Page 38 of Effortless

Camilla cleared her throat. “Friends, then.”

He brought out a package from behind his back, and Camilla’s smile grew at the sight of what he held in his hand.

A small cupcake with one single candle on the top.

“Someone might have let me know it’s your birthday today, but you didn’t want to do anything for it because—”

“I was in classes all day,” she interjected with a wave at the school behind her.

“Understandable. You must be studying nursing, right?”

“The end goal is to be a NICU nurse,” Camilla admitted.

“I didn’t know that, but it seems like it would fit your personality.”

“You think you know my personality?”

“You’ve given me some peeks at it despite the fact you tried to blow me off,” he replied.

She shot him an apologetic look. “Except here you are.”

Tom flashed a grin and held the cupcake out for her. “With cake. Happy birthday, Camilla.”

She came close enough to take the cupcake, and looked it over. “I’m really not looking for a relationship, Tom. That’s why I blew you off, okay? Not because you’re just good for a fuck, or anything else. I don’t want to get involved with someone like that.”

“I’m not asking for a relationship, Cam.”

“No?”

He shook his head.

“Just a friend.”

She smiled. “A friend, then.”

“Eat your cake. All queens should have their cake, Cam.”

She did.

He took the whole day as a battle won.

CHAPTER SIX

“WHY IS Cami girl pouting in the corner like somebody took away her puppy or something?”

It was Camilla or Cam to anyone else in her life, but at the salon she used along with August, the ladies always called her Cami. At first, she had tried to correct them, but found it didn’t make a difference. Honestly, she quickly learned that nicknames were the way these stylists showed they liked a person. It was when they didn’t give a client a nickname that a person had to be concerned about a missed clip, or a fucked up fade.

August was currently half way through getting her micro braids put in—a protective style she would keep for likely the whole winter. They had already been at the salon for going on four hours, and would probably be there for another few.

Camilla didn’t mind. The salon was one of her favorite places, and Chilla’s Styles was the only business she allowed to touch her hair now. The ladies knew how to work any kind of hair, weren’t afraid to tell Camilla she was going to lose all her hair if she didn’t relax with the chemicals, and August had been going here for years.

“Seriously, look at her,” Chilla said as she finished another micro braid on August’s head. “She’s all sad over there—she’s got a new pink fade, a blow out, and she might as well be boohooing.”

“I am not,” Camilla said.

“Girl, don’t you lie to Chilla. I’ve known you since you were sixteen, Cami. You’re all smiles whenever you get your hair done up.”

Camilla scowled, and looked out the window. She was not in the mood to talk. Well … really, she just didn’t want to talk about what was bothering her.