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Still, you can’t let her in.
Camille plates the sandwiches before taking a seat at the island instead of going back to her bedroom. When she gives me a hopeful glance, I step closer and sit across from her.
She waits for me to take a bite before she picks up half of her sandwich. After chewing and swallowing, she asks, “Don’t you get lonely keeping people at a distance?”
Without hesitating, I answer, “No.”
Having people you care about gives your enemies something to target.
“I always considered myself an introvert until I met you,” she mentions.
Our eyes lock, and almost a minute passes before she glances down at her plate.
“So, with you in my space, day and night, how are we going to handle things if I go on a date or decide to bring a man back to my place?”
Christ.
She lets out an awkward chuckle, “I’d lose my shit if you burst into my bedroom while I’m…busy.”
There’s a weird sensation in my chest, and it makes my temper flare.
I know what I’m asking is unreasonable, but I can’t stop the request. “Maybe you could take a break from dating while I’m around.”
So I don’t kill an innocent fucker because I didn’t like you moaning his name.
“What if it takes months or a year before the threat is dealt with?”
Then I’m royally fucked.
It’s one thing keeping my distance from Camille for a couple of weeks, but it’s a different beast being around her for months.
I’ll get used to having her around.
I’ll start caring about her.
And eventually, I’ll give in and lower my guard.
Avoiding the problem, I say, “Let’s take things one week at a time.”
She nods and takes the last bite of her sandwich. Instead of leaving the plate on the counter, she places it in the dishwasher.
“You don’t have to keep the place spotless,” I mention. When she gives me a skeptical look, I add, “I want you to be at home in your place.”
Her features soften as she stares at me. “Thank you for trying, Max. I appreciate it.”
I nod before loading my plate in the dishwasher.
“Would you like to watch TV with me?” she suddenly asks. “I have snacks if you need an incentive.”
Automatically the corner of my mouth lifts. “I’d say yes if you had beer. I don’t care much for snacks.”
Lifting her hand to her chin, she taps her pointer finger against her bottom lip. “Hmm… I don’t have beer, but I have whiskey.”
“You have a deal,” I chuckle.
Emotion washes over Camille’s face, and it looks like she’s a second away from crying. She quickly turns around and rushes toward the liquor cabinet in the living room.
Christ, this is all she wanted.
