Page 37 of Curious
I like kissing my husband. I like how handsome he is. I like his bleached hair and his gentle, mischievous eyes. And how he takes care of me. How generous he is. How he makes me feel seen and not just one in a crowd. He scoots closer to me, and the bucket we’re in swings, and we both freeze.
“Shit,” I say. “I don’t want to scare you.”
“You aren’t scaring me. I wanted to be closer, but maybe that’s a bad idea.”
“I was trying to distract you. Was it working?”
His face falls. “Yeah.”
“Hey. What’s that face for?”
“It felt real.”
“It was very real,” I assure him. “You’re very sexy.”
“And you’re very … formerly straight.”
I shrug. “It’s not like I have a problem with being gay. I just didn’t think I was.”
“Do you think you are now?”
I shake my head. “I might be bisexual. Or pansexual? I haven’t figured out a label. Before, I noticed that guys were handsome or whatever, but I was never into the things Charlie was, so I figured I was straight. But,” I shrug. “Maybe I was wrong.”
To my surprise, Shelby pulls back and puts a hand on his hip. “Don’t you do that now, Camden Cooper.”
“Do what?”
“Be even more attractive. You’re supposed to be unavailable.”
I grin and lean over, pausing. When he nods, I kiss him. “No pressure. But I’m available to you.”
He whines. “You’re making it really hard to stick to my principles.” His voice lowers, and I almost don’t catch his muttered, “Or really hard in general.” He sighs. “I know I’m the king of mixed messages, but I think I may want to stick to making out, nothing more. Until I get my head on right.”
“You don’t owe me or anyone any part of you.”
“Thanks.”
Shelby sits back, and I realize that the wheel hasn’t stopped in a while. We get this whooshing, dropping, whooshing sensation over and over again as we go around and around, and I feel like I’m falling.
But I’m pretty sure it’s not from the ride.
CHAPTER12
Shelby
Okay, just because Cam is not so straight, and maybe likes me. And, okay, is married to me.
Thatstilldoesn’t mean I should get my hopes up.
There’s absolutely no reason why this relationship is anything other than me helping him for helping me. If he happens to figure out his sexuality in the mix, it’s no big deal for either of us. Right?
But sex without emotion isn’t what I want anymore. I’ve been fine with hookups in the past—mostly fine—but I’ve always secretly wanted the real thing.
The sun sets on the western horizon over the Pacific Ocean, and the lights of Los Angeles turn on behind us. Summer is ending. The days are getting shorter, and the nights are longer. The air smells like popcorn and cotton candy, and piped-in carousel noise is all around us.
As we go around on the Ferris wheel, I snuggle under Cam’s outstretched arm. I’m reeling from our kisses, and my stomach is fluttering. When we dangle in midair while they load up another car, Cam must read the nervousness on my face, so he asks, “Tell me what it was like for you, growing up.” He says it conversationally, as if he doesn’t know what a big hole he just stepped in.
To be fair, he likely has zero idea that he stepped into a hole. But he did.
