Page 15 of Playing By The Rules

I go to him as if in a trance, not about to turn down a shot at being hugged by the one and only Camden Fields. I let him pull me into his embrace, sliding my arms around his solid torso, turning my head so my face is pressed into his neck. He wraps his arms around me, his fingers teasing my bare sides, just above my hips, and lord help me, I might pass out just from that singular touch.

“I had to get one more hug out of you before you hate me forever,” he murmurs close to my ear, his moving lips brushing against my sensitive flesh. “I’m a fucking idiot.”

“Yeah, you are.” I pull out of his arms, immediately missing the solid weight of him pressed against me. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

“That’s the problem,” he murmurs, his gaze skimming over me slowly, lingering on the places where I tingle the most. “I’m pretty sure I know exactly what I’m missing.”

We stare at each other for a moment longer until I can’t take it anymore.

I have to get away from him. As Rita would say, stat.

With an annoyed huff, I turn and walk away, holding my head high, my posture perfect. Trying my best to remain composed versus completely falling apart like I really want to do. I take one step in front of the other, moving through the crowd, making my way toward the bathroom, and once I’m in there, I crumple, leaning against the wall and covering my face with my hands.

Taking a deep breath, I drop my hands and scream, startling every single woman that’s in the bathroom with me, and there are a few. A couple of them scream along with me. Some of them even start laughing.

Only one approaches me, a knowing look in her gaze when she reaches out and rests her hand on my arm.

“Was it a man?” she asks.

“Isn’t it always?” I respond.

She pulls me into a hug while everyone claps around us and I can’t help it.

I start to cry.

* * *

Twenty minuteslater and I’m back out in the bar, like nothing ever happened between Cam and me. I’ve got my shit together. No evidence of tears remains on my face and I’m completely composed.

Well, composed might not be the right word to describe my current mood. I’m another two drinks in and complaining about life in general with Cheyenne, who nods in agreement with everything I say and keeps downing screwdrivers with the logic that it’s the only way she’s going to get screwed tonight.

I laugh every time she brings it up.

We’ve lost Rita to a group of hockey players, who are on the other side of the bar. She flirted with Derek for a few minutes, but she said he wasn’t into her, so she bailed on him, coming over to fill us in before she found some hot hockey players and ditched us completely.

“I hate men,” I announce, slamming back a shot of whiskey before I practically drop the glass on the table.

“You’re talking about one man in particular, right?” Cheyenne sips from her shot, making a face as she quickly sets it on the table next to mine.

“No,” I say way too quickly, shaking my head. I immediately stop that because my brain feels like it’s scrambling. “They’re all terrible.”

“Not a bad assessment,” Cheyenne gives me. I grab my other drink and sip from it. “But I’m pretty certain you’re referring to Camden Fields.”

I spit out what I just slurped up back into my glass, grossing myself out. “Not at all. There’s nothing between us.”

“If you say so.”

The doubt in her voice is obvious. She doesn’t believe me.

I don’t believe me.

“Seriously. We’re just—friends.” I can’t even call us that because if I can’t have him, I don’t want to be anywhere near him. It’s just too hard on my heart and all of the other lustful parts of my body. Denying myself him when he’s right there in front of me sounds like a special type of torture.

But the asshole is denying me as well so…

“Friends, right. Keep telling yourself that.”

The tone of her voice has me on edge. “What do you mean?”

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