Page 14 of Best Part of Me

“Jones is calling again.”

The door opens, and the sight of her nearly knocks me on my ass. Cammie’s cheeks are flushed, and her eyes are glossy. Seeing her dressed in my clothing about undoes me.

It’s no use, my erection is here to stay.

She’s swimming in the blue Yankees sweatshirt, yet I don’t think I’ve seen her look more beautiful. Her legs are mostly bare, smooth skin tempting my lips to spread languid kisses down the length of them and back up. I’m under the impression she decided against putting on the gym sweat shorts because of their size, and she’s got nothing underneath the sweatshirt. The idea of having quick access to her pussy has me even more turned on.

She also put on the fuzzy socks and I had no doubt she would. The socks were a gift from her a few Christmases ago. Because Cammie loves all things cozy and fuzzy. Like the pathetic ass that I am, I only wear them when I can’t get her off my mind.

“It’s okay, you can answer.” She tugs a few wayward blonde strands of hair free from the sweatshirt.

My brows shoot up. “You sure?”

She shrugs. “Tell him you dropped me off at home.”

“You want me to lie to Jones?” I hiss. It’s code—you don’t ever lie to your best bro.

“Well, do you want him to show up here?”

She has a good point. I definitely don’t. When Cammie asked if she could stay, I had no choice but to say yes. I’ve never been able to tell her no.

“Please, Mav.” Her bright blue eyes shine while she gazes up at me.

But it’s not only the pleading in her eyes, it’s the way she utters “please, Mav” that wins in the end. My stupid brain is assaulted with images of her beneath me, begging for other things. Like a well-deserved fucking orgasm.

I answer the phone and put it up to my ear. “Hey, Jones. Everything okay?”

“Are you serious, dillhole?” Jones hollers into the phone. “Where is she?”

“What do you mean?” I play dumb for as long as possible in an effort to appear less guilty. But maybe it’s working against me.

“Camille. If she’s there with you, I swear to God, Maverick—”

“She’s not.” I interrupt. “I dropped her off at home.”

“When? Because she’s not fucking there. She’s not at Chris’s either.”

I run a shaky hand through my hair. My gut pinches with guilt. “I don’t know, man. Did you try calling her? Or checking with Rosie?”

Jones releases a groan laced with frustration into the phone. “I’ll try Rosie again.”

As I stare at the beauty standing in front of me that is the current topic of discussion, I say, “Let me know as soon as you hear from her.”

“Just tell me you two didn’t have this planned. Please tell me there’s nothing going on between you?”

Nothing?That would mean more lying. The sexual tension in this apartment is building by the moment and threatens to implode.

But I can at least answer one thing honestly. “Shit, dude. Of course we didn’t plan it. You know Cammie, no one tells her what to do.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m just worried about her.”

Cammie tugs the cuff of one of the sweatshirt sleeves over her fist as she rests it against her lips, and I swallow. It’s sexy as hell.

“Give her some time. And keep me posted.”

“I will, thanks.”

I end the call without breaking eye contact with Camille.

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