Page 63 of Not That Into You

Last night, after I gave myself a stern lecture about what I’m doing here this weekend (pretending to be Cameron’s girlfriend to pay for my mom’s surgery) and what I’m not doing here (becoming confused about what this is or giving a shit about who Cameron dates), I spent the rest of the party playing the dutiful girlfriend while ensuring Cameron and I didn’t spend any more time alone together.

But maintaining an air of polite interest while people I didn’t know droned on about things I don’t care about was exhausting. And being acutely aware of Cameron—his fingers brushing mine, his hand resting on my back—left me jittery, while his proximity made the hairs on my arms stand up as if my body was reaching for him in any way possible.

Making matters worse, any time our eyes met, the intensity of his gaze made it clear I wasn’t alone in feeling there was something between us.

By the time the party ended and we’d made our way back upstairs, my stomach was roiling with nervousness and anticipation. It was hard to imagine sharing a bed with Cameron and actually sleeping.

We stood facing each other in the middle of the room as the tension mounted, my resolve to keep my distance slipping away with each breath. When it finally became unbearable, I moved forward just as Cameron stepped back. He’d mumbled something about needing to deal with stragglers before fleeing the room without a backward glance, leaving me feeling foolish and rejected.

Getting ready for bed, I was determined to be tucked under the covers and facing away from the door when he returned. But even though sleep was slow in coming, I wasn’t awake when he came to bed.

Which should be a relief but instead only adds to my unease.

Sighing, I grab my phone from the bedside table and am unsurprised to find a number of messages. I didn’t check my phone before crawling into bed last night. As expected, most of the messages are from my friends; none are from clients.

I type out a quick response, assuring them the party was fine, and I managed not to kill Cameron or blow my cover. I don’t mention we kissed because they don’t need any more fodder for their ridiculous bet.

And it didn’t mean anything anyway.

In the harsh light of day, the kiss seems to have occurred in a hazy, alternate reality. And if I don’t tell anyone about it, I can pretend it didn’t happen, pretend I didn’t like it, and definitely pretend I didn’t almost jump Cameron when we got back to our room.

Right. Deciding I’ve run out of excuses to stay in bed, I shuffle into the bathroom, where I find my bathing suit hanging on a hook with a note attached to it that says, “Wear this for surfing.”

Groaning, I lean my forehead against the wall and close my eyes.

He can’t be serious.

I forgot all about the surfing lesson. It feels as if we had that conversation months ago, and I’m no more excited about it this morning than I was yesterday. If anything, I’m less excited because I don’t relish the thought of spending any more time with Cameron than necessary. Although, I hadn’t promised to actually get in the water, so there may still be hope.

Eyeing the swimsuit, I debate whether I should feign illness or exhaustion or menstrual cramps. But knowing Cameron, he’ll just pester me until I relent.

Shaking my head, I accept my fate and slip the swimsuit on before putting on my clothes. I also put my contacts back in because, on the off chance I do try to surf, I want to be able to see clearly.

Or at least be able to spot a shark.

I make my way downstairs and let out a sigh of relief when I see no one’s in the kitchen. Maybe they’re all still in bed. Maybe Cameron got impatient and went surfing without me.

One can dream.

Grabbing a mug, I pour myself coffee and move to the kitchen table when I hear voices outside on the patio. I hesitate until I recognize one as Cameron’s. Figuring I should let him know I’m awake, I step outside and freeze as my stomach drops.

Cameron and Vanessa are sitting side by side at a small round table, turned toward each other, smiling.

“You can’t be serious, Cameron,” Vanessa says, giving him a playful slap on the arm.

His smile broadens. “Dead serious. You should try it.”

She laughs as I struggle to breathe.

Cameron implied nothing was going on between them, but that was last night, and this is this morning. And he did run out of our room like the hounds of hell were chasing him when I made a move toward him.

Is that why he left? Is he pursuing Vanessa after all? Because this charming little tableau has an air of intimacy that makes me feel like an intruder.

Still smiling, Vanessa shakes her head until her eyes land on me, and she pulls up short. “Oh.” Her surprise gives way to a smile. “Good morning.”

Cameron finally notices me. “Monica. Hey.” He glances from me to Vanessa and then back to me. “We were just having coffee.”

“I see that,” I say with a tight smile.

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