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Fuck me all the way to next Monday.
“That means it’d be the same if we…if we were together again. Doesn’t it?”
His breathy confession hangs in the captive air between us.
Together.
Again.
Connected.
My presence alone has him turned on? I’m a fucking corn dog that Cameron Fairway wants his mouth wrapped around again. In the history of ideas, it’s the most terrible idea of all. I’d never recover.
The floor bell chimes, signaling our impending freedom. His eyes dart worriedly to the door, and his shoulders slump.
“Or is it just me?” he asks dejectedly.
Something greedy and dangerous rises in my throat as the doors open. Something unrepentant and reckless that refuses to be the one to disappoint him in a world of disappointment.
“Six o’clock.”
CHAPTER 9
Cameron
Trying to tamp down my racing heartbeat, I knock on the door to Pete’s house. I’m still spun up after my verbal diarrhea in the elevator today. I can’t believe I said the things I did, but at the same time, being blunt may have paid off. He invited me over again. That has to mean something. Right?
The door opens, convincing me I’m fully unprepared. He’s lost his jacket and tie, wearing only one of his crisp, white dress shirts and fitted navy slacks. The top two buttons are undone, exposing some dark, wiry curls on his chest. I am officially a fan of chest hair.
When I stop gawking, I notice he’s on his cell phone, frowning at me. Crap. Be more obvious, Cam.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “Should I come back—”
He gestures with his head for me to enter, so I scramble inside like it’s a train pulling away from the station. I don’t know what’s in store for me, but there’s nowhere else I’d rather be right now.
His house is minimalistic, but as absolutely pristine as it was last time. If he has a maid, I’m envious of them getting to smell this concentrated source of ‘Pete smell’.
I tug out of my shoes and set them on the rug by the door. Judging by Pete’s tone, I assume his call is about work. Do Randy and my dad know how diligent he is?
“No,” he says sternly over the phone. “The goal of unlike denominators is to find their least common denominator. Yes. The bottom numbers. Those are the denominators.”
He paces to his island counter, glancing over at me, so I follow. Do his workers have to do fractions?
Reaching into his back pocket, he pulls out his wallet and sets a credit card next to a stack of takeout menus. Tapping them with his finger, he presses his phone against his chest.
“Order whatever you want. I need to finish this call and take a shower. Use my card.”
I’m about to ask if he wants anything but see that there is a dish circled on each menu, along with plenty of selections that have been crossed out. One even has a comment next to it, ‘Three days of heartburn.’
That’s… specific.
“Okay, so if three and five are your denominators, we need to find the lowest number that both of those can go into. Mm hm. Multiplication. Yeah.” He nods, pausing on his way toward a hall that leads to the rest of the house. “Correct. Good. Yeah, well, that’s why you call Uncle Pete instead of asking your mom.”
Glancing over his shoulder at me, his cheeks go crimson over his dark stubble. I nod, holding up a random menu to let him know I got his message and am in no way eavesdropping.
‘Uncle Pete.’ If he’s helping a niece or nephew through fractions over the phone, that might be the cutest thing ever. Domesticated superhero and a gentleman. I won the lottery.
When his firm backside disappears down the hallway, I stop drooling and try to occupy myself. I’ve just been left unattended in his house with his credit card. If that doesn’t say trust, I don’t know what does. And here I was worried he only invited me over to let me down gently in private.
