Page 56 of Challenge
Camden: Gran, I told you to stop making me explain the millennials to you.
I burst out laughing so loud that I cover my mouth in embarrassment, even though I’m lying here by myself.
Me: Your gran sounds more fun than mine.
Camden: Actually, I never knew her. She passed away before I was born.
Me: That’s too bad. But if all grans are like mine, you’re not missing out. Mine was glacial cold.
Camden: Luckily you turned out pretty hot regardless.
I smile.
Me: So back to this sexting…
Camden: I think I can teach you better in person. Maybe I should come over.
Me: No way. My vagina can’t take it.
Camden: No funny business. I promise. I’m saving up for Tower Park.
I hesitate to respond. I want him to come over. I want him to come immediately. But this is all supposed to be about sex, and if we’re not having sex, there’s absolutely no reason we should hang out. I can’t get wrapped up in Penis Number One. I have goals and a list and more penises to try in the near future.
Cam: Get out of your head, Specs. We have five days. We should be able to do with those days as we’d like.
I bite my lip.
Me: Okay.
Thirty minutes later, a rather cosy looking Camden Harris stands on my doorstep in sweats and a soft white T-shirt. His blonde hair is smooth and floppy on his head. His eyes are blue and warm as they drink in my own cosy pyjamas that consist of leggings and a pink camisole. Just looking at him, I already regret the pain between my legs and the fact that we can’t have sex again yet.
He grins lasciviously and props himself on the doorframe. “I knew you couldn’t say no to me. I’m too irresistible.”
“Oh, shut up,” I growl and close the door behind him.
He hands me a bottle of Prosecco and I get us situated on my Murphy bed with some crisps, drinks, and a DiCaprio film on the telly.
I set pillows up behind us on the wall so we’re sitting up, and I adjust my glasses before taking a drink.
Camden watches me carefully. “How many pairs of eyeglasses do you own?”
My brows lift and touch my basic wire frames I currently have on. These are my nighttime eyewear—the ones I leave on my bedside table every night. “I think twenty now. I had twenty-one, but a patient broke a pair last month when I was setting a bone.”
“Ouch.” He winces. “Good thing you had a spare.”
“Yep,” I grin and nibble on a crisp.
“Is there a reason you have so many?” He takes a sip of his drink.
I roll my eyes. “Yes, but it’s daft.”
He frowns and a low rumble comes from his chest. “You say a lot of things about yourself are daft, do you know that?” His eyes pin me with a serious glower.
“No.” I frown back.
“Well, you do, and you should stop because I never agree.” He angles toward me and bends his large leg up, watching me expectantly. “Now tell me why you have so many eyeglasses. I’m sure there’s a reason.”
“All right.” I pull my glasses off and stare at them while I speak, a bit disarmed by his adamant interest. “So in school, there was this girl named Sinique Simon. Everyone always wanted to be her. She could sing like Beyoncé and spoke like four languages. She could even do the splits so far that she touched the bottom of her foot to the back of her head.”
