Page 20

TWENTY

lenni

I don’t see him again until Tuesday in class, and when I do, I can’t stop smiling. All I’ve thought since Saturday night is that kiss .

Everything feels different now. My rational side keeps telling me that a kiss, no matter how mind-altering and magical, and all the other flowery adjectives, shouldn’t change what I know to be true: that guys like Cam aren’t for girls like me. But I think my rational side is being a bitter bitch this morning because she’s not the one who kissed Cameron Forrester.

All throughout the silence of our test on inferential statistics, it’s all I can do to keep from reaching out and touching him. He finishes his test first, which annoys me and turns me on. He’s waiting for me outside the building when I finish.

“New rule,” he says, watching me walk down the steps. “You can’t sit near me on test days.”

“I don’t need to cheat off you.”

“I know. I can’t keep my eyes on my test when you’re right there for me to stare at.” He leans closer but clasps his hands behind his back, like he knows how much I want him to touch me, and he wants to see me go crazy.

“You finished your test before anyone else.”

“And it was probably half-blank.”

“Yeah, right. I heard somewhere you were valedictorian of your high school class. Is that true?”

“Can’t remember.” He smiles that winning smile and I think I actually sigh. “Hey, you free tonight after practice?”

Tuesday evenings, Jade and I usually order pizza and watch old episodes of Pretty Little Liars until Sam gets off work and picks her up. Then I put on a ratty old T-shirt and watch more episodes and eat room-temp pizza until my stomach hurts, at which point I tell myself how great it is that I don’t have a boyfriend because I can take my bloated tummy and tentlike pajamas to bed without fear of judgment rather than slipping into cute panties and snuggling up to some sexy, shirtless guy. Mmm yeah, pretty free tonight.

“I think so,” I tell him.

“Good. I’ll pick you up around six.”

“For what?”

He arches one eyebrow. “Surprise.”

“Well, what do I wear?”

“Anything. Nothing. I gotta hustle. See you tonight.”

I’m grateful he’s gone before I can ask him if this is a date. I don’t want to be the girl that needs to slap a label on everything. I don’t know what we are. What I know is the way he kissed me. What I know is how I feel, and for the moment, that’s good enough. Maybe eighteen-year-old Lenni was onto something.

At 5:55 p.m., I emerge from my bedroom. Jade puts down her slice of pizza to applaud, then gets up to give me the once-over. “You look adorable,” she says. “I knew that top would do it for you.”

She’s been tight-lipped about Cam and me, and half the time she refers to him by his jersey number instead of his name. But I asked her to dress me for my might-be-a-date, and she came through.

“Cute and sweet never fails,” she’d assured me as she pulled a flowy white blouse, tags still attached, from the back of my closet. Then it was light-wash jeans, sandals, a loose ponytail with a few tendrils pulled out and blush, not bronzer.

Jade looks at me closely. “First date jitters?”

“I don’t think it’s a date. And yes.” It’s the anticipation that’s getting to me, wondering what he has in mind for us tonight and beyond. And I just can’t shake this nagging fear that I’ve got Cam—and us—all wrong. “Any parting words of wisdom?” I ask, reaching for my purse.

“Yeah. Remind yourself that he’s lucky as hell you’ve agreed to spend any time with him. And that if he’s as smart as you claim, he probably knows it too.”

What I wouldn’t give for Jade’s confidence.

“Easy for you to say.” I don’t usually play the comparison game. Being thick and muscular is in my DNA, a fact I was good with until I started thinking about the girls Cam dates and realized we look like different species. Now I can’t help but envy Jade’s willowy proportions just a little bit.

She tucks a tendril of hair behind my ear. “Anyone can be thin and wear tight clothes and dye their hair. Doesn’t compare to being naturally beautiful.”

“I know you are, but what am I?” I say in a weak attempt to lighten my mood.

“His dream girl.” She urges me toward the door and smacks me on the ass. “Now go prove it.”

Cam is just walking up the street when I step outside. For a minute, I just watch him. He’s dressed simply but looks incredible in jeans and a slim-fitting gray henley with the top buttons open. I can’t believe he’s here for me.

He smiles, and it’s all I need to shake free of nerves and worry. I go to him and he wraps me in a hug, encircling me in the freshly showered scent of his skin. My brain conjures an image of us in the same embrace but under more favorable circumstances; like unclothed and horizontal. I pull away quickly. I can’t spend the entire evening thinking about undressing him.

His gaze sweeps my body and suddenly I feel as sexy as Jade swears I am. The way his eyes burn tells me he doesn’t wish I looked like Kira or Alexis or anyone else.

“You look really pretty,” he says.

Gah, why is he so adorable? “Thanks. So spill it already; where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” He leads me in the opposite direction of downtown Shafer. “I’m not sure my idea is as brilliant as it seemed when it came to me.”

How cute. He doesn’t realize I’d find sorting recyclables brilliant if I did it with him.

A few short blocks later, we’re in a part of town I’ve hardly seen; the historical part, if the buildings are any indication.

