Page 77 of Close Knit

“It’s cathartic. Crying is almost as good as an orgasm.” He glances at me, eyes lingering on my face before settling on my lips. I blush, turning away. “And don’t get me started on those animated shorts where people do kind things—like adopting a stray dog or sharing a cookie with a stranger. I’ve got a whole collection bookmarked for emotional release. I could show you sometime if you’ve got pent-up feelings.”

He chuckles deeply. “I have a way to work those out on my own.”

It’s like we’re playing a sexy game of cards, but I’m already ready to fold. He’s so close. Just a few inches away. I click into a random movie, trying to hide my burning cheeks. “What about this one?”

“You’re kidding.”

I look at him, puzzled. “What?”

“Shrek?” He grimaces.

I gasp dramatically. “Do you have something against a classic that challenges fairytale stereotypes and celebrates being true to oneself?”

“You won’t believe this, but the night we met, my family gave me Shrek in a game of Who Am I? because they think I resemble him.” He shakes his head, but there’s a hint of a smile.

He really is an ogre. My ogre.

“Oh my gosh, they’re right! I always thought of you as an éclair—hard outside, soft and gooey center—but Shrek is even better.”

“Seriously?” He grabs my hand and places it over his rock-hard abs. The muscles ripple below his shirt. We both freeze, our breaths catching. “Anything soft and gooey about that?”

Nope. Just me. My whole body feels like a marshmallow Peep in the microwave, puffing up and getting ready to burst.

“Nope, that’s hard. Really hard.”

He releases me, but I let my hand linger. In one swift movement, I could be kissing him again. But I chicken out. I want him to make the first move. I need to know that he can be vulnerable.

“If I’m Shrek, does that make you my ass?” he asks.

“Mine’s not nearly as scrumptious as yours,” I let slip pulling my hand back.Ugh, I’m blowing this.

“Scrumptious?”

“You know, it’s nice and juicy because of all those squats you do during drills,” I say, rolling my eyes casually.

“You’ve become quite the expert on my drills lately.”

“I need to understand the game so I’m not lost when I go to the next one.”

“And my glute workouts are a part of that?”

I shrug. “It’s in the book.”

It totally isn’t.

“Sure.”

I gulp, hitting play.

After two bags of popcorn and half a bowl of gummy candies—all devoured by yours truly—we’re at the part where Fiona reveals her ogre self to Shrek. Cameron’s head rests on my shoulder. His steady breaths rise and fall. He’s like a giant, sleepy house cat, and I’m the lucky one he’s chosen. I’ve beentrying to stay statue still, except for the occasional gentle scratch up his arm or a lingering whiff of his hair.

Gentle tears catch in my tear ducts—Fiona’s confession always gets me. I sniffle and glance at Cameron. He’s biting his lip, and—wait, is he…crying?

My mouth drops open.

It’s disarmingly intimate. His stoic façade is cracked, softened by the glow of the TV. He scrunches his nose, trying to hold back tears, but it’s too late—a single drop escapes and hides in his scruff. Warmth blooms in my chest and settles in a decidedly inappropriate place.

Am I actually getting worked up over this man crying?

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