Page 6

CHAPTER FIVE

Cameron

I shuffle back, smoothing out the final edge of the towels, and stand. Staring at my arrangement, I purse my lips, wondering if I should have set us up on the floor. In the end, I shrug and move into the kitchen. “He’ll just have to put his arms at his sides if they hang over the edge.”

Opening the fridge, I peer around the drinks in search of some of Ari’s leftovers from yesterday, but there’s no luck.

All that’s staring back at me is several bottles of chocolate Ensure shakes and fresh ingredients I want nothing to do with.

One of the best parts about being away at college?

My parents aren’t hovering over my shoulder every couple hours, asking what I’ve eaten so far today.

It’s sweet and I’m blessed with a family who cares, but sometimes I just want to pretend it doesn’t matter if I’m having too much fun to remember to eat.

I was thirteen and still hadn’t hit puberty when my parents and I realized something might be wrong with me.

I wasn’t overly active like the boys, so we knew that wasn’t the cause of the “late blooming” as Mom called it, and then there’s the fact that I was, and still am, an eater—I eat all the time and I’m almost never full. Well, at least not for long.

I was hungry after breakfast but before lunch and then raiding the fridge before dinner just to do it again before bed—sometimes twice.

Not just snacks either but actual food, though I have always been a bit of a snacking queen, too.

There is never not some sort of munchies in my purse or backpack, and it’s always been that way.

All that food down the hatch, and I was stick skinny, sometimes sickly so.

My clothes had to be sewn or pinned if I wanted to wear what others my age were wearing.

If not that, then I was stuck in leggings meant for a seven-year-old and what looked like oversized T-shirts, but that was before it was an actual trend to do so.

Kids were assholes until Brady and Mason chased them around the playground, and my teachers thought I was neglected or underfed. It didn’t help that I was taller than all the girls in my class at that age.

Turned out I have an overactive thyroid. They say I’m “one of the lucky ones” because I can manage my disease with meds, and I didn’t learn about the other challenges the disease would leave me with until I was a little older. But we don’t think about that part, Cameron.

I don’t remember to take the pills every day, but I remember enough that I don’t have hardcore issues, and I’m no longer worried about blowing away with the wind.

It helps now that I’ve forced myself not to hate weight training and have built muscle over the bones to help me look fit rather than frail, but it takes a good amount of carbs to manage.

I still have to down some less-than-desirable shakes a few times a week and eat some nasty greens here and there, though.

Yeah, I am not feeling either of those options at the moment.

I sigh, staring longingly at the empty shelf meant for leftovers in the fridge.

Ugh! Does the dream couple have to be all into health shit right now? What a girl wouldn’t give for him to start teaching Ari how to bake. Maybe then I wouldn’t have to drink shitty shakes at all.

There’s a hard rap on the door, and I frown, moving to look out the peephole. My eyes flick to the ceiling, and I tug the damn thing open, blinking at the guy on the other side.

“You look…” Alister grins, eyes traveling over my game-day outfit. “Damn.”

Today I’m wearing the white AU T-shirt that I turned into a fun, fringy thing. I cut the bottom nearly up to my bra line, the pieces even with each other and about a half an inch wide. The AU is outlined and bedazzled with little diamonds, also in the matching colors of the lettering.

To go with the cowgirlesque style I created, I’m wearing my cutoff jean shorts, some dark blue fishnets underneath, and short cowgirl boots. My hair is up in a high pony with glitter helping to slick it back, and my lips are so pink they’d make Barbie jealous.

Too bad none of it was for him.

I just like to dress for every occasion.

“What are you doing here, Alister?”

“I heard you were headed home right after the game…” He trails off, a strange look in his eye, as if he wants to ask me something but isn’t sure he should.

I’m gonna call that progress.

“Well.” I lift my arm, motioning to my living room. “Looks like you heard right.”

His lips form a tight line, and he just continues to stare.

I raise my brows. “Okay, well, I wish I could say thanks for stopping by, but considering I asked you to back off a bit and you’re here, I?—”

“A bit?”

Confusion bubbles within me. “What?”

