Page 51 of Playing By The Rules

“And Cam isn’t an altar boy either. He might be the worst out of all of us.” Derek waves a hand in Cam’s direction.

“Oh, really?” I turn to look at Cam and he’s hanging his head, but I can see his cheeks are faintly pink. Like he’s embarrassed.

“Yeah, he’s a complete dog. He’s always hooking up with girls, taking them out to the Challenger. The back seat of that car has seen some major action.” Derek chortles. “Hell, he just had some chick back there last week—”

“Shut the fuck up, D,” Cam practically snarls, his panicked gaze flitting in my direction for the briefest moment before he looks away.

“Sorry, captain,” Derek says morosely, before he grabs his girls and steers them out to the backyard.

More deafening silence follows when Derek’s gone and it’s just me and Cam, watching each other warily. Derek’s words still ring in my head.

“The Challenger sees a lot of action, huh?” I raise my brows.

“Don’t listen to him—”

Not wanting to hear his lame defense, I interrupt him.

“I swear I’ve even heard Knox say that.” I cross my arms, trying to fight the humiliation that wants to take over. Feeling stupid and used and just completely…ugh. Why didn’t Cam just try and make out with me in the back seat of his car already? I probably would’ve done whatever he wanted last night. All he had to do was say the word, and like the idiot I am, I would’ve been rolling around in the back seat at word go, eager to give him a hand job or whatever.

God, I’m so dumb.

“I mean, it’s not a lie, okay? Yes, the back seat of my car might’ve seen…some action.” Cam appears pained by the admission. Good. “But Derek is exaggerating. They all exaggerate. My number is definitely lower than what people claim it is.”

“And what exactly is your number?”

He rubs his chin, grimacing. “I don’t want to say it out loud.”

Which means it’s awful.

“I know my exact number.” I drop my arms at my side, glaring at him. “It’s four.”

With that, I turn and exit the kitchen, the volume level increasing twenty-fold when I enter the living room. There are people everywhere. Groups of girls talking and laughing. A cluster of guys doing the same. There are couples blatantly groping each other and couples that are arguing. One girl has tears streaming down her face as she yells at who I can only assume is her boyfriend, her friends standing right behind her in solidarity.

Every single person has some sort of alcoholic beverage in their hand.

I push my way through the crowd, smiling when I make eye contact with anyone, none of their faces familiar. Sometimes I wonder if it was a bad idea, transferring to the same university my brother goes to after spending the last two years at home, attending community college and trying to figure out what I want to do with my life.

I still don’t know what I want to do with my life, but I know one thing I want to do right freaking now.

And that’s drop-kick Camden Fields across the room.

More like I’m furious at myself. Furious at Cam for being so incredibly good looking and charming and popular. He’s been with so many girls, the back seat of his car should probably be sanitized, possibly even reupholstered, and God, I hate how pathetic that makes me feel.

Maybe I need to change my focus and find a nice guy to fall for. A calm, slightly nerdy, really smart guy, who’s quiet and no one notices. Who might not make me shake or tingle every time he so much as looks at me, but that’s okay. I can deal with that. As long as he’s sweet and kind, I can teach him how to give me an orgasm. It’s not that hard.

I’m close to the front door of the house, eager to make my escape, when a big body brushes against my back, an arm shooting out to stop me from opening the door. I recognize the hand that presses against the wood, his fingers splayed. That hand will most likely make him millions someday.

Despite everything I just learned, despite my worry and feelings of stupidity, I still want those same big hands all over me.

Just once. Just so I know what it’s like.

“This all feels very familiar,” I tell Cam, glancing over my shoulder to find him hovering behind me.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Ooh, he sounds mad. Good.

I’m mad too.

I lift my chin. “I’m leaving.”

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