Page 23 of Dirty Dare

Not going to lie though, there is a thirty-two-ounce pump bottle sitting in my Prime cart, and over the past week I’ve come within a heartbeat of clicking the purchase button more than once. The only thing that’s keeping me from doing it is that I don’t want to be a pushy motherfucker. I don’t want Cam thinking I need us to take that last step.

Because maybe it’s the line we don’t cross for a reason.

I mean, yeah, there’s something about Cam that begs me to go all in. Even knowing we can’t be anything more than temporary, every time I see this guy, my heart feels like it’s trying to tear down my ribs to get to him.

Holding back is a challenge I wasn’t expecting, but this one emotional discretion matters to him. So even though we’ve been out in town together— I pulled him in for a kiss when I met him at the bar the other night and, not surprisingly, the whole town knew by the next day —I have managed to fight the impulse to bring Cam a coffee every single morning and park myself on the couch in front of the bass-fishing show with all the geezers just so I can be close to him throughout the day. Watch as he stocks shelves and helps customers in his hot-as-hell Outfitters T-shirt. Ask him to show me how to hold my rod when he goes on break.

Ugh.

I’ve been good. All week. Which is why the second his truck pulled to a stop in front of my place last night? Yeah, the poor guy didn’t even have a chance to turn the engine off before I had his door open and was hauling him out.

Demanding a reward for my restraint— and a reward is exactly what having him breathless above me, fingers knotted in my hair as his come shoots down my throat, is.

So hot.

Not what I need to be thinking about standing in line behind my old lunch lady at Dean’s.

“Gulls, thought that was you.”

I turn, finding Neil beside me, eying the not-fooling-anyone bottle of Scope, bag of jerky, and generously sized but no thirty-two-ounce container of lube in my basket.

Not embarrassed. We’re all adults here.

“Hey, Watson. Good to see you again.” Neil was at the bar the other night when we met up with a bunch of the water polo players from Cam’s team. Not that I had much of a chance to catch up with him, the way he and Judy were huddled together in a corner like they were the only ones left on the planet.

It was cute to see, especially after the way the guy used to moon after her in high school.

Now, there’s something distinctly not cute about the look he’s leveling me with. In fact, there’s something downright menacing about it. Which is saying a lot, considering Neil has a Cosmo magazine and a box of tampons tucked under his arm.

“Everything okay?”

“Sure. Sure, it is.” He smiles. Flatly. “You know Cam’s my best friend. Right?”

My brows lift. Well, damn.

* * *

“I swear to God, Cam, he was giving me the talk,” I say, handing him a beer and then dropping onto the opposite side of the couch and propping my feet beside his on the table. “Like you-break-his-heart-I-break-your-face style.”

Cam’s shaking his head, lips parted in one of those stunted laughs. “No.”

“Yes.” We clink our longnecks. “Hundred percent, yes. He flexed at me.”

Damn, that laugh. This guy was always so reserved in high school. But now, he’s always laughing, and I freaking love it.

“Now I know you’re lying to me.”

“I’m not.” My head drops back against the cushions, and I sigh. “And it was awesome.”

He shifts so he’s got one gorgeous, musclebound arm stretched across the top of the couch and he’s facing me. “I talked to him. Told him not to get carried away about you and me being together. That we’re just having some fun.”

“Ehh, he’s your ride or die. Neil’s probably excited for a chance to be the one looking out for you for a change, right?” I thread our fingers together. “Unless you think he’s jealous and this decades-long business with Judy is all part of some long game to get with you… in which case, my flex is totes bigger than his flex.”

I demonstrate, popping some muscles for show and earning a hard eye roll and more of the smile I can’t get enough of.

“Baby, put those things away.” And then after another sip of beer, he leans back, relaxed. “So, tell me about the call with your agent today. She got any good news for you?”

Ahh, that. “Not really. Mostly rumors, conversations. Nothing solid enough to actually hold on to, you know?”

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