Page 2 of Cross Check Daddies
Fuck. Fuck.Fuck.
I go still. Everything inside me cinches tight as if my body’s reacting before my brain catches up.
He hasn’t changed much, and what has changed only makes him worse in the best way. Dark brown hair, shorter now, still tousled enough to hint at recklessness. Clean lines of a suit that probably cost more than my rent. His date sips wine, glossy lips parted in some exaggerated laugh. But Cam isn’t looking at her. He’s looking at me.
A decade. It’s been almost ten years since I’ve seen that face outside of dreams I never admit to. And yet here he is. Just existing in the same restaurant, breathing the same wine-and-truffle air.
Chad returns, flanked by the waiter with a fresh bottle of red. It’s poured into our glasses like nothing’s changed, like the earth hasn’t just tilted off its axis.
Cam is still watching.
Chad’s saying something about sushi and whether I like spicy tuna, but I’m not listening. Every nerve in my body is pulled toward the man across the room like he’s a magnet I swore I threw away. I nod along until Chad’s words blur into a question. “Should we order?”
I blink. “I think I’ll have to raincheck. I’ve got a headache.”
Chad frowns but recovers quickly. “No problem. Let me get the check.”
I excuse myself and head toward the bathroom, practically sprinting. Inside, I grip the porcelain sink and meet my reflection. “You’re not spiraling,” I mutter. “You’re just wine-drunk and hormonal. This means nothing. You are not seventeen again.”
I wash my hands for no reason other than to do something, then step out, head down, already rehearsing my goodbye.
I slam directly into someone. Solid. Tall. Expensive watch glinting off a tailored cuff.
“Hey, sugar.”
The nickname slices through me, sharp as memory. I look up.
Cam’s green eyes are exactly how I remember—intense, unreadable, and entirely too knowing. His scent hits next, all smoky tobacco and amber, nostalgia punched up by adult sophistication.
I take his outstretched hand without thinking. His palm is warm and rough, the kind of rough that comes from weight and work and doing things I don’t want to think about right now.
“What are you doing in Miami?” he asks.
“I’m on a date,” I snap, shaking my head like that’s supposed to mean something. “And we’re not doing this.”
He tilts his head, amused. “Judging by the look of your date, neither should you.”
“And your date?” I arch a brow. “Not exactly subtle, Cam.”
He leans in slightly, voice dropping. “You haven’t missed me?”
“I haven’t seen you in years.”
“Then give me your number and we can properly catch up.”
I step around him, refusing to be reeled back into whatever this is. “Not happening.”
Back at the table, Chad’s glancing at his phone while the server drops the check. “They’ve got a great dragon roll,” he says half-heartedly. “Next time, maybe?”
I manage a smile. “Yeah. Maybe.”
He pays the bill, ever the gentleman, even offers to drive me home. I wave him off. “I’ll Uber. Text you when I’m back.”
“It was nice meeting you,” he says, tone sweet, almost apologetic, like he knows we won’t speak again.
Outside, a sudden breeze cuts through the lingering humidity. My Uber is five minutes away. I’m trying not to look like I’m scanning the sidewalk when the restaurant door swings open.
Cam walks out with his date, one hand on the small of her back, placing her into a taxi. She giggles, thanks him, andthey exchange numbers. I turn away, pretending I’m reading something fascinating on my phone, something not at all about how Cam is somehow even more attractive than he was back then.
