Page 33 of What Should Have Been Ours

Before she can say anything else, Cam reaches us, his eyes never leaving mine as he steps closer.

And then, without hesitation, he pulls me into a hug.

His arms are warm and solid, and I try not to melt into him. He smells like clean laundry, faint cologne, and the outdoors.

And I hate how much I love it.

“Hey,” he murmurs against my hair.

“Hey,” I say back, my voice smaller than I want it to be.

He pulls back, but his hands linger on my arms for half a second longer before he turns to Kinsley.

“You must be the best friend,” he says, offering a hand. “Cam.”

Kinsley takes his hand, shaking it firmly. Then, without missing a beat, she smirks.

“Kinsley,” she says, introducing herself. “Man, I can’t believe I’m finally meeting the Cam.”

“The Cam, huh?” he asks, raising a brow and glancing at me with a slow smile.

I glare at Kinsley, who is way too pleased with herself. “She doesn’t mean anything by that.”

“Oh no, I think he knows what I’m implying,” Kinsley says, grinning. “You should hear how much she talks about you. I was starting to think you were imaginary for a while.”

I groan, covering my face. “I hate you.”

Kinsley winks. “Love you too, babe.”

Cam chuckles, crossing his arms. “Didn’t know I was such a hot topic of conversation.”

I shoot Kinsley a look before mumbling, “You’re really not.”

Kinsley hums. “Mmm, denial is a river, babe!” she shouts as she walks away, “I’ll give you two a moment while I go introduce myself to the walking definition of ‘tall, dark, and distraction-worthy’ over here,” leaving me alone with Cam.

I’m regretting ever bringing that girl already.

“Oh no,” he says, looking over, “she’s talking about Wes.”

Cam shakes his head, laughing a little as if he can already see the train wreck happening.

“That’s Wes?” I say, looking over at where he’s standing, gawking a little.

Why do hot people always have friends who are just as hot?

“Okay, eyes over here, Gab, don’t make me jealous of my own best friend.”

I roll my eyes, crossing my arms. “Oh, please. Like you have anything to be jealous of.”

Cam tilts his head slightly, that slow, knowing smile tugging at his lips. “Don’t I?”

I open my mouth to say something…something witty, something dismissive—but the words die before they can leave my lips. Because the way he’s looking at me? Like he wants to show me just how jealous he actually is, makes my stomach flip.

I shake off the image and steer clear of those thoughts. “I think the only people you should be jealous of are the ones I’ll be cheering on when you get tackled out there.”

“You do know there’s actually no real tackling in flag football, right? And what do I have to do to win you over, woman?” he says woundedly.

Well, that’s embarrassing. Obviously, I know nothing about sports.