Alister steps forward, and I hold my breath. “You said you want me to back off a bit .”

“Um…” Did I say that? “I didn’t mean that…like—” I cut myself off, flustered, and my cheeks start to pinken when Alister’s grin slowly grows, showing off his perfect, pretty-boy teeth. It’s like he had braces twice or something. And monthly whitening appointments.

And a lifetime membership to the gym…

Alister chuckles, coming so close I don’t notice his hand lift until his palm is closing over my hip.

I curl my toes in my boots, hating how familiar his touch is and the reminder of the last time his hands were on me.

It just so happens the last time we had sex was also the same day I learned he pretended to like me to try and get dirt on his competition.

My face must show where my mind has gone, as Alister’s grin begins to fall.

His free hand comes up then, attempting to cup my cheek, but I turn away at the last moment.

“Please,” he whispers, and to my disgust, I feel the heat of tears building.

And to my absolute horror, the most protective man in our entire crew appears.

Even with my head turned away, my eyes find mossy brown ones over Alister’s shoulder.

I’m not sure what he sees, but my fun, flirty guy turns red and then his fist is locking around the back of Alister’s neck.

Alister tenses as he releases me and tries to yank free, but Brady’s hand is wider than the guy’s neck, his fingers curling around so far, they press against his throat.

Brady jerks him backward, and his eyes meet mine, silently asking me what I want him to do.

Alister is bitching, but I don’t hear anything he’s saying.

I give Brady a subtle shake of my head and step to the side, opening the door up more. That’s all the answer he needs, tossing Alister into the hall like he’s nothing but a rag doll and not a five-eleven football player.

He gives Alister not another moment’s attention but slips inside and eases the door closed behind him .

With the soft click of the lock, he completely transforms, his giant smile and glittering gaze now staring down at me. “You look like Ken’s wet dream.”

A laugh flies from me and Brady’s smile widens. He kisses my temple and shuffles by, dropping onto the carpet, his back hitting the ground with a loud thump.

That’s when I actually get a look at him, realizing he’s still got eye black smeared all over his face and turf tape up to his elbow.

I look to the clock above the TV and back. “Rush out tonight or what? You told me you’d be here closer to nine thirty–ish.”

“That was before fuckface booked it from the locker room before I could even get my damn pads off.”

“Ah,” I chuckle. “Yeah, I figured he must have overheard something.”

“Yeah, and then I got stuck on my way out and it took me even longer.”

“Let me guess, Lancaster Ladies in waiting?”

“That’s good. You should lead the fan club, suggest an official name. Maybe suggest they take a couple days off a week.”

I scoff a laugh, but it’s light.

Brady’s smile slowly falls as he looks at me with a gentler expression. “You good, Cammie Baby?”

I manage a half grin, grabbing his shoulder and giving him a little squeeze. “I’m good, mountain man. Go shower and I’ll order us something to eat.”

He shakes his head as he kicks his shoes off and digs into his bag for a fresh outfit. “Delivery drivers won’t be able to get through the shit show of traffic for another hour. If we wanna eat, we’ll have to scrape something together here or walk somewhere before the party.”

“Ugh, fine, fine. Hustle your ass.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he chuckles, disappearing into the bathroom and closing the door behind him.

Back in my room, I light the candles and jump up on my bed, spraying the misting spray I decided was free—seeing as it was on the counter of the hotel we stayed at in Denver when we went to Noah’s preseason game the week before school started—up into the low spinning fan.

It gets in my mouth and I cough, hopping back down and fixing the towels on my mattress again.

Less than five minutes pass and Brady slides in, in a pair of boxers, flopping right onto my makeshift massage table. “Ready, Glinda the Good Witch. Work your magic on me.”

I toss my phone onto the pillow and climb over him, sitting down on his thighs because I’m too lazy to stand.

I get straight to work, pouring some warm oil along his spine and slowly working it into his muscles. He’s tense, likely sore from playing a kick-ass game tonight, so I take it easy to start but press into him a little firmer as I go on.

