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“No, it’s not that.”
“Then?”
He tsks and leans back. “One honest answer for another.”
“Whatever.”
We return to the silence, and I count the minutes. I reach two when it becomes too hard and say, “It’s peaceful here.”
I can’t believe I said that. I sound like I’m starved for a connection. What’s happening to me?
“Tragedies never mark a place.”
He’s lost, staring at a room on the second floor of the right wing. I want to pick his brain apart until I know everything about what makes him who he is. What he thinks. What he hides.
Cameron stands up and leaves.
I stare at my smartwatch, disappointment crashing into my chest. We still had fifteen more minutes. I feel robbed. I feel relieved. These contradictory feelings will tear me apart one day.
It’s like his pain is as real as mine. For a moment, we shared something truly intimate. I’m left with a strange desire to find out more.
Getting up, I leave too. Back in my bedroom, I lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling painted by the wild shadows from the tree outside.
I hear his footsteps climbing down the stairs. I toss and turn, only to yank the sheet off me and roll out of bed, incapable of quenching this need to see him. Tiptoeing downstairs, I expect to find him drinking tea in the kitchen, but he’s not.
Where could he be?
I perk up to hear something. The splashing sound of water echoes through the house. In vain, I try to reason with myself. My feet carry me toward the sounds downstairs. I walk down the hallway that leads to the backyard, determined to take a peek at him.
His toned arms slice through the water, and his defined back splits the surface, muscles rippling with every move. His body is truly a machine, a beautiful piece of art—so strong, so captivating. He stops at the end of the pool.
“My little freak,” he says in a soft voice that has butterflies spreading their wings, caressing my ribs.
Rolling my eyes at the nickname, I inch toward him, tiptoeing on the side of the pool. He rests his arms on the edge, cocking his head to me, and disappointment flashes in his eyes.
I look down at the black blouse and leggings I’m wearing.
“When was the last time you went swimming?”
I shrug. “I don’t remember.”
“Liar. Something tells me you have a great memory. So, why do you punish yourself?”
“This . . . What I have . . .”
Cameron threads his fingers through his hair, sliding it back. I clench my legs instinctively at that image. I can’t deny how attractive he is and that my body reacts in his presence. And then he has to open his mouth again.
“Stop stammering. I can’t understand you if I don’t know what I’m up against.”
I turn to rush back, but his hand snakes around my calves. Yelping, I land in the water with a big splash. Chlorine enters my mouth and nose. Water boxes me in from all sides. Survival instinct kicks away the sheer panic. Pushing my arms through the water, I swim back up, coughing and spitting.
The big AA laughs at me. “Calm yet?”
“I don’t need to calm down.” I slap his chest and freeze. We both do as I stare at my hand on his skin. His body heat burns every inch of my palm. I blink, thinking for sure I am imagining things, but no. My hand, not covered in a glove, touches his naked chest; it’s hard.
I lift my gaze, and he lowers his. Our eyes lock.
“See? Nothing happened.” His voice is just above a whisper, but doesn’t lose that deep undertone.
