Page 9 of SALT

Mac: Wear the black halter top with that black and white printed skirt with the slit up the slide. He likes that one on you.

Cameron: This is why you are my best friend. Tell me this was all a cruel joke, and you're not really leaving for the summer.

Mac: Get dressed and get your ass over here!

I just finished pulling on the skirt Mac said I should wear when there's a light knock on my door.

"It's open."

The door opens slightly. "Are you decent?"

"Yes, Everett. Since when have I ever invited you in while I was naked?" I say with a little added cheekiness, given where things ended last night.

It's seldom that any words affect Everett. He's a lawyer. The man wears a constant look of indifference no matter the situation, but the slight clench in his jaw when he puts his hands in his pockets tells me that mine have, and that's new.

He ignores my impudence. "I was just seeing if you were ready to go."

"You came by to see if I'm ready to go?" I question, trying to understand why he'd stop by my room to ask me at all.

"Yes, I'm leaving for Connor's and…" He rolls his lips and drops his eyes. "You know what, never mind. I'm not even sure why I asked. You're probably going out after dinner."

I haven't ridden in a car with Everett since I was seventeen. Sure, we live in the same house, and we attend the same family functions, but we don't ride together like father and daughter or anything else for that matter. It's why my brain is stumbling now. The lack of sleep I got last night because I stayed up replaying every touch and dissecting every word in the kitchen, trying to piece together where we stand, could very well be getting the best of me now. I know I'm operating on less than sufficient neurons, but I'm pretty sure I'm reading between the lines just fine.

He turns, his hand on the knob when I say, "Were you about to offer me a ride? Because if so, I'll take it."

His head turns slightly toward the sound of my voice, but he doesn't give me his eyes. "Be down in five," he says before exiting my room.

I don't care how out of sorts this man has me. There's no way in hell I'm turning down alone time with Everett Callahan, and a car ride to Connor's guarantees I'll have it twice.

"What's it like having a best friend who can read minds? I freaking called it. Greedy and jealous. You realize when the dam breaks, you're in for it. I hope you've been dusting off the cobwebs with toys, at least."

"Oh my god," I can't help but laugh.

She knows I haven't had sex in over a year. I've been irrationally committed to Everett since the night we shared in my tent on my twenty-first birthday. In my mind, the second his hand trailed up my thigh and he pulled me into him, I was his. It doesn't matter that he left the second his conscious thoughts alerted him to what he had done. I feel it in the depths of my soul. In those few fleeting seconds, he knew who I was, and I was exactly what he wanted, what he craved.

"I also think you are reading into the silence on the ride over way too much. This is new territory for both of you. He wants you all to himself. Period. Since we've been over here talking, which has been at least forty-five minutes, he's glanced in this direction at least three times, and we know it's not because he's looking at me. I'm just going to say it because it needs to be said. If you want to have an adult relationship with that man…" Her eyes flick back up to the house where the guys are outside grilling before adding, "Because that's what Everett is, he's a man. He's not a boy; he's not a guy in his twenties who's flip-flopping between partying and commitment. He knows what he likes and what he wants. If you want to take him on, you need to put on your big girl panties and sack up. You rode here in silence. Don't do the same on the way home. Use that pretty little mouth and start asking questions. Tell him what you want. Show him you're not a little girl anymore."

I down the rest of my mojito on that note. "He hasn't exactly given me the chance. Night one, he accused me of throwing the party, and then last night, things started out nice but…" I trail off remembering the last time we shared a tender moment in that same spot.

When he approached me at the sink for a moment, it felt like we were back in the kitchen last Christmas. It's childish and maybe it only serves to show my age—something I can't change—but I couldn't sleep, and I remembered I hadn't made Christmas cookies for the next morning. I realized there were no kids to wake up and Santa wouldn't be coming, but it makes me happy. My dad used to make them with me every year. We'd make the cookies, decorate them, and then pick out the best ones to set out. It's a tradition that hasn't left me. I was washing the mixing bowls while waiting for the cookies to come out when Everett came down and startled me. He asked if the dishwasher had broken, and when I gave him an unamused sidelong glare, he crossed the invisible line again. The one I know exists for both of us. It doesn't matter that I want to break it down. Not only is all of this new territory for both of us, but it's still taboo and forbidden. Everett isn't just an older man. I'm not naïve. I've always known what a relationship between us would look like to the outside world. How it would be perceived, the rumors that would start; but in my eyes, none of it mattered. It didn't matter as long as, in the end, he was mine.

The time of night and the eve of the day quickly registered, and he realized what I was doing and why. His hand found my upper back, and he apologized. That same hand dropped lower when I gave him no words, and he shut off the water. My face turned toward his, and he said, "Tell me how I can make it right." His thumb slowly stroked over my back. The move was innocent enough, meant to comfort, not incite, but that's exactly what it did when the subtle brush of his thumb caught the hem of my nightshirt and his finger grazed my bare skin. The air seized in my lungs, and my skin instantly pebbled. As he stared at me, his eyes never leaving mine, I saw the heaviness there. The weight of the chemistry that had been building between us since my twenty-first birthday was undeniable, but that night, I saw more. What we shared had been years in the making.

"Cameron, I understand how his words put you on the defense, but I think—" Loud music and a truck pulling down the gravel drive have her words falling short.

"What is Parker doing here?"

"What do you think he's doing here? He is technically Connor's stepbrother now. Wait, did something happen between you guys? You sound upset."

"Come on," I nod toward the house. "I need a refill."

She holds up the bottle of wine she brought when we walked down here for girl time. "I have enough for two more glasses. Spill."

I hand her my glass and bend down to unstrap my heels before pulling up the hem of my skirt and taking a seat on the dock to dip my feet in the water.

"I used him, and now he wants to use me."

"Use you how?" she says as she empties the bottle of wine between our glasses.

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