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“Three weeks.”
“Threeweeks?!”
“I might as well, it’s not like I’m rushing back to a job or anything. You’ve got a lot of away games coming up anyway, it makes sense to stay in Cape Martin.”
He nods hesitantly.
Standing in front of him, I wet his hair. When I begin trimming, there’s such little space that I have to keep one of my legs on either side of his. We’re uncomfortably close, his scent surrounds me and causes a lump to form in my throat. Camden doesn’t seem to mind our proximity. He cups the back of my knees, and his gaze trails higher as his palms roam up the sides of my thighs until he reaches my hips where he decides is a good place to rest them. I don’t react, even though the heat from his touch bleeds through my jeansand is doing its damnedest to distract me. I feel his eyes on me.
“Look straight ahead, not up.”
He’s basically eye level with my breasts.
“Happily,” he says.
I give him a small slap on the cheek with my comb.
He turns up the corner of his mouth. “Brave girl.”
His hands push my shirt up, and he leans in and bites my stomach, I jerk back, hitting the countertop. I attempt to grab the surface for balance, but he pulls me down so I’m straddling his left thigh. When I look at him, he’s got his tongue pressed into his cheek with a smug look, and I ask the universe why he has to be so attractive. The longer we continue to sleep together, the more difficult it is to compartmentalize our “situationship.” Especially if I’m not the only one sharing his bed.
Clearing my throat, I use his shoulder for leverage to stand.
“I had scissors in my hand, I could’ve cut my finger off. Don’t bite me. I need to finish your hair, or you’ll look like a rooster for your headshot.”
“At least the carpet will match the drapes.”
I crack, he gets a laugh out of me, and I shake my head. “I hate you.”
“You love me.”
The awkward silence returns, expanding from wall to wall.It’s deafening.
I continue trimming, hoping I appear more unaffected than I am, but his hands find me again, and I gulp. My eyes burn, and I’m too scared to look down. I didn’t fight my way to my new bad-bitch self to be taken down by Camden Teller. It’s hard enough that I’ve developed this attachment to him. I don’t think either of us thought we’d become such closefriends. And I’m guessing nine out of ten therapists would agree that jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire isn’t a healthy strategy.
Stepping behind him, it’s easier to breathe. I comb his hair to check my progress. My fingers slide into his hair, and he shivers.
I draw up the hair with the previously cut strands and trim the length to match, cutting into the ends to make it look as natural as possible for his photo.
“Why have you been pulling away from me?”
His question causes me to freeze.
If I don’t pull away, you’ll reel me in again, and my heart will attach itself to something that doesn’t exist.
“We’re literally touching.”
“You know what I mean.”
I blow out a breath. “I’m protecting my space. The lines feel like they’re blurring between us.”
“Blurring into what?”
I purse my lips before I go back to trimming.He knows what.
“I like you, Jordan.”
Forcing a smile, I return the sentiment as casually as I can. “I like you too, Cam.”Which is why this sucks so much, because I really, really like you. And hearing another woman answer your phone gutted me.
