I’m no longer cold. Warmth floods my system, so hot and comforting thatIfeel drowsy with it.
“Bonus puer,Cameron.Tam perfectus,”I groan, finally releasing us and sitting up to my full height.
Good boy, Cameron. So perfect.
And it’s true. Cameronisa good boy when he wants to be.
The edges of my vision begin to blacken, and as I stare down at Cameron’s sleeping body, I drink the sight in greedily.
I won’t be seeing it again in the real world, after all.
As I wake, the light trickling in from the window, I take in a deep breath.
Clearly, my subconscious wants something I can’t have. That dream of Cameron and me circles my brain as I sit up, plucking the fallen earplugs from the sheets next to me and setting them on my nightstand.
Most of it makes sense. The dream, I mean. Wanting him, taking him, praising him. Whatdoesn’tmake sense is the Latin, the mentions of another man, and the way my body was discolored and out of reach. But dreams are funny like that, and if I’m honest, I’m just happy to see him again. To feel him.
Yesterday was hard. Hearing his pleading and apologizing, and not giving in, nearly killed me. It’s probably best I stay away from him at all costs, the way I have been the past few years, but part of me knows that won’t be happening. If I find out he’s with someone else, if I get him in my sights again, I might lose it.
Does he really love me? Is it possible, given how he spoke about me before? And what did he mean by saying that he only said it because he was afraid of losing me? It doesn’t make any sense.
Everything between us has gotten muddy and confusing, dragging me under waves of misery.
I wish I could go back in time, to before that stupid party, and hold him again with a clear conscience and no doubt in the world that he was mine.
But I can’t, and now I’m a broken, miserable thing who can only comfortably have him in my dreams.
With a sigh, I rub at my face and look around my empty quarters.
But all thoughts of Cameron leave me as my gaze falls onto the muddy, discarded sneakers in the corner of the room.
Someone has dirtied my things again.
Someone else has been in my room.
Cameron
21
GROUND CENTRAL IS PRETTYbusy, being dinner time and all. They have some decent signature sandwiches.
I sit with nothing in front of me, though, as Mom shook me down for more cash than normal this morning, and Cassie is too irritated with me to buy me a Chai latte.
She sits across from me with her blue eyes zoned in on her own coffee, her body language telling the entire table that she’s not as happy-go-lucky as normal.
Kim is telling our little group a story, embarrassing Michael with mentions of his acting like a brat at home.
“You make me sound so childish,” Mikey counters, rolling his eyes to hide his blush. “Keep it up and you’re banned from the game on Sunday.”
“You can’t do that,” Kim says dismissively. “Only Carl can, and as far as I’m concerned, your rag-tag group of testosterone-pumped men needs my five dollars.”
“Ouch! You gonna let her bash us like this, Cam?” Michael asks, turning his attention to me.
I shrug, forcing a smile. “I have no control over Kim; no one does.”
“Damn straight!” She grins, taking another sip of her coffee.
“Are you guys excited?” Hailey questions, her kind eyes flickering between us men on the other side of the table.
