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“I don’t know, is she?” He stares at me, quizzical and mocking.
It takes me a second to get what he’s saying. “No.”
“Oh good," he says in amusement. "I wouldn’t want to piss you off.”
He's willfully misunderstanding my protest.
“You give no shits about pissing me off," I remind him. "And you didnotbuy me a brand-new freaking Porsche, Camden!”
“It’s not fancy,” he says, almost apologetic, “but figured you’d like it. It’s safer than most. It should be a good first car.”
Is he honestly under the impression I’m complaining about the car not being opulent enough?“Camden, it’s too much! It must have cost—” I actually have no idea how much a luxury vehicle would cost. “Bazillions."
He grins. “Good thing I have bazillions, then.”
"That'sworsethan your normal level of insanity, which is saying a lot. Do I need to call your dad? Make sure he's keeping an eye on your spending.”
"You have my dad's phone number? Should I be worried?"Now he openly mocks me. "Youarejust his type."
"Camden!" I have no words for that suggestion. Shaking my head, I blow out a frustrated breath. “Am I going to pay for it on Friday if I argue about you giving it to me?”
His smile is all shining white teeth. “You’re learning.”
I decide it’s not worth the bother. If I push it, we’ll argue, he’ll win, and then he’ll win again when I’m at his mercy.
“Thank you. Youreallyshouldn’t have. Seriously, if people look at what I own these days, they’d think I’m some rich girl.”
“Is it that bad? Being rich.”
I shrug. “It’s not like I would know.”
“You make it sound like it’s you vs the rest of us, but for the last few months you’ve had access to everything a rich girl would. Are you all that different all of a sudden?”
He doesn't sound defensive, merely curious, so I ponder his questions. “I’m less worried." Not really knowing if I'd be able to make rent if any emergencies cropped up gave me more than my fair share of sleepless nights. Now, I sleep like a baby—for a lot longer, too. I no longer wake up at dawn, restless. Cracking a joke, I add, "Maybe a little fatter, too. I should join a gym.”
“You’d think all your acrobatics would keep you into shape.” Camden's in fine form today with his teasing.
I blush like a schoolgirl and mumble, “That’s only once a week. People are supposed to get a bit more exercise than that.”
“Maybe we should make it twice," he suggests. "For your health, of course.”
Yeah, right.“I wouldn’t survive two days of being your sex slave per week.”
“You’re not a sex slave.If you were, you would be expectedto please me. You'd have to fake loving it, or suffer the consequences. I’m not making you pretend you love the taste of my cum or call me sir. You’re welcome to have your little tantrums, and feign not wanting me. If you want the technicalities, what we’re doing is calledfree use. You’re available for me to use as I see fit, no matter how you feel about it, but other than that, you have complete freedom."
"Ha!" I scoff at his bullshit. "Complete freedom, huh?"
"Watch it, brat." There's no heat to his admonishment.“There’s such a thing as too much of a good thing. I wouldn’t want free use all the time. If I had you a second day, I’d make it a date night. Maybe I can get you to come to my games that way.”
“You want me at your games?” I'm genuinely surprised.
“Of course.” He shrugs like that should have been obvious.
I think I’m starting to get it. In so many ways, Camden has been telling me he wants more than what we have. He wants to see me outside of our agreement. But he’s leaving the ball in my court, not pushing. That’s so against the rest of his behavior, I don’t know what to make of it.
“You date?”
He puts his hands in his pocket. “Plenty of people do it. It can’t be that complicated. Dinner, movie, you against the kitchen counter screaming my name.”
