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“No, I’m sorry.”
That makes me laugh. It’s my first, nonmaniacal laugh of the day.
He smiles back, pleased with himself.
“Come here.” He wraps me up in a big hug, and I let him.
“You’re not my type,” I quip.
“I’m everybody’s type.” With his mouth pressed to my hair, he says, “I guess we’re not getting your stuff today.”
“Nope. And no checking out apartments... No seeing Chicken Salad...” Bryan torpedoed all my plans.
“What do you need?”
I speak my truth. “I need my brownies back.”
He pulls away with a half grin.
“Okay, Sunshine.” He hands me the tray, and I dig in with my fork. They don’t taste as good anymore. “Let me get you something for your feet, though.”
I hit play on the TV and finish watching the queens roll through their runway looks. As I predicted, Trixie Mattel gets top marks. For the first time, escaping reality isn’t as satisfying, but at the end of the episode, RuPaul looks at the camera, and I swear she’s speaking directly to me: “If you can’t love yourself, how in the hell are you going to love somebody else?”
“Can I get an amen?” I respond monotone.
Cam returns with salve, places my feet in his lap again, and inspects them. As soon as he unscrews the jar, the smell invades my nose, and I turn my head away. “Fuck, dude!Whatisthat?It smells horrible!”
He laughs. “Yeah, it stinks, but it works wonders. I use it when I’m breaking in new skates.”
“Ach! It’s gross.”
“Yourfeetare fucking gross,” he says, rubbing them.It smells like death, but God, it feels so good.
“Shut up. After these toes heal, you’re going to buy me a pedicure to apologize for that mean remark.”
He winks. “Deal.”
I gag at the smell once more but let him do the other foot.
17
It’s been a week since I lost everything. Cam has been the one by my side to help me wade through the putrid swamp that is my life. I’ve been trying to be as helpful as possible around the house. Laundry, cooking, keeping the place clean and tidy wherever I can. It’s difficult, considering he has people he pays to do those things. I’ve washed and folded all the shirts I’ve borrowed. When I go to return them, his bedroom door is cracked. I knock, but there’s no answer. I push the door open and freeze.
He’s got his headphones on.
And that’s it.
He’s naked.Completely naked.Dropping my gaze to his pierced, Pringle-can dick, I gasp like the wind has been knocked out of me. I press a hand to my chest as if I transformed into a southern belle clutching her goddamn pearls. He’s walking across the room like it’s no big deal. His eyes reach mine, and he grins.
“Oh my god!” I shout.
Once I’m able to tear my eyes away, I grab the doorknob and slam the door to the sound of him laughing his ass off. Icover my mouth, even though I’m certain my jaw is still on the floor. The whole interaction was only a matter of seconds, but it felt like I was staring at it for minutes.Fucking sue me. A built, tatted up, hot-as-hell hockey player—you’re telling me you wouldn’t look at his giant pierced penis?
“Sorry! I, um, I’m leaving the clothes outside your door. ’Kay, thanks!”
“Sounds good,” he chirps, a smile in his voice. He sounds proud of himself. To be fair, he should be. What did I see?How many piercings was that?
Just my luck that he’s home for the nextfourdays. That won’t make things awkward. I roll my eyes.
