Page 29 of Script
I wish my brain would stop.
We ended up separating long enough for him to clamber off me, all lazy and happy, then for us to lean against each other, content to be touching. Until he slid down enough for me to put my arm over his shoulder. and I cuddled him, properly pulling him into my side and holding him close. Then, because I was nervous and a freaking mess, I went into what I like to call default Finn mode, which is rambling on about everything and nothing. I detailed my thoughts on the entire movie, and sometimes Cameron asked me questions about filming, and I did even more talking. He never once shushed me, or laughed at me, but as time went on, my squirrel brain was darting about, going from relaxed to stressed, from enjoying the moment to worrying. Should I ignore the nagging thought that he was being nice to me because he wanted something from me? It wasn’t money. I understood he had more than enough of that, and his home was magnificent, but maybe an agent introduction. Or was it only sex?
I mean, itwasfantastic sex.
I managed a handful more popcorn because it was so ingrained in me to stay away from anything that might wreck the abs, although I did spend a short time reasoning that sex burned off more calories than I’d be consuming. Then, for some crazy reason, my brain decided to contemplate my exit strategy. I don’t know why my instincts told me I needed to leave—maybe it was myactualbrain taking over from the one in my pants after a self-preservation switch was thrown. I should listen to my instincts, after all, if Atlas found out I’d done this with Cameron without an NDA, he’d go ballistic. All I knew was that as soon as the credits began to roll on a ludicrous ending, I was itching to leave.
“I should go.” I scooted back, picking at popcorn in my lap.
“You don’t have to.”
“I probably do. Sorry.”
“That’s okay,” Cameron said, then tilted my chin, so I was meeting his gaze instead of staring at the remainder of my snack sticking to my T-shirt. “You don’t need to apologize for needing to leave. I’ll see you tomorrow at the rink, and then after, maybe we could—”
“I think we should stop doing that.”
He made a face like a goldfish, and wariness filtered into his expression. “Because of what happened between us?” he asked in a regretful tone.
“You’re too much of a temptation,” I whispered.
“Back at you.” He smiled at me. “Maybe I can find someone else to help you, someone on the team who won’t want to kiss you.”
“I don’t want anyone else,” I said without thinking.
“So, we’re good to keep going.”
If we were doing the hockey, then I wouldn’t have to be doing the talking, and maybe I could re-learn how to skate, and everything would be okay.
“Yeah,” I said, then slumped back and, this time, I stared at the TV, which had gone into sleep mode. All I could see was a reflection of me being the awkward idiot I am and gorgeous sexy Cameron being… well, being gorgeous and sexy. We were so different, and I don’t mean only in looks, with my blond thing against his hot—burning hot—dark-eyed devil. I was deep in the closet, and he was free of all that. I mean, he marched in LA Pride for fuck’s sake, and I knew that because there were photos of him and some of the other team members all waving flags on the Storm’s social media. I’d never even seen a Pride parade up close, let alone joined in with the love.
“Did I say something wrong?” he asked.
The need to leave poked at me from nowhere, and my chest got all tight. This was the moment he asked me if I was okay, and then, I’d have to make exaggerated excuses about why I was quiet. “No.”
“It’s just that you’ve gone strangely quiet,” he murmured.
“Sorry.”
“It’s all good. I like just sitting with you.”
Okay. He doesn’t want me talking. Message received. Not that I had anything else to say right now. I was in my liminal space, that time when I knew I needed to move on to the next thing; in this case, I should be leaving.
“Sorry for talking too much.” And then going quiet.
“About movies? I loved that. Don’t get me started on hockey. Next time, we’ll watch a game, and I’ll explain everything.”
Next time? Was there going to be a next time?
What about when he realized his comment on me being quiet was hitting the nail on the head. I could handle interactions, hell I could handle an entire movie, but the downtimes when I was chilled, that was the other side of me—the person I became after I’d run out of vibrant excitableme.It happened all the time, people meeting me, chancing upon me on a day when my social well was full, and then finding out that any kind of social brilliance they thought I had was a pretense.
It was happening now. All the positive stuff about movies, and me joking with him, was being replaced by worries filling the empty space where relaxed and happy should be. Freaking social anxiety crippled me, and it came from nowhere. I wanted to sit and hug, but Cameron wasnormal, and he said I was quiet, and that was something I needed to address. Right?
Maybe we should just have sex again because we don’t have to talk when we’re fucking… making love… whatever.
People who met me when I could channel the star of an action franchise—confident, strong, saves the world. But once the hellos were over, all I had was the uncanny ability to talk their ears off about movies, and then luckily, I could move on to the next person.
But one-on-one interactions? They were hard.
