Page 24

TWENTY-FOUR

lenni

I’m almost awake, swimming through hazy images that might be memories, might be dreams. Cam’s hard, sweat-slicked body moving above me, his tongue on my nipple, his breathless voice saying my name. Did that happen last night? Weeks ago? Or was it only a dream?

I open my eyes and there he is, asleep, his hand resting on my hip. I prop myself on one elbow to look at him, moving slowly so I don’t wake him.

The sheet rests dangerously low across his hips. His naked body is absolute perfection. Swells of muscle dominate his upper body, the tanned skin a tantalizing contrast to the paler strip of skin below his waist. My pussy aches, remembering the feel of him inside me last night.

But it’s when I look at his face that my heart catches. He’s relaxed in sleep, all those lines of worry and anger and pleading from the night before erased. I look at his lips and remember his tender words, and I know for certain I’m not turning back.

My heart led me here, and maybe someday I’ll look back on that as my ultimate mistake, but I’m here and I won’t go back. It scares me to know how deep I’m in. But when I look at him, the fear seems small next to the hope that surges inside me.

I lie down with my back to him and pull his arm gently around me. Do I even have the right to touch him like this? To move him to my liking? I don’t know, but it feels incredible. He shifts onto his side, giving in to me. I shudder as the sleepy warmth of his body seeps into mine.

His arm tightens around me, and he slides his hand up to cup my breast. His face is pressed against my back so when he groans, the vibration sends a shiver up my spine. My nipple stiffens against his palm.

“Shit, honey,” he says against my skin. “Was that for real last night?”

“I’m trying to figure out the same thing.”

“We’re pretty incredible together.” He pushes my hair aside and kisses the back of my neck.

It’s true. I’ve never had great sex before, but Cam and me? I finally understand why people are obsessed with getting laid.

Cam presses his hips against my ass, and my body strains with longing at the feel of his hardness. “I can’t get enough of you,” he whispers, kissing my ear.

Desire roars inside me. I roll onto my back and let my thighs fall open as Cam’s fingers find the wetness already pooled between them. “Try to anyway,” I say and pull him down on top of me.

Afterward, he dozes but I’m due for a shift at the library, so I get up to shower. I take my time because my body feels deliciously spent and languid, but also because my mind is swimming with questions.

I was scared to sleep with him, not because of the sex but because of this moment: the morning after.

Now what?

I can’t bring myself to ask him to define us, not yet. But how do I get through the next few hours or days until I see him again without driving myself nuts wondering what he’s doing, who he’s with, whether he’s thinking about me like I’m thinking about him?

Back in my room, Cam stands shirtless at the window, looking down at the blue toy car—his brother’s—that’s been living on my windowsill since the night I realized I had no intention of giving back the rain jacket.

“Craziest thing,” Cam says, picking up the car between two fingers. “My little brother has one exactly like this.” He gives me a sly look over his shoulder that makes me warm with embarrassment and pleasure.

“No kidding?” I stand behind him and press my body against his. His skin smells like my sheets. “I hope it’s brought him as much luck as this one brought me.”

He puts the car back and turns around so I’m in his arms. “Luck, huh? Would that be the good kind or the bad kind?”

“You tell me.”

“The good.” He kisses me, twisting his fingers through my wet hair. “The great. Maybe even the marvelous.”

“You’re such a wordsmith in the morning,” I tease, wrapping his arms tighter around me. I close my eyes, soaking in the warmth of his body and the pure comfort of this moment.

“You want some breakfast after that exertion?” he asks. “I make a killer egg sandwich.”

“I wish, but I need to get dressed. I work at ten.”

“Boo. Can we hang later?”

This feeling is bliss. “This afternoon, sure. My shift isn’t long.”

“I want to take you somewhere. And don’t worry, it’s not a museum.”

“Thank god,” I joke.

“Actually, it’s even more boring, so there.”

I laugh and kiss his cheek. But when I turn away to get dressed, he holds on to me.

“Hey, Lenni? I need you to tell me when I screw up like I did the other night. I don’t want to go through all that wondering of what I did wrong again.”

I look into his eyes. “You didn’t do anything wrong. That was my own craziness.”

“Either way, just tell me, okay? I want to make you happy. It’s important to me.”

“Okay.”

He nods and releases me, then settles on the bed. I find some clothes, moving casually as though his words haven’t just rocked me to the core. He wants to make me happy. I’ve never felt luckier in my life.

A sense of wonder moves through me when I think about how close I came to missing out on this. All because I chose to believe the worst about him. Because I chose to believe the worst about myself. I can’t make that kind of mistake again.