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CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Cameron

An alarm beeps softly, making my eyes peel open. The room is still dark, not a hint of light creeping through the sheer purple curtains hanging behind my bed. I blink my eyesight into focus, stretching slightly, and a small smile crosses my lips when I realize why I’m so warm.

Brady is my personal electric blanket.

I don’t even remember falling asleep last night, but I know when I did, he was still in his sweatpants and hoodie. Now it’s nothing but warm, soft skin pressed against my cheek, my entire body pressed to his side. My face is in the crook of his shoulder, my arms tucked in like a damn baby.

I press my forearms into his ribs, nudging him slightly.

His only response is to wrap his arm around me and haul me up higher until my head is on his chest. His lips brush across my forehead, and he holds me to him like his favorite pillow.

“Brady, your alarm.” I try to push up, reaching over him to grab his phone from the bedside table. Just as my fingers brush the edge, he rolls us until he’s hovering above me, his muscles somehow working already as he holds his weight over me.

Sleepy eyes the color of fall leaves fall on mine, a lazy smile on his lips. “Morning, Cammie baby.”

I snuggle into his warmth but pout. “It is not morning. It is the ass crack of dawn, and if you don’t turn that thing off, I’m going to reach down and show you how hard I can squeeze. ”

“Unfortunately, that sounds like fun, so Imma need you to come up with another threat.”

I give him the best scowl I can manage while still half-dead, and my hand takes a little dive, ready to call him on his bluff.

His eyes hold mine, a playful spark dancing within them—a mischievous dare.

My knuckles brush his stomach and his muscles flex.

Before I can get any farther, his gaze still holding mine, he says, “There’s a reason I’m holding myself up, Hellcat, and it’s not for fear of squashing you.”

It takes a second, but then his words sink in, and my hand freezes where it’s at, falling to flatten on my stomach. But a split second later a thought hits, and I narrow my eyes.

“Okay, but are you holding yourself up because you think it’s appropriate or to keep your secret about the kind of junk jewelry you’ve got going on?”

His laughter is thick with sleep, and he rolls off, finally turning off that god-awful tinkling sound of his alarm. He climbs from the bed, and I discreetly try to get a look at his boxers as he does, but he’s already walking out of my room.

A moment later, I hear the shower turn on and let out a huff, yanking the covers over my head.

It is way too early for this shit.

I roll over, trying to get comfortable, but unfortunately for me, the bed isn’t half as cozy as it was five minutes ago. I do my best to fall back asleep, pretending that I have when Brady quietly slips back in to get his things.

His lips ghost my temple on his exit and then the door closes with a soft click.

I don’t fall back asleep after that.

“You look surprised.” Alister grins, holding the door to the café open for me.

“I am. I thought for sure I’d have to kick your ass today.”

“So you didn’t follow along with me last night, watching my progress from your side of the screen?”

“Nah. I was knuckle-deep in fried garlic noodles watching Galaxy Quest for the hundredth time.”

“Really?” Alister chuckles. “I never would have taken you for a sci-fi fan.”

“It’s Brady’s favorite.” I shrug, scanning the menu with rapt interest even though I always get the same thing. “Have you ever tried the Cookie Butter Latte?” I glance his way, frowning when I see he’s staring at me with a crease between his eyes. “What, does it suck?”

Alister pulls in a full breath, a smile appearing a moment later, but it seems a little forced.

“Dang, that bad?”

A low chuckle leaves him, and he shakes his head, the upward tilt of his lips real this time. “I’ve never had it, but I’m not big on the stuff. I usually stick to the banana protein smoothies.”

“Typical.”

“Why, is that Brady’s favorite too?”

My attention snaps his way, and he steps up to the counter and orders, giving me a sheepish glance as he looks to me to add my drink to his tab. I do but I don’t let him pay, setting a five-dollar bill on the counter before moving toward the pickup side of the bar top.

Alister walks over, hands in his jeans pockets, eyes on mine, but he doesn’t say anything until his name is called, and we’re tucking into a diner-style booth in the back corner of the café. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Being jealous of everything that has to do with you and Brady. ”

My muscles tense, and I should look away, but I can’t. He just admitted that like nothing.

