Page 88 of Melt for You (Slow Burn 2)
When I open my door to head out for a jog, I’m surprised to find Cam in the hallway, already warming up. He didn’t knock, so I figured he’d gone without me.
“Oh. Hey.”
He silently hands me a bottle of his green goo, then continues stretching. I watch him for a moment, unsure of what to say or do, but ultimately decide I won’t be able to do anything if we don’t clear the air.
“I get it. What you meant when you said we’d never be friends. And I’m cool with it.”
He stops and looks at me. In his usual sweats and hoodie, he still somehow seems unfamiliar. It must be the wall between us that wasn’t there before.
“I mean, I’d rather be friends than not, but if you prefer we keep it businesslike, that’s fine with me. You’re going to be living here for a while longer, and it would be easier if we can be civil to each other. I really don’t want to have to deal with your rap music again. Also I’d still like your help with the Michael thing, if you’re still up for it.”
His silence lasts an uncomfortably long time. “You’re sure that’s what you want?”
Why is he standing so still? “Which part?”
“Michael. He’s what you want?”
His eyes are hooded, inscrutable, just like the expression on his face.
“Yes.”
He nods, his eyes shuttering like shades over storm windows. “All right, lass, drink up. Let’s get goin’.”
We jog in silence. It’s horrible. All the light bantering is gone, all the easy conversation is dead and buried six feet under. I long to say something to make it better but don’t know exactly how it got so bad in the first place.
Back at the apartment, he leaves me at the door with a word of advice.
“If you talk to pretty boy today, don’t reassure him.”
“About what?”
“About anything. Me, the ‘other competition’ he mentioned, how your not-date went. Just play it off like none of it matters. It’ll drive him crazy. Okay?”
“Okay. And thanks.”
He stares at me, unsmiling. “You’re welcome.” He goes inside his apartment and closes the door.
I shower, dress, and head to work, my thoughts preoccupied with Cam and the look on his face when he asked me if I was sure Michael is what I want.
When I get to work, there’s a note on my desk, slipped under my keyboard so only one corner is showing. It’s in a sealed envelope with my name printed on the outside. Curious, I tear into it before even removing my coat.
I’m sorry I upset you. Last night didn’t go at all how I’d hoped. I hope you can forgive me for being such an ass. It’s been so long since I’ve dated, it seems I’ve forgotten how.
/>
M.
His cell phone number is written beneath.
Exhaling a slow breath, I slip the note back into its envelope and put it into my handbag. Then I sit in my chair and stare at my dark computer screen, arguing with myself about whether or not to send Michael an email or give him a call.
Ultimately, I decide to follow Cam’s advice and play it off like it doesn’t matter. I bury myself in work for the next few hours, until my desk phone rings.
“Joellen Bixby speaking.”
“This mornin’ sucked.”
Cam’s voice is curt with tension, but I’m instantly relieved. “Last night, too. I couldn’t sleep.”
