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“You have to eat.”
I avoid his gaze, feeling too vulnerable under his scope. “I’m not hungry.”
“You consumed a lot of energy.”
“Yes, your type of fucking is consuming.”
“I remember you loving it.”
“Cameron . . .”
“Then sulk if you don’t want to talk.”
Why does he always leave as if it’s so easy for him?
“Don’t be like this.”
He turns swiftly to me, hands raising in the air. “What should I fucking do when you spew that stupid nonsense? Fine. I’ve never fucked without a condom. That would be a first. I’ve never wanted a woman, but I want you with every fiber of my being. Ah, right, I got my cock pierced, so you’re the first to see that too. You know things about me no one else has ever known. The list goes on. Going on vacation, sleeping together in the same bed... you even carry my damn name.”
He stops. His hands curl into fists at his sides.
Why do I have to fall apart right now?
“So, what else do you want from me?” he asks.
Fighting with tears, my voice breaks. “I feel like you do this out of duty because you have to...”
He shakes his head at me, disbelief and hurt warring in his eyes. “You’re telling me this? You? When I gave you everything?” He rakes a hand through his hair. “Tell me what to do. Here I am, listening, wanting you so much, feeling so much it scares the crap out of me. Yet, you refuse to believe it. Show me, and I will do it.”
Love. But I can’t say that. You can’t force love.
“Oh, Cameron, you consume me.”
“And that’s so fucking bad?”
I heave a sigh. We’re getting nowhere.
“We’re leaving in twenty minutes,” he says.
I stomp away, packing in a hurry.
I wait outside, hugging myself against the chilly temperature. Cameron takes a look at me and urges me into the car. I wanted to stay a few days longer, but my baby deer awaits, and with others as the buffer, it makes being alone more bearable.
During the flight back to Boston, we sit opposite each other. Cameron is on his phone with a big grin on his face.
Is that a woman? Why is that my first thought?
And why do I say, “Who are you chatting with?”
The corner of his lips tip up in an incredulous smile. What happens next is his fault.
I lift my glass of water and throw it in his face. He flits his gaze from his phone to me. He drags a hand down his face, wiping away the wetness; the calmness is a façade announcing the storm.
I dash from my seat and run straight to the back cabin, locking it. My heart pounds while I double over with laughter.
It’s official. I have lost my mind. It’s his fault, the selfish man, for making me fall in love. Besides, it’s just water.
“Open the door.” His anger is palpable and thrilling.
