch and tucked my legs under me. “Weird combination.”
He sat beside me with the remote in hand. “Have you ever tried it?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know it’s gross?”
I shrugged and picked up my plate. “I’ll go with my assumption that it is.”
He cast me a sidelong glass. “Before the end of the year, I will have you trying milk and Chinese.”
Not bothering to respond to that, I sat back and dug into my food. Cam got the movie started and settled on the couch, his thigh pressed to my knee. We were about ten minutes in when he said, “Question?”
“Answer.”
“So, it’s the zombie apocalypse, right? Zombies are coming out of the ass, running amuck through buildings and streets. You’ve already almost died three times by this point and have been mutated by the T virus twice, which appears to be painful. Would you take time in your obviously hectic daily routine to do your hair and put makeup on?”
A laugh burst from me at his absurd question. “No, not at all. I’m not even sure I’d take the time to brush my hair. And another thing. Have you noticed how everyone has a blinding white smile? Society collapsed like six years ago. No one is going to the dentist. Yellow their teeth.”
Cam finished off his stir fry. “Or how the one chick’s hair changes color from one movie to the next.”
“Yes, because in a zombie apocalypse, there’s a lot of down time to get you hair done.”
He chuckled. “Still love these movies.”
“Me too,” I admitted. “It’s pretty much the same stuff every movie, but I don’t know. There’s something addictive about watching Alice kick zombie ass. And I hope that when there is a zombie outbreak, I look half as good as she does spin kicking zombies in the face.”
Laughing, he gathered up the now empty plates and took them into the kitchen. He returned with a fresh cup of milk and another can of soda for me.
“Thank you,” I said.
He sat back down and the couch dipped a little, moving me closer. “I live to service you.”
I grinned.
Through most of the first movie, we continued to pick apart all the what-the-fuck moments, laughing at our overly, critical stupid comments. Right when Alice was about to break out some bad-assery on Rain, my phone rang. Thinking it was Brittany or Jacob already bored back home, I leaned forward. Unease raced down my spine as I saw UNKNOWN CALLER on the screen. I quickly sent the call to voicemail.
“Not going to answer?” Cam asked, brows raised.
I shook my head as I covertly turned my phone off and then placed it back on the coffee table, screen down. “I think it’s rude to answer the phone when you have company.”
“I don’t mind.”
Sitting back, I nibbled on my thumb nail as I focused on the TV. I wasn’t really seeing what was going on, only realizing the film had ended when Cam got up to put the newest one in. I told myself not to think about the phone call or the message I knew was waiting. After the first phone call, I’d deleted all the messages without listening to them. Once more I considered going to the phone store and changing my number, but to me, it seemed like I was letting the asshole win. I still had no idea who it could be. Couldn’t be Blaine, but what did I know? Whoever it was, I treated them like an Internet troll. Do not engage.
Cam’s fingers were suddenly wrapped around my wrist, causing my head to snap up. He was watching me instead of the movie. “What?” I asked, my gaze dropping to his hand. It completely circled my wrist.
“You’ve been biting your nail for the last ten minutes.”
That long? Well, that was kind of gross.
He lowered my arm to the top of my thigh but didn’t let go. “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” I replied. “I’m watching the movie.”
“I don’t think you’re really seeing the movie.” Our eyes locked, and my heart skipped a beat. “What’s going on?”
I tugged my arm back and he let go. “Nothing is going on. Watch the movie.”
“Uh-huh,” he murmured, but he dropped the subject.
The comments were fewer this time around and my eyelids started to fall. Each time I blinked, it seemed to take longer to reopen them. Cam shifted beside me, and I sunk further into the couch, closer to him. My side rested against his, and I thought I should scoot away, but he was warm, I was comfortable, and feeling way too lazy to put the effort into it. Besides, he didn’t seem to mind. If so, wouldn’t he have moved away or pushed me off?
I must’ve drifted off during the second movie, because when I opened my eyes, it seemed like the TV had changed positions. I was slow to realize that I had and—oh, sweet baby Jesus—how did I end up here?
Curled up on my side, there was a blanket from the back of the couch spread across me, and my head was in Cam’s lap.
On his thigh to be exact.
My breath caught in my throat as my heart stuttered and my eyes widened. There was a slight weight on my hip, the feel and the shape of a hand—Cam’s hand. Was he asleep? Oh good God, I had no idea how this happened. Had I done this in my sleep and now poor Cam was stuck here because I was sleeping on him?
Okay. I had two options at this point. I could roll off the couch and make a mad dash for my bedroom or I could actually act like an adult and see if he was awake.
Surprisingly, I sided with the whole acting like an adult part and slowly rolled onto my back. And that was a horrifically bad move, because the hand on my hip moved when I did and was now resting against my lower stomach.
Oh sweet Lord…
His hand rested below my belly button, spanning southward and his fingers reached the waistband on my yoga pants. It was close, really close to somewhat uncharted territories. A ball of ice formed in my chest, but lower, much lower, something else entirely was happening. Sharp tingles shot from my belly and spread below in a warm wave of shivers. How was it possible to feel so cold and hot at the same time?
