Page 30 of The Best Bad Decision

“Yeah,” Amie says, drawing out the word into multiple syllables. “There’s a kids’ session in the morning before some more structured lessons. I thought I might enroll her in the lessons, but I wanted her to have some free time in the pool to just experience the water for a bit first.”

“How did she like it?” I ask. I’ve always been a water baby. I grew up in the desert where almost everyone has a pool in their backyard, and I could swim almost before I could walk. To this day, I love to be in the water, and I love it when we get to stay in hotels with decent-sized pools. I’d much rather spend an hour swimming than running or lifting weights.

“Oh, she loved it,” Amie says. She has that soft sparkle in her eyes—the one she always gets when she talks about our daughter. That twinkle was how I knew what a great mom she is. It’s how I see how much she loves our little girl, how much she gives, fiercely and unconditionally, with all she is. “I think she’ll love learning to swim.”

“Good,” I say. “I’m glad. I love swimming. I love the water.”

“Really?” Amie muses. “I didn’t know that about you. We’re friends, I feel like that’s the kind of thing I should know.”

“Friends?” I repeat. I don’t want to be friends with Amie. I want to bemorethan just friends with her. I want to beeverythingwith her. But she’s thousands of miles away. We both spend our time travelling in opposite directions around the world. She’s nearly ten years younger than me. She’s the mother of my child, but this friendship we’re cultivating is woven from such delicate threads, I can’t upset it. I definitely can’t upset it by telling her I want more, when I don’t think she feels the same way.

I won’t upset what we have just because I get hard thinking about her.

“I thought we were,” she says, clearly hurt. “But maybe I misunderstood.”

Silence falls between us, and the hurt in Amie’s eyes doesn’t escape my notice.Fuck.Say something.

“I guess there’s a lot we don’t know about each other,” I say after a moment.What an idiot.Another moment of quiet passes, and then: “My parents have a pool. Maybe you could pack some swimsuits for Maisy when you come for Thanksgiving.”

“Yeah, I will,” she says quietly. The mood has soured, and I’m exhausted already from an early alarm and a morning of chasing the sunrise from coast to coast.

“Hey, I’m gonna catch a nap,” I say, yawning unintentionally as I stretch my arms above my head. “We had an early alarm this morning and I’m beat already.”

“Okay,” she whispers. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”

“Same time, as always,” I promise, and then tap the screen to hang up.

Asshole brain: one. Cam: zero.

eighteen

Amie

My ego still stingsfrom Cam’s comment about being friends. Wearefriends—at least, I thought we were. I hoped we were, but when we talked earlier, he suggested that maybe we aren’t.

Have I read this all wrong?

I want to be friends. Hell, just the sight of him has my pulse quickening and my thighs clenching. I’d like to be more than friends. But we can’t. He has a whole life of his own in Phoenix, one I’m not privy to. For Maisy’s sake, and since we’re tied together forever now, I want to be friends.

I glance at the clock beside my bed. It’s almost midnight. Flipping the pillow and punching it for good measure, I fling myself back down with a huff, annoyed. I’m annoyed that I’m still awake, I’m annoyed that Cam doesn’t think we’re friends, and I’m annoyed that I’m annoyed. And I’m annoyed that still being awake makes me annoyed.

I snatch my phone from my bedside table.

Amie

What do you think this means?

ROO

what does what mean?

Amie

Fucking hell Roo hold on, I’m getting there

I type furiously for a moment, relaying my earlier conversation with Cam.

Amie

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