Page 82 of Best Part of Me

“Oh yeah, you like them young, do you, Maverick?” Rosie’s jab back is borderline dangerous.

“I like ’em young. Maverick likes them mature. Isn’t that what you said, Mav?” Jones says.

At last, Camille makes eye contact with me. Her blue eyes reveal a sadness I know all too well and can feel all the way in the depth of my gut. We commiserate, sharing our heart’s anguish for only a flicker of a moment. It’s all we’re allowed before making it weird and obvious.

“Yeah, mature,” I say absentmindedly as I glance at the floor.

“Okay, weird.” Rosie shoves Cammie toward the bar. “We’re gonna get a drink.”

I’m distracted the entire time Cammie and Rosie are at the bar ordering their drinks. Jones is running his mouth about an altercation between the bar’s owner and a customer that happened last weekend. It’s too difficult to pay attention when Cammie is this close.

So close, I could grab her and kiss her in this bar—in front of everyone. Her bare legs shimmer beneath a flowy skirt. And even though she has on a black fitted sweater, I know she’s freezing. It’s something I already knew before our trip. But after spending 24/7 with her, it’s a detail about her that’s etched in my mind. Covering her with an extra blanket, finding her fuzzy socks in her suitcase so she could wear them around the fire, or giving her my jacket, just so she would stay warm.

By the time Rosie and Camille return to our table, I have no clue what Jones is talking about. My imagination of dragging my hand up Cammie’s thigh and warming her makes the front of my black jeans tighter from the bulge. She drinks her beer, and I can’t help but remember how it felt to press a trail of kisses to the sleek column of her neck.

“Jones, let’s dance.” Rosie snatches Jones’s hand and yanks him off the stool.

He acts as if he’s going to resist, but we all know him too well. There are two things he can’t resist. Dancing and a pretty woman.

For a fraction of a second, I think Cammie and I are going to be alone. But then Rosie calls to her over her shoulder, “C’mon, get your bony ass out here, too.”

Without looking at me, Camille follows after them. It’s not long before a guy asks her to dance. Jealousy snakes through me. My gut burns, and I feel like I might be sick. I curl my fingers into fists.

I debate leaving, but for some idiotic reason, I’d rather be this close to Cammie than not at all. Even if she is dancing with another guy. The expression on her face is easy to read. She’s not into him. But it won’t stop her from trying to convince herself she is. Anything to get over me.

I order another beer and settle into the stool that faces the dance floor. My vision burns a trail up her smooth legs, over her ample hips, and across her breasts. Watching her dance with someone else feels like punishment. As if my broken heart isn’t enough.

Jones dances with Rosie first until he moves onto two other women. One woman is wearing theBridesash. I shake my head and chug my beer.

When I see Camille leave the dance floor and approach the bar for another drink, my eyes track her. I feel animalistic. She downs at least half of the fresh beer without coming up for air, and a chuckle works itself out of my throat.

“Hey, handsome, want to dance?” a woman’s voice sounds out next to me.

I glance up and find one of the women from the bachelorette party. “Sorry, not dancing tonight. Just watching.”

“I could be into that.” She takes that as an invitation to tiptoe her fingers up my arm and shoulder.

I lift my head in Cammie’s direction and find her, eyes wide and chin jutted. Her lips in a little pout. Those fucking lips. She whips around and rushes to the back of the bar where the restrooms are located.

Hopping off the stool, I nearly knock it to the floor in my hurry. I push past the woman and rush after Cammie without making a scene. There’s a long hallway with doors. One for staff members, the men’s restroom, and next is the women’s restroom. I don’t hesitate. I shove the door open, and my eyes search the room for her.

“Maverick? What the hell are you doing?” Cammie asks, tears streaming down her face.

My gut wrenches. I feel like I’m going to throw up. Her tears are my fault.

“I had to see you.”

Her eyes dance around frantically. “You shouldn’t be here.”

A toilet flushes, and I hold my breath. The thought hadn’t occurred to me that we weren’t alone in here. A woman stumbles out of the stall in her high heels, and her gaze lands on me. A sly smile slides onto her mouth.

“Heyyy,” she slurs. “I think you’re in the wrong bathroom. Or... amIin the wrong bathroom?” She finally sees Camille, and she reads the room. “Ohhh, lemme juss wash my hands, and I’ll let you two...” She closes one eye, pointing a finger at us. “Yeah, two, be alone.”

“I’m so sorry,” Cammie says to the woman who is out the door in a flash. As soon as we’re alone, she turns on me. “You can’t be here.”

I rush to the door and lock it. “Are you okay? Why are you crying?”

She throws a hand into the air. “Are you crazy? There are women out there who’ve been drinking. They’re gonna need to use the bathroom.”

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