Page 19 of Keep Me

Despite my preference in staying away from the cameras, her ideas are really good. It’s going to bring a lot of attention to our team and attract sponsors that we need to keep our program running the way it does.

I enjoy listening to her come alive as she talks about baseball in general, how she wants to do this for a living.

Once I finish her tattoo, I wipe her skin one last time and admire my work. It looks pretty damn good if I say so myself.

“Let me know what you think,” I tell her.

Camille stands and walks over to the mirror on the wall, holding her sweater up and turning to her side.

“Ryker the biker!” she exclaims. “It’s so beautiful. Thank you so much.”

I inwardly groan at the nickname she’s given me, but her pure joy draws my attention more. God, she’s fucking beautiful. It’s then that I catch myself in the mirror, looking at her with the same adoration she’s looking at her own tattoo.

Fuck.

I avert my gaze, keeping my hands and mind busy as I clean my station up.

“How much do I owe you?” she asks, but it feels wrong to take money from her. I don’t know why. It just does.

“Let’s do it this way. You don’t owe me anything, and in return, you don’t make me do stupid videos for social media,” I propose, folding my arms across my chest.

Camille’s eyes flash with hurt, but she covers it up quickly with a fake smile. “Oh, yeah, of course.”

“I didn’t mean that your ideas are stupid, Camille. I—”

“Don’t, I get it,” she cuts me off, her voice twinged with insecurity, and I hate that I put it there. I go to step toward her, but she straightens her spine, standing tall as she leaves my room.

“Camille,” I call, following her.

“Thanks for the tattoo. Have a good night.” She turns around briefly and attempts to smile, but it falls flat. She throws two bills on the counter, but before I can say something, she’s already out the door.

Part of me itches to chase after her, but I already upset her enough. I don’t want to make it worse. I grab the two one hundred-dollar bills she left behind, then proceed to slam my fist on the desk hard enough to rattle the pens off of it.

Not only did I hurt her with my comment, but she paid me even though I told her not to. It feels wrong to take it, but I do it anyway because if not, Otto will.

I pocket it with plans of returning it to her somehow along with apologizing to her because despite the fact that I can’t give her anything more than friendship, a lousy one at that apparently, I don’t want her to hate me.

It’s the first time I’ve ever cared about the way someone feels about me, and I have a feeling it’s not going anywhere, anytime soon.

Chapter Eight

Camille

“

P

utain,” I curse, blowing out a breath, eyeing the purple-ish bruise forming under my left eye. Last night, I got up in the middle of the night to use the washroom and tripped over a shoe I must’ve left out. I fell and whacked my face on my dresser as a result.

I moved here to live on my own and I love making my own choices, but it would’ve been nice to have someone take care of me after that incident.

I push that aside and focus on the fact that I finally get to start shooting some content with the guys today. We’re doing a behind the scenes spring training feature where I’m going to interview the guys and allow fans to get to know them.

I’m also planning for them to partake in doing a partner challenge where they can’t laugh at whatever the other person is telling them or else they get hit with a tortilla. I know it sounds ridiculous, but it brings in a lot of engagement on other schools’ teams’ videos.

As I make my way into the baseball facility, a sense of insecurity washes over me from my conversation with Ryker a few days ago.

I’m still hurt by it. His words hit a sore spot of mine.

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