Page 12

Chapter Eleven

Austen

I watch the clock like a hawk, glancing between the busy concourse and the plane sitting outside. We’ve still got a half hour until we board, but Cam’s not here yet.

My nerves are starting to get to the better of me, I hate to say.

I was thrilled yesterday, when he told me he’d agreed to come. But what if he slept in, or worse—changed his mind?

I glance over at my teammates. Mack is staring at the ceiling, Paul and Andre are engrossed in their phones, Trey and Hudson look like they are half asleep. My brother, Alex, caps the end of our group, looking bored and annoyed more than anything.

He’s two years older than me, so there isn’t a huge age gap between us or anything, but he’s always acted like we are worlds apart because we played different sports and hung in different crowds.

The only reason I even agreed to have him in my wedding was because my parents would have a coronary if I had said no.

And whether I like it or not, I do care what they think, and I want them to be happy. Most of all, I want to get through this wedding without any issues. So if letting my pain in the ass womanizing hockey player brother tag along in my party and letting him plan my bachelor weekend keeps the peace, I’ll gladly oblige.

Mack turns to me, raising an eyebrow.

“Why are you fucking stressing, man? He’ll be here.”

His voice is low, practically a whisper only we can hear. As if he’s afraid of stirring the sleeping dragons beside him out of their digital doom scrolling.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say with a shrug, trying to feign indifference.

I mean, sure, I’m sweating at the idea of being stuck in Vegas with asshole Alex and the crew, and having to be on all weekend if Cam doesn’t show, but it’s not like I can’t handle a couple of guys without Cam.

I just don’t want to. Does that make me selfish? Probably.

Do I care? Yes. Stupidly, I care, because he’s my best friend. If there’s anyone I can’t handle being less than one hundred percent on board with me, it’s Cam.

And he didn’t say he changed his mind. He didn’t say anything about not coming…

“I’m not stressing,” I reiterate when Mack won’t stop staring at me.

Mack lets out a laugh.

“He’ll be here. I’m sure loverboy wouldn’t miss out on an all-expenses paid trip with the object of all his gay dreams.”

I shoot Mack an irritated glare.

I’ve dealt with people talking shit about Cam for a long time. After he came out, people spread a lot of rumors about him. And a lot of my teammates in high school were responsible for those rumors, making jokes about him in our locker room. I always shut them down, and people eventually stopped saying shit because they knew they’d get a fist to the face if they talked about my best friend that way.

Mack knows that better than most, seeing as he was the first to get my fist in his face when he did it. After that, he changed his tone, and these last few years he’s pretty much left Cam alone when we hang out, and he doesn’t say shit.

So the fact he’s bringing him up now, is, well, it’s a bold move.

“I told you.” I grit my teeth. “We’ve been over this, Cam—”

“You really don’t see it, do you?” he says, his voice softer. Not judgmental, but more or less the way you speak to a child who doesn’t understand why they’ve been punished. Condescending, laced with concern.

“See what?” I ask, feeling strangely on the spot.

Mack purses his lips. “Austen, I know he’s your friend, but that man does not see you as a friend.”

I shift uncomfortably in my seat as he lets out a breath. It’s quiet for a while, before he says, “Oh, would you look at that? Your one-man fan club has arrived.”

I turn at that moment and I see him. Slinging his duffel bag over his shoulder, dressed in grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt and faded, paint-spattered white Nikes. His dark hair looks wet, like he just showered, his cheeks flushed as if he ran the whole way here.

His stormy grey eyes meet my gaze. His gaze softens, his shoulders loosening just a tad as he tugs on the strap of his duffel, his lips parted as he catches his breath.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says, his voice thick with exhaustion. “Traffic was a bitch.”

Mack’s words reverberate in my head for some reason. Cam holds my gaze, his tongue dipping out to lick his lips.

“Told you,” Mack says with a grunt.

“Yeah, really, uh… cutting it close, there,” I say as Cam takes the open seat next to me.

The thick scent of his shower gel or shampoo and cologne accosts me like a wave. No one greets him.

The most he gets is a wave from Mack, and there is a tension among us that I can’t deny.

When the attendant announces that first class is boarding, it pulls the guys out of their stupor. They slap hands with my brother and each other, making a damn scene in the airport. Old people scowl at us while parents hushing babies shake their heads.

Cam shoots me a knowing look as he nudges my shoulder. “It’s your funeral.”

I look back at the guys, whooping as they line up, then at Cam as we both rise.

“You okay?” he asks, cocking his head to the side. “Or are you so freaked out you’ve forgotten how to people?”

I blink, shoving the strange feeling away. Cam holds my gaze, imploring me with understanding. He slings his duffel over his shoulder.

Could what Mack said be true?

“Yeah, I’m, uh… fine. Just a little nervous,” I say, swallowing harshly as I take my place in line behind my brother.

“You ready for the time of your fucking life, kid?” he asks with a grin.

My brother and I look nothing alike, save for our height. He got all of Dad’s genes. He’s like a spitting image of our father in his twenties.

Me? I take after my mom. We’ve got the same blue eyes and dirty blond hair. The only thing I got from Dad was my height.

I shove off Alex’s condescending kid remark. I’m twenty-one, not eleven.

“You know it,” I say, forcing a smile. I can feel the heat radiating off Cam as we step forward, his warmth and scent soothing my nerves just a fraction.

I don’t think he’ll ever understand how much just his presence makes me feel better. At least with him here, I know I’ll have a chance to be myself.