Maybe it shouldn’t come as a surprise, seeing as he has said directly that he wants to be with me, but I guess I assumed that things had changed, that we weren’t in the same place we were a few weeks ago.

He told me he had regrets. He said he understood where I was at.

I thought he was letting things go.

I mean he still could be. It’s like I said, you can’t just turn your feelings off, and jealousy is definitely a feeling.

But why does it have to be such an attractive one?

Jesus. Proof I’m a damn hot mess.

Aren’t I supposed to hate jealousy? If I am, then something is broken in this little mind of mine ’cause…yep. Even after thinking it through, it’s still hot.

Not that I want him to hurt or be angry or whatever way he processes that specific emotion. In reality, he has zero reason to be jealous, least of all of Brady. We’re basically family, and our relationship is as fake as Professor Gilroy’s hair color.

Brady’s sneaky smile from this morning flashes in my mind.

Fake but fun.

Okay. Cameron. Focus .

I give Alister an apologetic smile. “No, I’m sorry.

I didn’t mean to throw Brady’s name out earlier.

I didn’t even realize I’d mentioned him until you did, but I have to say, I feel like my sorry might not seem like it means much because I can promise you it’s going to happen again.

It’s just second nature to talk about my friends when I think about them, and I don’t want to have to try to censor myself around you.

I want to be able to be your friend, Alister, but I think it’s fair for us both to understand that that might come with some hiccups. ”

His eyes are pinned to mine, sharp and assessing, and I squirm a little .

“Like I said before, I have no interest in hurting you. I’m just doing what’s best for me.”

Alister just continues to stare.

“Let’s just get our work done, okay?” I mumble, pulling my laptop and notebook from my backpack and pretending I’m not a little uneasy now.

Maybe I was wrong.

Maybe it’s not so simple between us and we can’t be friends?—

The thought freezes in my mind, my eyes snapping up to his.

He sees the moment realization hits, that I finally figured out why he was so stuck after my little speech—my speech where I called Brady my friend.

I rub my lips together anxiously, and his green eyes fly to the movement, holding for several long seconds.

Goose bumps pebble along my arms, making me glad it’s sweater weather these days. I don’t need him calling me out at the sight of them. Besides, I have a boyfriend and that would look bad.

I tug the sleeves of my hoodie over my hands and flip open my laptop.

A million years later, he does the same, and we jump right into phase two of our project.

Surprisingly—to me—Alister has a lot of good concepts when it comes to physical activities for learning, having come to our session today with ideas in mind. It’s obvious he’s been paying attention, understanding the importance this class holds for me.

We’ve been at it for a few hours already when we pause for a break. I sip on my second coffee of the day, smiling as Alister heads back to our table from the café’s front counter.

Alister sets down two toasted bagels and large ice waters, sliding in on my side of the booth this time. Without a word, he turns his laptop toward us and opens a new file, excited to show me what he’s come up with.

“So after I went over what I missed last week, I went back and read the text again. If I’m honest, I wasn’t really sure what it was trying to tell me, so I had to play around on Google a bit.”

“Oh?” I fight a smile, not really sure where this is about to go.

“Yeah. And it’s pretty interesting actually. I realized I’m the type of learner you’re looking to cater to.”

Attention officially caught, I shift in the booth, leaning my back against the wall so I can face him fully.

“Okay so, this is embarrassing, but I’m bad at school—as in I fail more than I pass, and it’s mostly because I pretty much hate everything about learning.”

A laugh leaves me, and Alister grins.

“I’m serious. The only reason I did any assignment in high school was to stay eligible. A 2.0, that’s it. I had a waiver one year because I couldn’t even manage to halfway pass.”

“I don’t love every class either, Alister, and I have to work pretty hard to get the grades I’m after.”

“Exactly.” He snaps his fingers, clicking on the document inside the folder he pulled up. “So what better way to explore and engage , as you called it?—”

“Because that is what it’s called,” I laugh.

He grins. “Right, so what better way to explore and engage and test kids’ ability to learn than finding their point of interest?

Because I can tell you right now, if a teacher ever told me to take a hundred yards of open field and split it between two teams, then find a way to get one team to the hundred using x, y, z, whatever the hell, I would have known exactly what to do. ”

“Football brain.”

