Chapter 8
Couldn't Be Sweet
Beau
The night got later, and the group around the booth got drunker.
I had more fun than I expected, catching up with Camille. She was short on details about her own life. But from what I could tell, she wasn't seeing anyone. She did tell me that, after high school, she'd earned a college degree in business. After college, she got the 'dream job of a lifetime,' working at some office in Manhattan where she crunched numbers on a spreadsheet … only to discover that it was a soul-sucking hell. AKA, exactly why I thought taking school so seriously back in the day was so dumb. Who really wants to end up working in a cubicle? No thanks. Follow your dreams. That's the rule I've always lived by, and I'd say it worked out pretty well for me.
Anyway, Camille quit the job, took her co-worker Piper with her, and the two girls opened up their bakery in Brooklyn.
It seemed like everything else we talked about was a battle, but hell, that was half the fun. And I do mean everything else we talked about. Like when Camille asked how I even found her bakery in the first place.
“Uh, your Facebook post, obviously.”
“We're friends on Facebook?” she giggled. A rouge colored her cheeks thanks to the alcohol—and the alcohol had also helped tear down the barrier of hatred between us. She leaned up against me. “Since when?”
“Hell, I don't know. Probably since whenever you added me.”
“I didn't add you,” she said plainly.
“Well I know didn't add you, either.”
“Someone had to add somebody first,” she said.
“Yeah. You did.”
“No, you did, dick-brain.”
“Agree to disagree.”
She folded her arms and turned her nose up at me. “Fine. Agreed.”
“I think that's the first time we've ever agreed on anything.”
“Yeah … maybe!”
“How's it feel?” I asked.
“Kinda disappointing, actually.”
“Yeah. Same here. What's that about?”
She giggled. “I dunno. But we better stop agreeing. Or else we might end up—”
Whatever she was about to say, she apparently thought better of. Looking embarrassed, she grabbed her glass and busied herself with her drink, sucking on the little straw between her lips and hoping I'd just drop it and move on.
So I did.
“Hell. Works for me,” I said.
My arm had slipped from her shoulder and slowly trailed down her side, inch by inch. She hadn't resisted. If anything, she'd leaned into it. When my hand reached her hip, I grabbed a handful of her flesh and pulled her closer.
Could've sworn I heard her softly sigh.
And I knew it then: I got her.
Then I felt something surprising: Camille's dainty hand, softly laid on my thigh.
I don't know if she knew it was there, but I did. It wasn't at all like when those MeatMarket girls touched me, either. When they did it, it was almost always for a reason—to get me excited, to steal my attention from another girl.
With Camille, though, it felt different. Just different. It wasn't like she was trying to tease me or get me hard. It was more like, she was comfortable. And like I said, she might not have even known her hand was there at all.
It just was.
But it wasn't there for long. She lifted that hand and checked the time. “Jeez, it's getting late. I need to head home.”
I pawed at her, tried to pull her back into my orbit. “Nah. Don't go.”
“Sorry, but I gotta. Tomorrow's our grand opening and the last thing I need is to be all hungover for that.” She gave my cheek a pinch and then a pat. “It was fun catching up, though. Even if you're still an ass.”
I whipped out my phone. “Hey, we'll have to take a selfie. It's not often you get to catch up with old high school friends.”
She gave a sharp laugh. “We were never friends. And I thought you didn't do selfies? That's what you told that one guy earlier.”
“Yeah—because he was a guy.” I gave a smirk. “But I'll take a selfie with a hot girl any day.”
“Wow. You're too much, Beau.” She gave a shake of her head, but battled a smile. “But fine. Go ahead.”
I turned on the camera and aimed it at us. Camille nearly jumped into my lap for the photograph. She wrapped her arms around my neck and we both smiled for the picture. I snapped it.
“Lemme see it!” she said, resting her head against my shoulder.
We looked at it together.
“Hey, that's not half-bad,” she said.
Actually, we looked kinda good together. We were close. And we wore two big, genuine smiles.
“Wow, yeah. I love that picture.” I pointed at her amazing rack. “Your tits are right in my face.”
“Ugh,” she playfully groaned. She gave me a shove and started scooting away, out of the booth. “You haven't changed, Beau Bradford. Still a sleaze.”
I grinned and stared at her ass while she climbed out.
And in a way, I was content to let her go. Earlier, yeah, I'd gotten myself all worked up over the grudge-fuck idea. And, yeah, it probably would be hot as hell for the two of us to take our frustrations out on each other.
But something told me that Camille wasn't like those MeatMarket girls. I don't know what the hell I was thinking, but that's how I felt. I guess it was one thing to pump-and-dump random girls you didn't care about … but you probably shouldn't treat girls like that from your past.
Not that it ever stopped me before.
Hell, I dunno.
Camille went to pry Piper off my teammate, Jack. She'd been all up in Jack's business ever since the girls came to sit with us. Funny. Jack's a rookie this year, and just turned 21. A real good kid from a small town in Iowa. He's quiet—doesn't have a lot to say. That's normal for rookies. Young guys like him just sit and watch and learn, soaking things up like a sponge until they're more comfortable to be a voice in the room.
“Piper,” Camille said. “Piper. Piper!”
She shook her friend's shoulder. But Piper's eyes didn't open, and she smacked her lips and mumbled some nonsense.
“Wait, is she asleep?” I blurted out.
Jack looked at me and nodded seriously.
“How long has she been sleeping?” I asked him.
“Um. Basically since the minute she got here,” he muttered. “I didn't want to wake her. Every time I nudged her, she kind of made this tired, angry grunt—like she was mad at me for moving. So, uh, I let her sleep.”
Camille clasped her hands and made a puppy-dog face at Jack. “Aw! That's so sweet of you, Jack.”
“Are you kidding?” I laughed. “That's pathetic. He's just too shy to tell her to get lost.”
She looked at me and that puppy-dog face was gone in an instant. “Shutup, Beau. You wouldn't know how to be sweet if your life depended on it.”
The boys all cracked up—that was the first time they heard how me and Camille talk to each other. All around the booth, they made their remarks:
“Hey, I like her!”
“She's right, you know.”
“Beau found himself a firecracker!”
Camille went on with trying to wake Piper. But the girl seemed completely knocked out. Even when Camille tried to physically pick her up, Piper slumped right back over and spilled against Jack's big body like a bag of potatoes.
“See?” he said, raising a hand. “She's really determined to use me as her pillow.”
“Damn. Is she even okay?” I asked with a hint of concern.
“Yeah, she's fine. I know it looks bad, but this is normal for her,” Camille said. “Thing is, she's a heavy sleeper. Once she's out she doesn't wake up. I don't even know how I'm going to get her up to her apartment. She lives on the 9th floor …”
I checked my watch. I still had plenty of time before curfew. Plus, the devil on my shoulder started whispering things in my ear—
I slammed the rest of my drink. “I can help.”
Relief washed over Camille's face. “Really? You don't mind?”
“It's no problem.”
Her brow grew heavy with appreciation. “Wow. Thank you. Seriously, Beau, thank you.”
Don't thank me too much.
I climbed out of the booth and waved at the boys. “I'll catch up with you guys later.”
“Later Beau.”
I bent over and grabbed Piper. In one easy motion, I scooped her up and hoisted her over my shoulder. Camille seemed surprised; her eyes went glossy and her lips made the tiniest o-shape.
“Ready?” I asked her.
“Yeah,” she said with a swallow.
“Okay. Let's go.”