Page 36 of The Pucking Wrong Man

Pushing up, I tried to baby my leg, and something sliced my palm. Fuck, one of the glass shards had embedded itself in my hand.

This was the moment I broke, right? This was where I just...gave up?

“Let’s get you up, little dancer,” a deep, familiar voice murmured. There was a soft caress against my cheek and then a strong pair of arms was literally lifting me off the ground like I weighed nothing.

I blinked in shock, glancing up at my savior.

Him.

Camden James.

Yes...I’d remembered his name. Like it was tattooed in my brain as a matter of fact. Like it had melded itself to my ribcage, destined to never be forgotten or ignored.

I’d also remembered that beautiful face. Obsessed over the fact that something so perfect existed and it didn’t belong to me.

As if someone like that could ever belong to anyone, though, let alone me. The idea was laughable.

I was pretty sure that men who looked like Camden James were just shooting stars in the sky that us mere mortals were destined to only be able to look at.

“Are you alright?” he asked in that same, smooth drawl that sent sparks skittering across my skin because it had just become my new favorite sound.

Where the hell were these kinds of thoughts coming from?

“Embarrassed mostly,” I whispered. There weren’t a lot of people in the restaurant tonight, but I could still feel plenty of eyes staring.

I was fine with that on the stage—when I’d embarrassed myself, not so much.

His gaze searched my face, that same look there as he’d had at the community kitchen when I’d passed through the line. Something that almost looked like shock...or awe.

Obviously, that was just wishful thinking.

Then I remembered. He’d seen me getting food at the community kitchen last week.

Now, my cheeks were even hotter with embarrassment.

There wasn’t anything wrong with needing extra help sometimes, but I didn’t exactly want Mr. Dreamboat McDreamy Pants seeing me there.

It made me feel...exposed. Like he was seeing all of my struggles.

I’d been burning with nervousness when he’d come up to me at my table to talk to me. I was worried he was going to mock me, or worse, pity me. I knew I needed to get away before I saw either of those reactions on his handsome face. But right now, he was just looking at me with an intensity that had nothing to do with mockery or pity.

Instead, I saw something in his eyes that I couldn’t quite name. It evoked a different kind of heat. This one, starting low in my stomach.

“Can you stand?” he asked, his hands still grasping my hips. One of the guys at the table made a noise and Camden shot them a dark look. “Fucking idiots,” he growled, and I heard one of them audibly choke.

“I’m fine. Thank you...I’m just going to get back to work,” I said quickly, forcing my legs to work, the urge to get away from this beautiful man hitting me hard. He kept seeing me in these less than glamorous situations. I didn’t know how it was possible for me to be any more embarrassed around him.

Camden turned his attention back to me, his features gentling into something so heartbreakingly caring…I had to yank my gaze away from him.

“Hey. Seriously. That was a hard fall. You should sit down. I’ll ask for some ice,” he pressed, one hand coming up to tip my chin so I had to meet his light-green gaze. Sparks lit up my skin at his touch, and I found myself leaning into his hand.

Wow. I’d never seen that eye color before, like the green sky before a tornado—flakes of gold whipping in the wind in that crazy, bright-green sky as the storm rolled in.

His fingers stroked across my skin, and it was all I could do to hold in a whimper. I’d never been touched like that before—I’d never reacted to anyone’s touch like that.

I blinked, trying to get ahold of the sudden heat spiking between my legs, trying to remind myself of the one universal truth I’d learned in my twenty-one years of life.

Men were trouble.

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