“Since I was seven.”

“Seven?” I take another sip of my drink. “That’s even longer than my boys.”

Alister smirks. “At least I’m beating someone somewhere.”

I give him a blank blink, and he chuckles, nudging my knee lightly with his elbow.

“Anyway,” he says, going back to the screen, “since we’re working on kindergartners and whatnot—I had to google what they learned too, by the way—I broke things down into colors, items, and places.

Basically, the idea is it will give them an option of three to five colors, and they pick the one they are drawn to the most, then it moves to the next image based on the color they choose, and they pick from that and so on. ”

My fingers are dancing along my cup, my mind swimming with what he’s saying. Alister’s eyes are bright, gauging me and seemingly liking what he sees.

He scoots closer, and I move in too, fully intrigued with what he’s about to show me.

“So check this out: obviously I don’t have a program to make this work like I see it in my head, but for the sake of a good grade, I think this can do.”

He pulls up the first set of images; four cubes, each a different color, are on the screen, and he even added little text blocks that spell out the color above the shape. It’s smart, a way to help with potential letter recognition. I wonder if he even realizes this?

“Pick a color.”

“Purple.”

He pretends to click the purple before backing out and clicking the folder labeled purple, and another page pops up. Four more boxes are on this page, but this time they are items.

A doll with a purple bow, a basketball with purple swirls, a paintbrush with purple dripping from the tip, and a little book with a purple elephant on the cover—toys, sports, art, and reading.

I look at the four boxes again, which can be interpreted by a child as either an interest in the animal on the cover or the book and idea of reading or having a story read to them. It really covers all the basics in an extremely profound way.

I pretend to click this time, choosing the little book, curious as to where it will lead in this test of his.

Alister smiles, scrolling to the last page, but it’s unfinished. There’s a diagram he’s created, little color-coded text bubbles breaking down his thought process.

I nod, reading over his random thoughts, and it’s pretty impressive. It’s easy to see what he’s trying to showcase.

“Alister, this is…” I look his way, not realizing how close we are until we’re both facing each other.

“It’s not the sharpest concept.”

“It’s perfect, simple in a complex way, and it makes sense.

You’re breaking things down intellectually and for a purpose, but at the level a child can process, having no idea it’s essentially a test they’re taking, even if it is just one that helps the teacher rather than the child. This is really, really good.”

“Yeah?” Pride shines bright in his eyes, and I have the urge to reach out and touch him. To feel the smile lines along his temples and the hint of stubble on his jaw.

I hold my cup a little tighter. “How long did you stay up to work on this?”

He shrugs, glancing back at his computer, but I wait, and a few moments later, he faces me again. “I couldn’t really sleep so…”

My smile is slow, and the giddiness he has been known to stir inside me does its thing. “You wanted to impress me today, so you stayed up half the night to work on this.” It’s not a question, and Alister doesn’t answer because he sees it—what this means to me.

He can apologize until he’s blue in the face, make promises only time can prove the truth of, and shower me in honesty, but to embrace something I’m passionate about when he’s only just realized that I am?

It’s more than words. More than physical action.

It’s care in a rare sense.

He really is trying here, and his effort isn’t going unnoticed.

Quite the opposite as I think, maybe for the first time, that I’m seeing a side of him he’s never shared before .

There is no arrogance in his eyes, no cocky tilt to his lips. He’s not all about the game, and this thing between us isn’t a chase. I was already caught, after all, though the line broke before he could reel me in due to his own mistake.

No, this is a backward crawl, a pebbled path to friendship island. The only problem is we’ve already lost our shoes and the rocks on the way back are sharp.

Do I want to walk across them to meet him on the other side?

Alister offers a gentle smile, and I realize I’m staring right into his green eyes.

“Will you tell me what you’re thinking?” he whispers.

I swallow. “I’m not so sure if I should.”

Alister reaches out, pushing my hair from my face, his soft fingers gently grazing along my temples, tucking the loose, straight strands behind my ear.

His hand holds there a moment, and I find myself leaning into his touch, my eyes closing.

“I miss you, Cameron.”

“I know,” I breathe, forcing my eyes open, but when I do, it’s not Alister my gaze locks on.

It’s the brown-eyed man behind him.