Page 50 of Fault Lines
“I have to go home.” I stood and tried to smooth my hair. “It’s late.”
He stayed quiet a moment, then ran a hand down his face. “Let me drive you.”
I shook my head. “Uber’s fine. Cam might be there when I get home—I don’t want to have to explain anything.”
“Does he really have a right to care who gives you a ride?”
“No,” I admitted eventually. “But I’d rather skip the argument.”
I pulled out my phone and ordered the car.
“I’m staying with you until they come,” Nate said. He followed me to the sidewalk out front, hands in his pockets while we waited.
“Is this going to ruin things for us?” he asked quietly. “Are you going to ignore me at work now?”
“No. I don’t want to lose you.”
He smiled, relief coloring his eyes. “So—I’ll see you at work tomorrow?”
“Yes.” The Uber rolled up, headlights washing the curb.
I gave him a quick hug and wasn’t surprised when it turned into a soft, fleeting kiss. We lingered a second before I broke away and slipped into the car.
Maybe things were already changing. Maybe I was ready for that.
And I didn’t feel sorry about it at all.
Chapter Sixteen
I was just setting Cam’s plate on the table the next evening when I heard his key in the lock. I’d picked up pizza because cooking was beyond me after today’s chaos at the store. There’d been a new release event; so many people, so many coffee orders, and the book sold out before noon.
We’d already ordered more books, supposed to arrive in a day or two.
Cam came through the door and found me right away. “Hey, beautiful,” he said, and kissed me.
I’d tried not to think about kissing Nate. I told myself it wasn’t cheating—not when Cam was openly dating—but the guilt clung to me anyway. Cam would never expect me to actually take him up on his arrangement; it was his way or the highway, and while he’d never forbid me, I doubted he’d like it if I did the same. Cam was jealous and possessive, always.
“Pizza?” he said, pulling out his chair.
“I’m just really tired tonight,” I said. “Takeout felt easier.”
“Are you coming down with something?”
Because, of course, the only reason I might ever be exhausted is if I was sick. As far as Cam knew, I still didn’t work. He assumed I spent my days reading and doing laundry. Which, to be fair, used to be true.
“Maybe,” I said.
He started in on his pizza, and I sat across from him, picking at my own slice.
“What do you want to do Saturday?” he asked, mouth half-full.
I shrugged. “Whatever you want.”
“I was thinking we could get away. My dad’s cabin? For your birthday.”
I stopped mid-chew. “My birthday?”
He frowned at me, half-grinning. “Yeah. Saturday. Did you forget?”
