“So you picked him up?” he asks, relaxing into his bed a little more, looking like he may need a nap soon.
“I did.” I pick up the clipboard and slide off the bed, adjusting the blanket that slid along with me. “And he apologized. I just . . . I'm not sure if it was only because he'd been drinking.”
“I guess you won't know until youtalk with him. It may take him time to realize you really care about him and have his back, Jaz.” His lips tip up into a gentle smile. “Just talk with him,” he repeats.
“I will,” I tell him, squeezing his hand. “Thank you for listening. I better get back to work. And you need to rest.”
“Anytime you need.” He yawns. “I'll see you later.”
“Goodnight,” I whisper.
“Night, Jaz.”
I'm drained by the time I leave work and would love nothing more than to fall into my bed when I get home, but I told Cam I'd take him to pick up his car and would rather do that sooner than later.
I text him to see if he wants to go right away and he texts me back that he'll be waiting on the curb.
I spot him standing there as I pull onto his street and take in his appearance as I pull up in front of him, scanning over the black sweat pants that hang low on his hips, tight black t-shirt that sits taut across his chest, and biceps that test the strength of the fabric trying to keep them contained. Messy hair falls carelessly above a pensive face, with dark circles under his eyes, an angry bruise on his cheek, and a cut on his lip and above his eyebrow.
He doesn't have to look his best or even make an effort, and he still manages to look sexy and mouth-watering.
Once he's taken a seat in the passenger side and then turns his face toward me, I can see the uncertainty in his silver eyes. He's just as unsure of how I'll behave now that he's not under the influence as I am of him. I thought by now he'd know how much I care about him, but maybe Walter was right in that he hasn't realized it yet. After all, he thought losing his job would disappoint me.
“Hey,” I greet him warmly, attempting to placate any doubts or fears he may have.
He offers a small smile in return while clicking his seatbelt on. “Hey.”
But then he turns to face the other way and avoids my gaze, causing my face to drop.
Strangling the steering wheel and gnawing on my bottom lip, my mind races with a million thoughts as I begin driving. No other words are exchanged between us on the drive, and the silence is almost deafening.
Has he been rethinking everything now that he's sober?
Is he going to end things with me?
Once we arrive, I hesitantly turn off the engine, squinting against the afternoon sun shining off the dash, whileCam simply stares out the window.
Walter's voice telling me to “just talk to him”startsechoing through my head. Wordssit at the tip of my tongue, waiting to spill past my lips, but when I finally build up the nerve, opening my mouth to say something, Cam turns to me and speaks instead.
“Jaz, I'm so fucking sorry about last night and then the shit from early this morning. I had a bad day yesterday, and I let it get to me and then took it out on you. Then the shit at the race happened . . . I'm sorry for all of it. You don't deserve any of it.”
I swallow down the lump in my throat as relief courses through my veins. “I thought you were going to tell me something else. You were avoiding looking at me the whole way here.”
This time it's his face that drops. “No. I was just trying to think of the right words to say, but fuck, nothing seemed like enough.” He reaches for my hand and brings it to his mouth, holding it there for a few seconds while he brushes his lips back and forth over my skin, his eyes pleading with me. “I'm so sorry.”
Of course, my needy heart flutters in my chest, and the stress of the last twenty-four hours starts melting away at his touch. This is the guy I was hoping for. The one I was worried about not seeing when I first picked him up and he had turned away from me.
“It's okay,” I tell him softly, resting my head against the headrest. “I get that you were upset about your job.” He averts his eyes for a moment, and I briefly think about what the rest of the story was that he never got to finish. But then my mind is flicking to something else, and I smile. “As for this morning . . . well, you were kind of cute and funny.”
“Cute and funny?” he questions, turning back to me with a quirked brow, still holding my hand close to his mouth. “What did I do?”
His question is, unfortunately, another reminder of just how drunk he was, enough that he doesn't remember everything. But dwelling on that right now won't do us any good, and I don't want to make him feel worse and have him push me away again. So, I grin back at him.
“Well, for starters, you were trying to cover my legs with your arms.”
His gray eyes move around as if searching for the memory, and then when he finds it and latches on, his eyes spark. “Oh yeah. Those fucking tiny-ass shorts. I'd have never let you wear them around those guys, or any other man, really.”
I chuckle. “Well, at three a.m my thought process wasn't as sharp. I just didn't want to stand out in that crowd.”
