Page 21

Damn, do I have a baby bladder? Maybe I should have that checked out.

“Oh, Brady.” A voice so sickly sweet I’ll have to go to the dentist after today calls out to me, clearly not concerned with offering me any privacy as one should when the other person is inside the damn restroom.

“Is this the line?” I hear someone else ask from outside the door and a curse leaves me.

Damn single-bathroom businesses, man.

With a deep breath, I wet my hands and grab a paper towel, force a smile on my face, and step out, drying my hands for show.

I grin at the elderly woman waiting for a turn. “It’s all yours, ma’am.”

She looks at me, her lips pursing, and steps a little farther to the side than necessary to allow me to pass .

Well, okay, then.

Must be because I’m shirtless and oiled up like a prized trophy.

Sarah, or maybe it’s Sasha, slides up right then, looping her hand through my arm—because women seem to think they can touch me whenever they want. She smiles up at me, slurping through her straw a little aggressively.

“Need my help again?”

She nods, and I push open the front door, pulling myself free so she can step out first.

“Aw, you’re such a gentleman. And yes, we do. Three more people pulled up, and two are big, tall trucks.”

My eyes go over the parking lot, and sure enough, there are two pickups sitting there, a little Nissan wedged between them.

The moment I’m off the steps of the convenience store, several girls turn toward me, some rushing over, the others just calling out and throwing up their hands.

“Brady!” The one with the bright-yellow tank top that’s tied just below her bra line beams, jogging over with what feels like very intentional movements, being she’s only about ten feet from me.

“Help me with the big red one?” She sticks her lip out in a pout, and I wonder if I’d find that sexy if it were a Friday night.

A loud, familiar laugh reaches my ears, and I whip around, seeking the source.

“Oh, thank fuck,” I mutter, slipping away from the girls around me and meeting Cameron where she stands a few feet away.

She looks me over, her smile growing, so I give her a little show.

Doing my best stripper hip roll, I make the straw skirt around my waist crunch and move, and run my palms down my ribs in tune with the girly music blasting across the parking lot.

Cameron laughs harder and I join in, lifting her off the ground and spinning her before lowering her back to her feet .

Her eyes trail over the parking lot before landing back on mine. “So sorority car wash, huh?”

“Yep.”

She nods, smirking a bit. “So, like, am I playing the jealous-girlfriend role? Do I make a scene and get mad that you’re here with all these girls and I had no idea, stomp off, and force you to chase after me?”

My brows crash together, horror stricken. “You crazy? Some of these girls have had to hear the rumor that I’m someone’s boyfriend now. Do that and they’ll take it as us splitting up, and it will be worse. No, no. I need a partner in crime here, Cammie.”

She chuckles, nodding her head. “All right, so what do you want me to do? And why aren’t they in bathing suits if they’re having a car wash? Every girl knows jean shorts get baggy once they’re wet.”

I shrug. “Something about not wanting half-naked women out here to scare off store customers. Not sure they’ve realized all the girls have their shirts up to their bellies yet.”

“So how is it you’re allowed to be out here shirtless?”

“’Cause I’m Brady Lancaster, Cammie Baby,” I tease, and when she only lifts a brow, a laugh leaves me. “The owner has season tickets to our games. He saw me here and asked for an autograph for his kid.”

She shakes her head with a grin. “Of course he did.”

“Brady, come back!”

“Yeah, Brady, help me with the hood?”

“Wait, I asked for his help first!”

When we both glance that way, Yellow Top asks, “You’ll lift me on your shoulders, right? I have really flexible legs.”

Cameron coughs to hide a laugh and I look back at her with pleading, puppy-dog eyes.

She stares a moment, trying to figure her plan out, and I wait, praying it’s a good one.

I take her hand and tug her in closer. “So what’s the move, fake girlfriend? ”

Cameron winks, then steps back, tearing her shirt over her head, revealing a skintight, light pink sports bra with a little zipper in the middle that’s halfway down, and teeny tiny…

Hold up.

“Yo.” I crowd her, take her shirt, and wrap it around her back, hiding her booty from view. “Are those underwear?!”

“No,” she chuckles, gently shoving at my chest.

But my feet are planted firmly, and I don’t budge, cocking my head and stretching my neck to get a better look. “You sure?” I stare at the spot they stretch around her toned thighs, literally right at the edge of her booty.

And girl’s got a booty. Ever since she and Ari did that Booty Bootcamp thing, whatever the fuck that is, it’s been poppin’.

She’s most definitely kept up the routine.

It’s high and round, and I’ve got the sudden urge to give it a little tap.

Maybe a squeeze or two, you know, just to see how soft it is.

I glare harder at the offending underwear. “Pretty sure when your leg stretches to take a step, them things are gonna slide up and out will plop a cheek.”

Her laugh is loud, and she gives me a saucy grin.

My brow raises and she pushes up on her toes, tongue flicking across my lips, and there’s a little twitch in my toes.

A frown threatens to form, but then a shadow falls over us, and we both look left.

The girl flicks her eyes at Cameron, then turns them back to me, batting her long lashes. “Come on, number ninety-eight,” the brunette singsongs. “We need our big, strong mountain man’s help.”

