Page 57 of Full Tilt
“Short and sweet. I’m heading to the States for a work thing, then summer training kicks off in August. I’ll get a few weeks off once I’m back.”
I nod, lifting my glass. “Good timing.” Question fills his gaze, so I explain, “I’m heading to see my family on the third.”
He glances at me, curious. “Right, your July Fourth celebration.”
“That’s the one. Cosmo added his own special brand of guilt-tripping since I missed last year. Claimed it wouldn’t be a real summer without my ugly face at the barbecue.”
Camden chuckles. “Is the Fourth of July really such a big deal?”
“Oh, it’s huge. Think fireworks, questionable potato salad, people crying over burnt hot dogs. Someone always tries to launch a bottle rocket off the roof. It’s chaos.”
He smirks. “That sounds terrifying.”
“And yet deeply patriotic.” I lean closer with a grin. “Also? Hot. Like, face-melting, shirt-sticking-to-your-back hot.”
He shifts beside me, bumping his knee into mine. “So… basically a health hazard disguised as a national holiday.”
“Exactly.” I tip my head towards him. “You’d hate it.”
He huffs out a laugh but doesn’t deny it. “Probably.”
The silence that follows isn’t heavy. It’s soft. Familiar in a way I didn’t expect this soon.
He takes another sip of his beer, then murmurs, “It’s been a while since I saw them. My family.”
I don’t push, just reach out and let my knuckles graze his. A quiet gesture. He doesn’t pull away.
And somehow, the quiet that follows says more than anything we’ve managed all night.
I glance over at Camden, the quiet between us comfortable but buzzing just enough that I want to keep it going. We’re sitting close—shoulders grazing now and then—but not touching otherwise. His hand curls loosely around his beer glass, thumb slowly tracing the condensation. The kind of detail I shouldn’t find distracting, but here we are.
I shift, resting an elbow on the back of the sofa. “So what’s the visit for? July, I mean. You’ve mentioned it, but….”
He glances over, eyes thoughtful. “I’ve got a work thing.” He pauses, then adds, “The Seagulls arranged a little tour with three rugby teams in the States. It’s all exhibition stuff—PR, awareness. No pressure, no league points.”
My brows go up. “There are rugby teams back home?”
Camden chuckles. “Apparently. Mostly amateur, semi-pro setups. But they’ve got solid local followings, and there’s been a push lately to grow the sport in North America.”
“God, I’ve been gone too long. I thought football still ruled everything.”
“It does,” he says with a grin. “But rugby’s making noise. Slow and steady.”
I tilt my head. “Where’re you playing?”
“Jacksonville. Tallahassee. Then the final game’s in Atlanta.”
I sit up straighter, heart skipping. “Wait. Jacksonville?”
Camden’s head tilts. “Yeah?”
“My parents live in Habersham, near Savannah. That’s like what, two hours away?” I laugh under my breath. “That’s where I grew up.”
He blinks, then smiles slowly. “No shit?”
“No shit.” I shake my head, still surprised. “I mean, damn. That’s close. Too close for the universe not to be having a bit of fun.”
He’s watching me now—not guarded, not cautious. Just… curious. Warm.