The line moves forward, Cam’s bag knocking into me like a battering ram as we move and stop, showing our boarding passes and continuing on the plane.

When we board the plane itself, we all sling our bags up into the overhead compartment and take our seats.

As soon as I’ve loaded mine, I make a move to grab Cam’s.

“I got it,” he says, flicking some wet hair out of his eyes. I know better than to fight him, so I let him go, surprised he throws it up there with ease, the motion showcasing some new definition in his arms.

Has he been working out? I wonder. Cam’s never been a fan of the gym, and I can’t imagine art is enough to tone one’s biceps. I’m at the gym every day and I’ve never seen him there…

“Who are you and what have you done with my friend?” I ask as I settle in the seat.

Cam casts me a wary glance. For a moment, it almost looks as if he’s upset, but when I point to his new muscles, he laughs.

“Hey, modeling isn’t for the faint of heart. A lot of dedication goes into this gig.”

I chuckle at his sarcasm.

“Trying real hard to get into the Met, I see.”

Cam sits in his seat next to me, his grey eyes sparkling with excitement. His smile makes me feel better. “What is it with you and your Metropolitan Museum obsession?”

It’s my turn to shrug as I settle into my comfortable seat, pulling out my headphones.

He’s still sitting up straight, almost as if he’s afraid to lean back, so I gently set a hand on his chest and push him back until his head hits the cushion.

“It’s like the pinnacle of art, right?” I say, feigning a terrible French accent. Cam shakes his head, glancing down for just a second where my hand touches his chest. I feel the heat from his chest radiating through his thin, white tee-shirt; the faint thump of his heartbeat against my palm. I know I should remove my hand, but…

The warmth is nice, so I let it sit there for just a second.

It’s only a split second.

But the way his shoulders loosen, the way he chews his lip… the way his heartbeat quickens .

No, there’s no fucking way Mack is right.

Right?

I clear my throat, pulling my hand away as I settle back into my seat and grab my phone, setting it to airplane mode.

Cam bristles in the seat next to me, crossing his arms and looking behind us.

Mack and my brother are across the aisle from us. I look up to catch Mack staring at me.

Suddenly, I feel very hot. Like I’ve been stuffed into a damn oven. I look out my window instead, as the sounds of music fill my ears.

I close my eyes, letting my mind wander, barely awake as the plane takes off.

I wake up halfway through the flight to the overpowering smell of sandalwood and a peaceful silence. The plane is dark, save for the small lights above us and in the aisle.

My neck is stiff as hell.

Blinking my eyes awake, I notice the reason for my stiff neck and lungfuls of that sweet, yet spicy smell is because I’ve fallen asleep on Cam.

There’s also a bit of drool on his shirt, and I feel awkward as hell about that for some reason, even though it’s Cam and has happened a million times before.

It shouldn’t be awkward, considering the guy has seen me at my freaking worst.

I glance up, noticing his eyes are shut. His chest rises and falls with a steady rhythm, and I think he’s asleep too.

My cock twitches in my damn jeans, that feeling of needing to piss prevalent and overbearing.

I adjust my cock as I right myself, careful not to wake Cam in the process.

Somehow, I manage, which is a feat all on its own.

Thanks to the extra leg room in first class, I have no issue scooting past him and making my way to the bathroom.

I do my business quickly, stuffing my cock back into my pants and washing my hands.

Staring at myself in the mirror, I can’t help but feel like something’s different. Something’s… off, though I’m not sure what.

Maybe it’s just the fact that in less than six days, I’m going to be married.

I’m going to walk down the aisle of the church and I’m going to take Savannah as my wife.

Holy fucking shit.

Why is that thought so fucking scary?

“It’s just pre-wedding jitters, man,” I tell myself. “Everyone gets cold feet. Doesn’t change how you feel.”

My reflection stares back at me, judging me for my momentary lapse of confidence.

In just a few hours, we’ll touch down in Vegas, and this is my last weekend as a single, twenty-one year old college man.

Reality dawns on me that this is it. My life is about to change in so many ways, it’s terrifying. But it’s what I want.

This, Savannah, the house, the job… it’s what I want.

So why am I having an existential crisis in an airplane bathroom?

“You’re just tired,” I tell myself, running my hands under the water again, as if I can wash off the feelings. It doesn’t work, but it was worth a shot.

I find my way back to my seat, which isn’t that far away. I stop in the aisle for a moment, taking in the sight of my best friend, arms crossed over his chest, his head lolled to the side, dark eyelashes fluttering, and lips slightly parted.

He looks so utterly content and comfortable; I can’t help but be envious.

I wish I felt the way he feels right now.

I feel someone staring and when I look over, I find Mack watching me curiously so I quickly slip back into my seat, shifting around as I try to get comfortable. I move near the window, but that doesn’t work.

I kick my legs out, bring them up, contort myself like a pretzel, but nothing shakes the feeling of anxiety swelling in my stomach, or the panic rising in my throat. My shoulder feels heavy, pulling me from my spiraling thoughts, and I realize Cam’s shifted his position too.

His head rests on my shoulder faintly, his overpowering shampoo scent soothing my nerves just a fraction, and I let out a sigh, closing my eyes.

It’s like even in his sleep, he knows I’m a mess. Like even unconscious, he can’t help but give me the comfort he knows I need.

I’m so lucky to have him, my best friend.

Cam.

Naturally, I let my head fall against his, the sound of his breathing like one of those sleep machines. Steady, I breathe along with him, until sleep beckons me once more.