His thumb moved, and I bit down on my lip. It had to be an accident or some idle movement in his sleep. Then his thumb moved again, but this time in a slow, lazy circle under my belly button. Oh shit. My pulse kicked up and that warmth increased. His thumb kept moving, at least for a half a minute, until I couldn’t take it any longer. Parts of my body were aching in a way that was entirely unfair and unfamiliar, and that shouldn’t be happening.
But oh it was.
I drew in a deep breath, but it did nothing to relax my muscles or to ease the tension building deep inside me. And I knew if I looked down, my nipples would be straining against the thin shirt I wore. With each breath I took, I could feel them rubbing against my bra. I desperately wanted to be that girl that knew how to handle this; the kind of girl that I knew Cam probably really wanted and was used to.
But I wasn’t her.
I tipped my head back and looked up at Cam.
His head was turned to the side, away from mine, and back against the cushion. A faint shadow appeared on the strong line of his jaw. There was a slight smile on his face. Son of a bitch.
“Cam.”
One eye opened. “Avery?”
“You’re not asleep.”
“You were.” He lifted his head, turning his head side to side, working out a kink. “And I was asleep.”
And his hand was still on my lower stomach, incredibly heavy. Part of me wanted to tell him to get his paws off me, but that’s not what came out of my mouth. “I’m sorry I fell asleep on you.”
“I’m not.”
Wetting my lips nervously, I had no idea what to say to that so I went with a, “What time is it?”
His gaze had dropped to my mouth and my entire body tensed in a way that wasn’t unpleasant at all. “After midnight,” he responded.
My heart was pounding. “You didn’t even look at the clock.”
“I just know these kinds of things.”
“Really?”
His eyes were hooded. “Yes.”
“That’s a remarkable talent.” My hand curled into a fist beside my thigh. “What time are you leaving in the morning?”
“Are you going to miss me?”
I screwed up my face. “That’s not why I was asking. I was just curious.”
“I told my parents I’d be home by lunch.” With his other hand, he scooped a few strands off my face and that hand lingered to, in my hair. “So I probably have to leave between eight and nine.”
“That’s early.”
“It is.” His hand smoothed over my head, and my eyes drifted shut again, relaxing in spite of myself. “But the drive is easy.”
“And you’re not coming back until Sunday night?”
“Correct,” he murmured, and I felt his chest move with a deep breath. “Are you sure you’re not going to miss me?”
My lips cracked a small grin. “It’ll be like a vacation for me.”
He chuckled. “That was entirely mean.”
“Wasn’t it?”
“But I know you’re lying.”
“You do?”
“Yep.” His hand moved, and I felt the tips of his fingers graze my cheek. My eyes flew open. He was smiling down at me. Not a big smile that showed of his dimple, though. “You’re going to miss me, but you’re not going to admit it.”
I didn’t say anything, because I was trying not to think about the next four days. And then his fingers moved, trailing the curve of my cheekbone, and I wasn’t really thinking about anything. They drifted to my jaw and one finger carved a path to my chin. Air leaked slowly out of my lungs as he finger hovered near my bottom lip.
He tilted his head to the side. “I’ll miss you.”
My lips parted. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
I closed my eyes against the sudden burn of tears. I had no idea why those three words affected me so, but they did and for a teeny, tiny moment, I admitted to myself that I didn’t want him to leave. That made the burn worse.
Several minutes passed and the only sound was the low hum of the TV. He traced the outline of my lower lip, never quite touching it but coming close with each pass. I wondered if he would ever touch my lip and if I wanted him to.
I think I sort of did.
“You talk in your sleep,” he said.
My eyes popped open. Screw the touching of the lip. “I do?”
He nodded.
Oh God. My stomach dropped. “Are you messing with me? Because I swear to God, if you’re messing with me, I’m going to hurt you.”
“I’m not messing with you, sweetheart.”
I sat up, and both of his hands dropped away. I twisted on the couch, facing him. My pulse was pounding for a whole different reason. “What did I say?”
“Nothing really.”
“For real?”
Leaning forward, he scrubbed his hands down his face. “You were just murmuring stuff. I couldn’t really make out what you were saying.” He lifted his head. “It was kind of cute.”
My heart started to slow down as the fear loosened its grip on my chest. God only knows what I could’ve been saying when I slept. Glancing at the clock, I saw it was past three in the morning. “Holy crap, you suck at your special ability at telling the time.”
Cam shrugged as he slid forward. “I guess I should be going home.”
I opened my mouth and then closed it. What was I about to do? Ask him to stay? Like have a slumber party on my couch? Real smooth. I doubted he was interested in PG-13 couch parties. “Be careful when you drive,” I finally said.
He stood, and I stared at the spot he’d occupied. “I will.” And then he swooped down, moving faster than I could figure out what he was up to. He placed his lips to my forehead. “Goodnight, Avery.”
I closed my eyes and my hands balled into fists. “Goodnight, Cam.” He made it to the door before I sprung up, clutching the back of the couch. “Cam?”
He stopped. “Yeah?”
Taking a deep breath, I forced the words out. “I had a really good time tonight.”
Cam stared at me a moment and then he smiled. The dimple appeared in his left cheek, and my own lips responded in kind. “I know.”