“Here we are.” Cam stops outside a Victorian house painted cornflower blue. A wooden sign posted outside in gold lettering reads Sarah Elizabeth Rowe House & Museum .

And I’m confused. I don’t know who this Sarah lady is, but I’m guessing her museum house isn’t going to be an ideal place to get Cam to kiss me again.

“Sarah Rowe,” Cam prompts me, his eyes hopeful. “You know who she is?”

I shake my head politely.

“Oh.” He sounds disappointed. “She was the first female journalist for the Daily Phantom. Back in the twenties, I think, when Shafer started accepting women.”

“Really? I’ve never heard the name.”

Cam looks serious. “Yeah, she went on to become a foreign correspondent. In South America mostly. Or maybe it was Africa.” He cocks his head. “Okay, I’d never heard of her, either. I was just trying to find something you might be interested in. I stopped in yesterday to make sure it wasn’t a total shithole, and the lady at the front gave me a whole spiel. If you don’t want to go in, I totally?—”

With every word, warmth blossoms inside my chest. “Stop,” I tell him before he can apologize for the most thoughtful thing a boy has ever done for me. I wrap my fingers around his arm. “Let’s go inside.”

The Sarah Elizabeth Rowe house is about as interesting as most museums, which is to say not very. But my body doesn’t know that because Cam stays as close to me as my own shadow, so I’m wound up like I’m about to run a marathon. I try to show interest in the exhibits. But inside me rages a silent, fierce energy that’s only enhanced by the fact that the setting demands quiet propriety. And the brief, smoldering looks Cam keeps giving me tells me he feels it too.

We move from one dark, creaky room to the next, absently skimming the small plaques offering facts about Sarah Rowe’s life. Upstairs and alone in her bedroom, I watch him read a sign next to a portrait of the Rowe family, and the tiny, precise movements of his lips as he mouths the words to himself make me dizzy with lust. I blink and turn my attention to the wood-carved canopy bed in the center of the room, which looks about as comfortable as a piece of plywood. Cam walks up behind me. When he speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” His lips nearly graze my ear.

My whole body warms because yes, I’m thinking about the same three-letter-word I’ve been thinking about since he showed up. I nod.

“Think she did it right here?” I can hear his smile.

It’s such a juvenile question, but of course I was wondering the same thing. “It says she had four children so yeah, at least four times.”

He leans closer until his scent is all I can smell. “What makes you think she only did it in bed? This was the roaring twenties, babe.”

I stare at the bed, but what I see is an image of us. Not in bed, but up against the wall. Breathing hard, blind to everything but each other. My insides tighten with need.

I turn my head a mere few inches, and his mouth is right there. All decency falls away from me. I’ve lost control. I will have sex with this man right now if he makes a single move toward me. His lips part slightly, and like that’s my cue, I turn into him. The warmth of his body is all around me. My lips find his, but just as my eyes close, voices rise outside the doorway.

I pull away just as two older ladies in floral-printed skirts walk in. I give them a polite smile to try to offset the weirdness of what they may or may not have just witnessed, but they’re too busy eyeballing Cam to notice me.

I pretend to read the placard by the bedside table, but Cam steps close, stirring up my poor, overworked senses again. “Huh,” he says, surveying the bed. The bass notes of his lowered voice fire up the tiny nerve endings in my ear. “Really makes you wonder about thickness, doesn’t it?” For half a second, I don’t understand, and then it hits me. I slap my hand over my mouth, but not before a cackle of laughter erupts.

Surely I have the attention of the two ladies now, but I don’t stop to check in my rush for the door. Out in the hallway and still laughing, I glance back at Cam. He’s wearing a boyish grin that only makes me laugh harder. We’re done with the Sarah Elizabeth Rowe museum.

Safely outside, I let out the laughter threatening to choke me while Cam looks on, enjoying himself.

“What?” he says, an innocent look on his face. “I was wondering how thick the mattress was. What was your dirty little mind thinking?”

“Uh-huh.” I give him a playful push. The solid feel of his chest under my palms is sobering. Cam’s eyes light on mine, stopping time for a fleeting second.

Then he puts his arm around my shoulder. “Come on, perv. Next stop.”

We walk around until we find ourselves at an ice cream shop that Cam says his grandfather used to take him to when he was a little kid. The owner behind the counter greets him by name, though I don’t know if it’s because Cam’s a lifelong customer or a local celebrity. I order a vanilla cone with rainbow sprinkles, which Cam makes fun of, saying that’s what he ordered the first time he came here at age three. He orders a mint chocolate chip milkshake, which I try to find mockable but fail.

We sit side by side at a tiny table outside and take turns looking at each other while the other watches the cars and people passing by. I’m not hungry and I barely taste the ice cream but finish it anyway.

I’m floating on a feeling, and even though I know it’s dangerous to name it, I can’t help myself. Hope. The last time I felt this way, I was someone else, a college freshman living for each day as it came, finally free of the twin strangleholds of my past and my looming future. I didn’t know I could feel this way again. I thought that girl was long gone.

When we’re done, Cam leans across the table toward me, his muscled upper body dominating the entire surface. “A historical museum and a vanilla ice cream. Was that the most boring date you’ve ever been on?”

