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Cameron’s Mac: You’re the most beautiful chipmunk I’ve ever seen.
Tears of pain and humiliation filled my eyes. I lowered my head, pulling my beanie down as he stood in all his man-splendor, peering down at me, dimples blazing. He placed his Create, Hustle, Repeat cup next to mine then opened his Mac on
my table before taking the seat opposite me. I’d been hiding in the ivy plant section among the older, less used cups. He extended a soft pink buttercup toward me, and I took the flower. I moved to type a thank you, but he stilled my hands.
“Tank you, uh, Denbist,” I pushed out between the bloody cotton.
“Dentist? Wisdom teeth?” he whispered, his voice full of concern.
Hastily, I nodded and typed in an attempt to silence him.
Abbie’s Mac: I forgot I had an appointment. But we don’t need to break our routine. Please. Things are going so well.
“Abbie,” he pleaded, commanding my eyes before he slowly reached across the table, tugging my hand away from the keyboard. I closed my eyes as he laced our fingers, his touch jarring me. I knew I looked like death—pale, jaw pounding, and mouth overstuffed with bloody gauze. Chin wobbling, I was visibly shaking from the pain because the Novocain was wearing off by the second.
“You’re hurting. Did you take anything for the pain?” I shook my head and tried to pull my hand away from the comfort of his so I could explain.
“No,” he said, condemning me while stroking my skin with his fingers. “Not today. Give me your phone,” he commanded. I pulled it out of my purse as he grabbed a napkin from the dispenser on the table next to us and wiped some drool from my mouth. I felt helpless against the pain-induced tear that trickled down my cheek.
“I dibn’t have time to geb my perscibion filbed. I nind’t wan to not show up and you tink de worst.” I shook my head in frustration at my inability to finally talk to him. “Thib is cruel. Let’s twype.”
He chuckled as he gently wiped at the corners of my mouth.
“Abbie, there’s the chink in our armor, okay? We need to loosen up the rules a bit.” He grabbed my phone, held it out for me to unlock it, and when I did, he typed in his info. When he gave it back, I did my best to hide my grimace.
“Okay?”
“Otay,” I said around a mouthful of disadvantage.
He reached for both hands and slid his fingers slowly through mine. My heart seized from his touch alone, but the look in his eyes was enough to have mine watering again, but for a different reason.
It was all there. I was his girl and I was hurting, and it hurt him to see me that way. That’s what I saw, felt, and knew.
“Can I take you home?” he asked as he slid the pads of his thumbs over the top of my hands.
I shook my head. “I don’t live faw. Bree is combing.”
“I’ll wait with you.”
Minutes later, and driven by a need to get closer, I was comfortably resting in Cameron’s arms in the booth surrounded by trickling ivy. It was a different world from the one we’d both grown comfortable in. His clean-scented cologne surrounded me as I sat nestled against his tall frame. I fit perfectly in his strong arms, with one hand resting on his chest, his head tilted down as he spoke softly to me.
He spared me from talking by telling me a little about his week. He had met a few of his favorite jocks, who were shooting a commercial for a new line of sportswear his stores carried. I wasn’t much for sports, but I was one hundred percent for the man who spoke with childlike enthusiasm about his personal rock stars.
He also told me that he’d started watching Mindhunter—a show about two FBI agents delving into the psychology of murder. I knew my slow building, drool-filled smile looked goofy, but I couldn’t, for the life of me, stop it. He’d taken an interest in something that fascinated me. He kept his tone low, and his deep baritone whisper was as soothing as the hand that covered mine on his chest. The timbre of his voice lulled me into a stupor as I tried to keep my aching and stretched mouth closed. Cameron stroked my fingers delicately as I peered up at him. Head tilted back, I memorized the fullness of his lips, noted a faint white scar at the edge of his temple, and the fan of his dark lashes. He was, without a doubt, the most attractive man I’d ever dated.
I found myself needing to make sure that was the case. I wanted more. I was ready. My gut, heart, and my mind, for the first time in a year, were in agreement. And I wanted him to know our relationship had turned into more. I didn’t, for any reason, want it to be less than the beginning of something between us.
Want was quickly turning into need as he cradled me and paused his story to gauge my expression. He had to have seen it all there, but I decided to try to verbalize it anyway. “Cambron,” I whispered.
Thank you for waiting.
You’re so perfect.
I want you so bad.
Does this feel as good to you?
Gently cupping my jaw, he leaned down and spoke, a centimeter from my lips, and addressed my unspoken thoughts. “Me too.” He rubbed his thumb across my lower lip. “I can’t wait to take you away from here, anywhere.” His deep green eyes scoured my features and landed longingly on my mouth as he slipped my beanie off and ran his fingers through the hair at the back of my neck. “And kiss these lips.”
