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I scoop out a piece of a broken ice cream cone and pop it into my mouth. “Well, I guess I’ll see him in class Monday, but no idea about a second date. He did make sure I know that he intends to take me out again, though.” Just talking about it gets me excited.
Emree sets her ice cream down and comes to sit beside me, putting her slender arms around my shoulders. “I know taking this step has been hard, but I need you to know how unbelievably proud of you I am.” She squeezes my shoulders. “You probably don’t see it like I do, but you have come such a long way even from last year, Blaire. You rarely have any nightmares now, you’re opening yourself up to more people, you’redating. This is going to be a good year. I can already feel it.”
She goes back to where she was sitting, and we finish off our ice creams, talking about her night staying with Conrad and how much she likes him. I notice that she hasn’t mentioned him asking her out or saying they’re together. They have been sleeping together since the party at the house he shares with Camden, but other than hooking up, it doesn’t seem like there is more to it. I can tell by how Emree talks about Conrad that she likes him a lot and I worry it is going to be more for her than it is for him.
It’s late by the time we are done talking and I’m exhausted from the long day out. After tossing out my ice cream carton, I head to bed and leave Emree on the couch to continue her studying.
Once I’m changed into my sleep shorts and tank top, I snuggle into bed with the book I brought on my date and can’t help but think of Camden and our day together. As I drift to sleep, I think of his breath against my face, his face coming close to mine, and him planting his lips on my cheek.
* * *
The Monday morningfollowing my date with Camden, I put a little more effort into how I look. It is an early class and I usually wear my staple outfit of jeans and a T-shirt, much like many of my other classmates. Today I’m wearing a loose pair of jeans with shredded holes strategically placed on them and a loose-fitted light pink blouse tucked into the front of my pants. I paired it with my Nike white sneakers. I have even applied some lip gloss and mascara.
Camden and I texted back and forth a little yesterday, but no mention of when we would go out again. We talked on the phone last night and he asked me about my favorite foods, movies, and TV shows. It was nice simply talking to each other about everything and nothing. He told me his favorite food was a cheeseburger and fries (specifically Checker’s fries) and chicken and waffles. His favorite movie isThe Dark Night, but that is the only DC Comic movie he enjoys, and his favorite TV show isSons of Anarchy.
As I walk into class, I smile when I see Camden sitting at our table. He is usually walking in just as class is starting, but now he is about ten minutes early. Two cups of coffee from the café on campus sit in front of him and as I approach, I take in the strong smell.
“Good morning,” he says as I take my seat. “I got you a caramel macchiato with a shot of espresso.”
After taking my seat, I reach for the cup and breathe in the delicious smell. “You remembered my order.” Taking notes on something simple like how I take my coffee warms my heart.
“Of course I did.” He takes a sip from his own cup and reaches forward to grasp my hand. He brings it to his mouth, leaving a lingering kiss on the back of my hand. “How was your night? Had any naughty dreams about me?” he jokes.
I roll my eyes and remove my hand from his hold and shove his shoulder. “Oh my gosh, sweet moment over. You’re ridiculous.” I’m laughing along with him because the joking question caught me off guard.
“Aw, baby,” he whispers, “I know I live free in your thoughts and dreams. There’s no need to get shy about it.” He throws his arm over my shoulders and places a kiss to the side of my head.
I shrug him off just as our professor comes in. He looks between Camden and me and raises an eyebrow. Professor Darfman turns away and tells us we are having a pop quiz. Everyone groans, including the man sitting beside me.
As he passes out our quizzes, the sound of punching calculators and pencils scribbling against paper fills the room. Camden takes a large gulp of his coffee after the paper is dropped on the table and he stares down at it like it has offended him.
Even though math is my strongest subject, I would have to say this pop quiz has got to be one of the more difficult ones I have taken. After answering the first two of fifteen questions, I feel something gliding along my knee and look down to see Camden’s hand resting there. When I look up at him, he is completely focused on the test in front of him and not paying attention to what his hand is doing to me.
After answering two more questions, the hand on my knee becomes too much as he slowly rubs his thumb in one of the holes exposing my skin. It’s warm and if we were anywhere but in our classroom taking a quiz, I may enjoy his light touches. “You’re distracting me,” I whisper to him.
In my peripheral, I can see him smile, but he does not say anything. The thumb continues to move back and forth and back and forth until I reach down and slap my hand on top of his. “Stop.” There isn’t much fight in how I say it because I like his hand being there, but I need to focus on my test.
Professor Darfman’s head shoots up. “No talking,” he says with a stern look across the classroom. Camden reluctantly removes his hand and I now have a clear mind to ace this quiz, although I do somewhat miss him there.
Ten minutes go by, and our professor announces that once we are finished with our quizzes, we can turn them in to him and are excused from class. As I’m answering question after question, I get more confident with my answers.
Thirty minutes later and after reviewing my answers, I get up from the seat with my backpack strapped to my shoulder. Professor Darfman barely acknowledges me as I drop my test off and head out of the classroom.
Since class ended early and I don’t have another one for a couple of hours, I sit on the bench outside the door to wait for Camden. With my copy ofThe Confidence of Wildflowersin hand, I sit back and get comfortable while I wait.
It isn’t long before a large body drops itself beside me. “I think he enjoys our torture,” Camden tells me, letting out an exaggerated breath.
“Aw, it wasn’t so bad,” I say, reassuring him with a pat on his thigh. “He is only preparing us for the final exam, which you know will be ten times worse.”
“Ugh, don’t remind me. It’s months away and I’m already dreading it.” Camden rubs his palms along his thighs and stands. “When’s your next class? Want to grab some breakfast?”
After tucking my paperback into my backpack, I stand beside him, and he takes my hand. “Sure, I have a couple hours.” And we head out the door toward the café.
15
CAMDEN
On Wednesday afternoon, I’m sitting outside of Blaire’s last class of the day with some weird pink drink from Starbucks she said is one of her favorites from there. I felt embarrassed ordering it, and even more so as I walked across campus from the parking lot with it in my hand.