He called it a date . “Definitely. Also the best date I’ve ever been on.”

“No fair, that’s what I was about to say.” He reaches out and carefully tucks some loose strands of hair behind my ear. My skin prickles where his fingers touch.

“So say it.”

“Okay,” he says softly.

He leans down and kisses me slowly. His fingertips graze the side of my face, and the gentle way he presses his lips to mine makes me feel like my mouth is the only place in the world he wants to be. I finally understand the meaning of the phrase “read my lips.” His are swearing to me that yes, this is the best date he’s ever had.

He pulls away slightly, a languid smile on his face.

“You taste like mint,” I tell him.

“You taste amazing.”

He returns his attention to my lips, but now I’m craving more than his unhurried kisses. I open my mouth to bring him deeper, and his response is immediate. His hand moves to the back of my head, tilting me back slightly but insistently, giving himself a single degree of advantage. Our tongues dance for a few seconds, and then he lets me go, looking half dazed and half pleased with himself. Cockiness is sexy as hell on his face.

I swallow hard, heat swirling inside me. Here’s another reason football players are dangerous. They won’t just break your heart, they’ll get you arrested for public indecency when you try to fuck them in front of an ice cream shop.

I watch him gather up our trash, my eyes zeroing in on the tiny, irresistible movements of his body. The liquid shift of muscles in his back when he lifts his arms, the curve of his bicep when he runs his fingers through his wavy hair. The way his hands move is obscene. I want to know what his hands could do to me.

Could he possibly want me as badly as I want him? I’ve heard that a kiss doesn’t lie, but I don’t know if I can believe that. What his kiss tells me is too good to be true. But maybe it’s also worth taking a chance on.

“Where next?” Cam extends his hand as I try to get off my stool without looking totally graceless.

I check my phone. “Home, I’m afraid.” I say it without looking at him because one look at his face and my resolve will crumble.

“Already?”

“I have to finish an article.”

“That’s too bad.”

Three simple words, but the way he says them fills my head with a swirl of sexy images of where this night could end if not for my stupid article. Goals. Must. Remember. Goals.

“But,” I begin, and the way his eyes light up gives me the courage to keep going because I need another date with this man. “If I finish it tonight, that means tomorrow night is free.”

“Are you telling me Sarah Elizabeth Rowe didn’t kill my shot at scoring a second date?”

“I think she guaranteed you one.” Boldly, I slip my hand through his arm. His bicep tightens under my fingers, and he closes the space between us so that with every step our sides brush against each other.

“Hey, I almost forgot,” I say as we walk. “I dug up some of the old stories I wrote.”

“Oh, yeah? Did you strike gold?”

“Hardly. They were pretty bad...but not as bad as I thought.”

“Told you.” He nudges me with his elbow. “Can I read them?”

“No,” I say quickly, then reconsider. “Maybe.”

We’re a block from my apartment, and though we’re not actually on campus, we might as well be. We pass students in groups of threes and fours, most of them heading into the dive bar on the corner.

“You know what I think?” he asks with a sly smile. “I think you’re rushing home to your mystery stories so you can write in a handsome brunette hero with a knack for crushing it on the football field.”

I laugh, but suddenly his smile disappears. I follow his gaze up the sidewalk. At the other end of the street, heading our way, is Reeve with three other guys. But instead of continuing toward them, Cam takes my wrist.

“Let’s cross here.” He pulls me toward the crosswalk.

“Cam, I’m fine,” I tell him as we wait at the corner for the walk signal. “I can face Reeve.”

“No, I know.” But he’s barely listening. He glances back toward Reeve and the group, then hustles us across the street as soon as the light turns.

Something’s wrong.

On the other side of the street, Cam looks back at Reeve again, his lips tight. Why is he so intent on avoiding his best friend? If it’s not for my sake, and clearly, it’s not, then it’s for his.

And just when I think I’m turning nothing into something, he keeps on walking straight, the route that’ll take us around the back of my building instead of hanging a left, the route that would put us directly opposite Reeve and have me to my front door in half the time.

It hits me like a blow to the stomach: he’s embarrassed to be seen with me.

Of course he took me to the one place in town that’s guaranteed to be free of college kids, he doesn’t want anyone to see us together. Of course he doesn’t want anyone to see us together. His dating history is stacked with solid tens. And I don’t even rate.

I want to feel outraged, but I can’t manage to feel anything except small and stupid.

If I was Jade, I’d stare him down and demand to know why the hell he doesn’t want his friends to know he’s out with me tonight. But I’m not Jade. So I hold it inside and avoid his eyes and walk faster so I can end this night as soon as possible.

At my door, I mumble an awkward, hurried goodbye. I barely look at him as I say it, but I know he’s confused.

I want to believe I have it wrong, but how do I justify that? Cam being embarrassed of me makes so much more sense than Cam falling for me.

Everything I was so certain of twenty minutes ago seems like a joke. I’m his secret. And the only thing that’s surprising is that I ever managed to convince myself that what we had was real.