I’m almost positive he’s fallen asleep after about ten minutes of nothing but his deep, even breaths, but then he lets out a satisfied moan.

“You should be paid for this,” he mumbles, his face half pressed into the towel beneath him. “I mean, not from me but…”

I chuckle and press the tips of my fingers along his spine, working up and down. “In another life, I would totally open a day spa.”

“Why not in this life?”

I shrug, trying not to think about what it could mean for me if I didn’t choose a career that allowed me time with little ones, and press my palms into the space below his shoulders, kneading out the knot there.

Brady groans long and loud, and I smile to myself. “You’re too sweet to be so mean with your hands twenty-four seven, aren’t you?”

“Ha!” I mock and Brady laughs, but it’s quickly cut off when I dig my knuckles along the tension line in his shoulder blade, his sharp hiss following. Biting back a laugh, I bend down, whispering in his ear. “You were saying?”

“I take it back. You’re not Glinda. You’re Maleficent. Evil, evil woman.”

I do laugh now, easing my touch and gliding my hands down, collecting a little more of the oil and sliding back up until my fingers are curling around the front of his shoulders. I skate them out and down his biceps, then back again.

“Jesus. No I take it all back. You’re not allowed to be a massage lady. Stick to the hot kindergarten-teacher thing. None of you girls are ever doing this professionally. This shit is bonerfide.”

“Bona what?”

“Boner. Fide. As in boner inducing. As in dudes will be getting hard anytime you?—”

“I think I get it.” I smile, shaking my head.

“Honestly, I only took that class this summer because I was bored. Ari stayed with Noah most of the time, and you guys were doing all your offseason training shit, so when Paige told me about the little studio near hers offering it right there in Oceanside, I figured why not. We signed up that same day.”

“So what you’re telling me is I should tell Chase that Paige has magic hands too?”

My mouth gapes and I slap him, sliding off his ass so I’m beside him and can meet his eye, a laugh bubbling up my throat. “Oh my. Shit, I fucking knew it! He wants to bone her down, doesn’t he?”

Brady’s whole body shakes with his chuckle, and he shifts, lifting an arm and tugging me up higher so we’re face-to-face.

“I mean that’s the vibe I get, and I can usually tell when someone’s fuck meter is full, but I mean, if I asked him, he’d probably say he more wants to strangle her than straddle her. ”

“And because you’re a fantastic fucking friend, you would then remind him that that very frame of mind will lead to the best of sex.” I smile wide .

Brady coughs and releases me, pushing up and swinging his legs off the bed. “What are friends for, right?”

Why does that sound so evasive?

I push up into a sitting position, meeting his eyes when he glances at me over his shoulder.

“Come on, girl. Let’s get some food and get to the party before all the good beer is gone.”

I roll my eyes but do as he says. “We’re in college, Brady. There is no such thing as good beer.”

I slide my boots back on, checking myself quickly in the long mirror as Brady pulls on some pants and tugs a T-shirt over his head. He runs his fingers through his golden-boy, dirty-blond hair and gives his head a little shake.

“Do you even have to try and get laid, or do girls just fall from the sky and land on your dick?”

“What the fuck?” Brady laughs, looking up at me as he drops down to put on his shoes.

“You’re like hot jock mixed with the naughty pool boy. Like Scott Eastwood, the Suicide Squad and The Longest Ride versions mashed together. But somehow even hotter.”

“Somehow, huh?” He climbs to his feet, making a show of running his hands down his torso and doing a little stripper hip roll.

“Okay, Magic Mike. Save it for the dance floor.” I head for the door, and Brady reaches past me, tugging it open.

Once outside, I let out a little yawn and Brady laughs, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. “Food first?”

“Food first.”

The two of us head over to the small pizza place across the road, and just as we’re walking through the doors, the others call, saying they’re starving too.

Forty-five minutes later, we’re sitting on the patio of the place with our best friends, a couple pitchers of beer being passed between us and three empty pizza trays .

We never make it to the party.

And I forget to remember that this time last year, I was like Ari and Payton and had a man I considered my own.

I’m oh for two at college.

Here’s to hoping junior year won’t make it three.