Cameron’s hands, still on my chest from attempting to push me back, span out, and she runs them slowly and steadily down my abs, making my muscles twitch at the feeling. She looks to me, but her words are for the interrupter. “He’s not your anything.” She holds my gaze steady. “He’s mine.”

My feet shuffle closer on their own, but she’s already pulling back, smiling wide at the sorority girl .

I think Cameron’s going to say something, maybe introduce herself, but she doesn’t. She simply walks past, tugging her hair from the messy bun it was clipped up in.

I watch as it falls in long, tousled waves, the tips nearly touching the swell of her perfect, peachy ass, and I’ve got the sudden urge to tug on it.

To wrap it around my fist and pull just enough to?—

My muscles lock, my frown instant.

No.

No, no.

I don’t want to do that to Cammie Girl.

I don’t.

Cameron walks past the group of girls staring at her, not all out of maliciousness, some seemingly just curious, and takes two buckets full of soapy water, tossing a sponge inside one.

We all watch as she sets it on the open tailgate and hops right up.

Taking the other bucket, she dumps it over the roof of the truck, flips it upside down, and climbs on top.

Then she leans all the way over in those goddamn underwear—fight me, that’s what they are—and starts scrubbing, hips swaying to the music that I’m suddenly tempted to turn off.

The girls are frozen for a moment, some looking over their own jean shorts and tops, and then they laugh, tearing their own clothes off and revealing bikinis hidden underneath.

“Yeah, ladies,” a few guys shout, clearly other AU students, and I decide they are the owners of the trucks. “Wash it real nice.”

Not a single one turns back to me, and a smile spreads across my lips.

I move over to the truck Cameron’s washing and hop up, sponge in hand, then crowd her from behind. “You’re, like, freakishly good at handling women.”

She smiles over her shoulder at me, big blue eyes bright. “Sometimes we just need a little inspiration. Now, you just gonna stand there, or you gonna help me wash this ugly-ass truck? ”

I raise a brow and make a show of dipping my sponge in the water, and she smiles, spinning back around and getting to work. I take the sponge and, instead of scrubbing the window with it, swipe the soapy water across her sides.

She gasps at the cold, jumping down with a squeal, her wide eyes meeting mine. They narrow quickly, and then she’s on me, rubbing the sponge across my neck and chest.

I juke left, spinning until I’m behind her, and pick up the whole-ass bucket.

Her mouth drops open. “Don’t you dare! ” she shouts, but there’s no venom behind her words.

I bite my lip, smiling, and lift the bucket up high.

She yelps, taking a chance and rushing forward, bending and slipping under the bucket until she’s pressed to my body, arms wrapped tightly around me, head tucked in, plastering herself to me.

“You really think that’s gonna save you?” I tease.

“No, but at least this way?—”

I pour it over both our heads, and she shouts, trying to break free, but I tossed the bucket the second it was empty, and now I’m holding her to me.

She laughs, her body shivering a bit before she looks up.

Her hair is soaked, hiding one of her eyes completely, and the other is only just poking through.

Grinning, I push it out of the way, and she shakes her head with a low laugh.

“You’re an ass.”

“Oh, but, baby, I’m your ass,” I coo.

She slaps me on the arm, and I let her go, shaking my hair out as she finger-combs her own before making quick work of a braid.

“Careful, or I might make a scene and break up with you right here.”

“You wouldn’t dare. ”

Her hands fall to her hips, and she raises an eyebrow.

My eyes accidently fall to her light pink sports bra and narrow to slits, but she spins before she notices.

Cameron turns once again, hopping down with our now empty bucket, but before she can reach the hose, I’m there, gripping her shoulders from behind.

“Cameron Hope Cox,” I drawl in a low, scolding tone with a hint of playfulness woven in. “What in the fresh hell did I just see?”

I can sense her confusion, and it takes her a moment, but she looks down to where the material of her top has softened a bit, revealing a dirty little secret behind it.

A dirty little secret that should not make me curious, yet here I am, wondering what exactly I’d find beneath the soft pink fabric because, I swear to God, it looks like two tiny toys right where her nipples would be.

She spins there, her eyes meeting mine, a small blush creeping up her neck, even if she does smile in response.

“Cameron.”

“Brady.”

“Tell me.”

She cocks her head. “And why would I do that?”

“’Cause what kind of boyfriend doesn’t know what’s under his girlfriend’s shirt?”

She leans in close, whispering teasingly, “A fake one.”

I frown and she laughs, giving up on filling her empty bucket and instead grabbing a new one.

She spins, and my eyes fall to her chest. “Come on, Boyfriend,” she calls out loud. “Let’s wash the headlights next.”

I glare, and she beams brighter, spinning and adding a little extra sway to her hips.

“Swing those hips this way, honey,” one of the guys hollers.

My head snaps toward the group gathered by the picnic tables, a warning on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t have to let it out .

No, Cameron does it for me.

“Sorry, boys,” she teases, meeting my gaze over her shoulder with a grin. “But I belong to someone else.”

I smirk from her to them. “She belongs to me.”