Page 96 of The Pucking Wrong Man

It was a giddy feeling to step outside and see Camden in his lifted, fancy-looking black truck, waiting at the curb for me.

He waved the second he saw me, hopping out and jogging to where I was on the sidewalk.

I blushed as I looked at him, averting my gaze when he brushed a strand of hair out of my face that had escaped from the messy bun I’d thrown my hair up in after class.

I knew what those fingers could do now. I knew what those lips tasted like.

It was hard to meet his gaze.

He tipped up my chin so I had to look at him, pressing a soft kiss on my lips that had me melting against him with a soft sigh.

“Hi,” I whispered, after he’d lifted his face away from me.

“Hi, little dancer,” he murmured back, playfully batting at the mess of hair on my head. “I like this. It’s sexy.”

Ugh. Was I still breathing? How did I do that again? He was too charming. Too sexy. Too much.

I was in big trouble.

“Thanks,” I said, my voice sounding high and breathy as he tangled his hand with mine and led me to the truck.

Is this what we were doing? Two orgasms against his wall, and now he was holding hands with me?

This was another one of those “pinch me moments” because things like this didn’t happen to a girl like me.

Camden opened the truck door and lifted me up onto the seat. I stared at him, amused, as he fussed with the seatbelt, pulling it over my lap and clicking it in.

“Are you going to start getting me dressed every morning too?” I asked, reddening all over again when his gaze heated like he very much liked that idea.

“Mmmh,” he mused, smiling at me wickedly.

I was a puddle in my seat when he shut the door and walked around to the driver’s side.

I can’t believe I thought about not texting him when I was done with class. I would have missed out on this.

Camden started the truck and pulled away from the curb, and I got caught down memory lane, voices in the past telling me over and over again I was a burden.

“Do you know how lucky you are we took you in and kept you off the streets?” Mrs. Carver snarled as she stared down at the broken vase at my feet. I hadn’t even broken the vase—Michael had and then he’d blamed it on me. But I couldn’t tell Mrs. Carver that. “We pay for food, for clothes...we put a roof over your head. And this is how you repay us?”

This is how you repay us?

This is how you repay us?

The words repeated in my head over and over again—though not even close to how many times I’d heard it from them.

I’d never wanted to feel indebted to anyone again.

I needed to remember that with Camden. There was always a point where things changed, when it went from a favor to a curse.

“What are you thinking about over there? You look like Geraldine when she lost her British Bake Off competition against Mrs. Hennie.”

“Geraldine?”

He snorted. “I forgot you haven’t met her yet. I’ve been so wrapped up in you these last few weeks, it seems weird you don’t know my whole life already.”

Ugh. This was why I needed to be careful. Because he said things like that.

“So, where are we going?” I chirped, trying to sound excited even though that particular memory had definitely brought down my mood.

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