Page 22 of Under My Skin

After showering and dressing, I scrounge around my kitchen for breakfast but can’t find anything I want, so I decide to head to my parents’ house.

I swing the door open and stop short when I see a piece of paper with my name on it and the tube of arnica cream from last night.

Lizzie,

Apply this cream twice a day for the next few days. It’ll help a lot, I promise. Also, sorry for last night. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I don’t know what I was thinking, and it won’t happen again.

Cam

Well, that’s that. I officially ruined whatever chance I had with him.

Great.

I run back in and apply some cream, succumbing to the fact that I’ll have to deal with the reminder of last night every time a waft of the stuff hits my nostrils. I head next door and find the house empty, but I spot some freshly baked muffins on the counter and help myself. I bite into one and moan around the fluffy texture and zingy burst of blueberry. This is exactly what I needed. Homemade comfort food.

Grabbing another muffin and a cup of coffee, I head back to the barn to start working on a commissioned pottery piece I need done by the end of August.

I lose myself in my work for the next several hours, and it feels good. I can forget about everything when I’m working, and I’m usually only distracted if my stomach finally gives in to hunger, my mom or dad stops by, or Lia calls me non-stop.

Today, though, what finally snaps me out of my trance are the squeals of little girls outside. I peek out my window and see Mackenzie and Addy running through the sprinkler in their swimsuits while Cameron lounges in an Adirondack chair, wearing only swim trunks and sunglasses.

Holy cow.

How can one person be so blessed with every mouthwatering trait known to man?

Gorgeous smile?Check.

Dark hair you hope to run your fingers through?Check.

Tanned skin?Check.

Irresistible muscles that glisten in the sun?Check, check, check.

I’m ripped from my Cameron-induced trance when I hear my phone ringing from somewhere in my mess of clay and tools. I finally spot it next to a pile of scraps and grab it before it goes to voicemail, seeing my best friend’s picture light up the screen.

“Hi, Lia,” I answer quickly.

“Hi,” Lia says, confused. “Why do you sound out of breath?”

“What?”

“You sound all breathy. What are you doing?” Lia’s voice is full of suspicion, like she’s trying to catch me doing something I shouldn’t. “Wait. Are you watching porn?”

“Seriously?”

“It’s fine if you are, but next time just don’t answer the phone. You can call me back later.”

“Stop it. I’m not watching porn!” I yell. I love her, but she can be really exhausting sometimes.

“What are you doing, then?”

“I’m working on a piece. Jeez.” It’s not a lie.

“And?” She knows me too well. I guess I might as well come clean.

“I was watching Cameron lounge outside,” I confess guiltily. Saying it out loud makes me sound like such a perv.

“Oh my gosh, Lizzie. So, you are basically watching porn. Your version of it, at least,” she says with a laugh.

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