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Out in the hallway, I keep my gaze trained on the door to my office. It feels like it’s a thousand yards away rather than thirty feet. When I get inside, I do something I never do—close the door behind me. I hate that it makes the room stuffy, so I always leave it open, but today it can stay closed long enough for Cameron Fairway and his huge cock to pass by.
Letting out a long breath, I shake my head as I settle into my chair. Ridiculous. I’m being ridiculous. Even for me.
Waking up my computer, I check the time out of habit. Eleven-oh-three.
Three minutes after?
I had three minutes until the top of the hour when I left Mark. That means it took six minutes for me to make my way to the bathroom, everything that happened in the bathroom, and make my way back.
I can see a flood of new emails in my inbox, but try as I might to focus on them, I can’t. My OCD has taken over, making my mind churn with ‘urinal math’, so I give up and run through the calculations.
Okay. Thirty seconds to walk from Mark to the restroom. Next, I fixed my hair—that took maybe a minute. It was probably another minute that I spent walking to the urinal and doing my thing before Cameron came in. Let’s throw in thirty awkward seconds of either of us not pissing before I… got distracted.
That’s what? Three minutes.
Alright. The incident is the unknown here. Breezing over that for now.
I washed my hands—another thirty seconds. The walk back to my office—another minute.
That’s a total of four and a half minutes. I have one and a half minutes that aren’t accounted for.
No.
No, I did not gape at my boss’ son’s giant trouser snake for ninety seconds. Fuck. I am a peeper.
CHAPTER 4
Cameron
Home should make you feel like you’re home. While I haven’t been living at my parents’ house for almost a year now, and only during college breaks prior to my internship, it’s still the house I grew up in. As I sit in the dining room, however, I realize I get no feeling of “home” whenever I’m here. Dinner hasn’t even begun yet, and I’m already longing for my couch and plush throw blanket.
Waiting on Dad and Travis to join us, I watch my mother as she chats from across the table to Travis’ wife, Violet. Seated next to my mother, Randy is busy scrolling through his phone, occasionally nodding at something his latest girlfriend, Samantha, says.
I’m not sure why he brings women to these family meals if he never looks interested in them. I almost pity them, but Samantha doesn’t look dissuaded. She’s been here several times before, so she should know what to expect from my stalwart brother by now.
To my left, Travis and Violet’s five-year-old daughter is giving out orders to an invisible royal staff that, from the sounds of it, can do nothing to appease Queen Penelope. I realize my usual location next to her in the seating arrangement means I’m basically at the equivalent of the kids’ table. When baby number-two comes along for Travis and Violet, I assume I’ll have to move down one more chair. Honestly, that’s fine by me. The further away I am from my father, the greater the chance I’ll be able to fly under the radar.
Glancing up at the high ceiling, I stare as though everyone’s echoes will manifest images of them in the air. I always hated how the wasted space made the room feel too large, or maybe it’s because it makes me feel insignificant.
Travis and Dad walk in from the den, so immersed in their conversation that they don’t even spare a glance to anyone else when they sit down. Like clockwork, Mom waggles her fingers in the air. I catch a trace of movement at the doorway to the kitchen, telling me the diligent Leonora was waiting for her signal. I honestly don’t know if any member of my family knows how to cook, or if I should feel defective for probably being the only one of them who ponders such things.
Mom returns to her conversation with Violet, but I catch her periodic glances at Dad like a puppy, awaiting attention. He has forever been the pinnacle of her focus—so much so that it often makes me pity her. There might as well be no one else in the room. I truly don’t understand why she insists on these family dinners when he likely wouldn’t be broken-hearted to miss them. Sometimes I think it’s her way of trying to remind him of her achievements. She created a family for him—whether he cares to be a part of it or not.
As everyone converses with everyone but me, my invisibility doesn’t feel like a cone of shame for once, but rather a blessing. It gives me the chance to explore my preoccupied thoughts.
I have a shiny new secret. Instead of it feeling like carrying around a grenade that would implode my world like my other secret, it’s giving me life.
He looked at me. Pete Carver looked at me.
My face heats, remembering the second I walked into the restroom today and spotted his big frame standing at the urinals. Those broad shoulders of his fill a suit like football pads. I’ve seen businessmen my entire life—some were handsome in one way or another, but none were ‘everywhere handsome’. Not like him.
I was so nervous. I didn’t even need to take a leak, but I didn’t want to miss an opportunity to interact with him. I’m done missing opportunities, though. That was the old Cameron.
I wasn’t sure if my forced courage was worth it at first. He looked at me like he’d never seen me before when I said hello. To make matters worse, I was half hard just from the sight of him and his scent.
Public restrooms always smell like urinal mints and bleach or worse, but all that my senses could focus on was his clean, fresh scent. He smelled like a shower, inconveniently making me think of him in a shower, bidding me to join him where he would teach me things.
“Cameron, sweetie?” Mom’s voice interrupts my recall. “How’s the apartment treating you? Do you need me to take you furniture shopping, or did you finally find a decent sofa?”
