Page 183 of Story of My Life
I passed the carton and spoon over. “We can watch something else,” I offered, not really meaning it.
He shrugged. “Eh. I like the music. And the queen’s weird hair.”
That seemed like high praise coming from Campbell Bishop.
“So should we talk about the fact that your truck is in my driveway and it’s ten thirty at night and you brought a toothbrush?”
He took his time sliding the spoon from his lips. “Not unless you want to.”
“The whole town is going to know by morning.”
“Whole town already knows.” He dropped his phone in my lap.
The screen was open to a group text message.
Larry:Cammy’s doubling down.
It included a screenshot of Garland’s latest post on Neighborly.
IntrepidReporterGuy:
Looks like Story Lake’s newest lovebirds are nesting.
“Oh my God. Your mother just texted the group and said, ‘Your brother’s always in a better mood when he’s sexually satisfied.’ Now all your siblings are sending vomit emojis.”
“It’s your fault for being all attractive and single and interested in how I swing a hammer. I’m basically the home renovation version of a pool boy,” Cam said.
“Ugh,” I groaned. “When will the interest start to die down? I’m more comfortable being the interested one, not the interesting one.”
Cam ruffled my hair. “When one of my brothers gets caught sneaking around with someone,” he predicted.
I stole the ice cream back. “Can I fix Levi up with Zoey? He’ll need a good agent if he’s any good at writing.”
“First of all, they’d make a terrible couple. Zoey needs someone who can take care of her without her knowing they’re taking care of her. Secondly, don’t start playing matchmaker in real life just because you’re gonna need inspiration for book two.”
I gasped. “I wouldnever.”
“Said the woman who propositioned me with research. Now we’re naked in bed, eating ice cream, watching this viscount guy pretend his honor is more important than the situation in his pants.”
“They can’t just start a relationship. It would have ramifications that could ruin everything for both their families,” I insisted.
“Yeah, well, that’s what happens. Even to the good ones.”
There was something about the way Cam said the words that burrowed into my brain. It was flippant, but there was pain there. Raw and real.
“That’s not what a romance novelist likes to hear,” I said, going for flippant.
“And how did your foray into happily ever after go?”
“Yeah, yeah. I know. My ‘one’ was a dud. But that doesn’t mean that everyone else’s ‘one’ is.”
He gave me a long, cool look. “Adud? Trouble, the fuckface spent years shitting on your work and took potshots at you publicly in a magazine and to your publisher. And all you can call him is a dud?”
“You’re ignoring my excellent point about other relationships not being terrible.”
“And you’re ignoring my excellenter point about your ex being a two-legged swine.”
“You don’t know the half of it.” I reached for my bedside notebook to write downtwo-legged swine.
