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Cameron’s Mac: Okay.
Abbie’s Mac: Okay?
He gave me a small smile, despite his worry etched features.
Cameron’s Mac: Love your cup.
I lifted the mug up that read You are the luckiest guy in the world. I would love to be dating me. and gave him a wistful grin.
Abbie’s Mac: Don’t blame me for all the bedding. You know I’ve never been this horny in my adult life. You’ve changed me.
Cameron’s Mac: I’m proud my new girlfriend is insatiable. Who knew you were such a pervert?
Abbie’s Mac: Your wicked tongue drew it out of me. I have to say I’m just as surprised as you are.
Cameron’s Mac: Spread your legs a little, baby.
My lips parted at his candor, but I didn’t hesitate to show him my lacy, bright pink panties.
Cameron’s Mac: Nice.
Abbie’s Mac: They’d look better on my floor.
Cameron scanned the café. We were mostly alone in our section. And those sitting in it had their heads buried in their devices.
Cameron’s Mac: Move them to the side.
Abbie’s Mac: What happened to getting back to the basics of us?
Cameron’s eyes stayed heated as he adjusted his cock and began to type.
My movement stopped as he kept his eyes glued to my hand that slipped beneath the table before I pushed my panties to the side.
Cameron’s Mac: Fuuuuuuck.
I was tempted to type with one hand.
Abbie’s Mac: Say the word and we can be at my place in minutes.
Cameron’s Mac: Abbie . . .
Abbie’s Mac: I keep thinking about the night in the back of the limo. I want a repeat.
I licked my lips to show which part of said indiscretion I was talking about.
Cameron’s Mac: Jesus. You will be my undoing. Behave yourself.
Abbie’s Mac: Too bad.
Since the winter formal, we’d done nothing but feast on the other, and even on Super Bowl Sunday—a day Cameron donned a holiday—it took a back seat to our thirst.
We’d managed to catch the end of the game at Pint—a local pub on Milwaukee Ave and Cameron’s favorite—with Bree and Anthony. But upon our disheveled arrival, they both knew what we’d been up to.
With my family, Super Bowl Sunday together was tradition due to my dad’s fandom, and my brother was more than peeved when I told him my whereabouts.
“All that guilt about keeping with the family and you ditch Gorman tradition to slum it where?”
“Pint, it’s a little pub in Wicker. Cameron’s favorite.”
