Page 23 of Best Part of Me

“Come on in,” I mutter, my fantasy of morning sex imploding.

I shut the door behind him, and when I turn, I find him pacing back and forth in the small space between my kitchen and living room. He looks like a wreck. Hair disheveled, dark circles under his eyes, and an unshaven face.

“Cammie finally called my dad last night and said she was safe but wouldn’t tell him where she is. Why would she do this? Worry us like this?” He scrubs his hands down his tired face.

“Look, Cammie’s a big girl.” A big girl? More like a grown-ass woman. “If she told you she’s fine, you gotta trust her.”

Jones stops pacing and whips around. “Trust her? How are we supposed to trust her? You know she can’t make decisions for shit. Prime example—yesterday running out on her own fucking wedding.”

My gaze zeros in on my closed bedroom door, and my gut tightens. I’m half expecting Cammie to storm out here any second as she overhears this conversation and rip Jones a new one.

“C’mon, give her more credit than that.”

“She’s always doing this. Never thinking of anyone else but herself.” He’s pacing again.

My shoulders stiffen, and an overwhelming need to defend her pulses in my veins. Camille is the opposite of what Jones is saying. She’s always putting others before herself. But in the moment, Jones is upset.

I divert the craving to argue with him and stick up for her as I shuffle into the kitchen.

“She’ll reach out when she’s ready.”

He follows me. “And in the meantime, we’re supposed to do what?”

I turn around and grip his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Trust her. Cammie’s smart. She just needs some time.”

He exhales, attention fixated on the floor. “You’re right. She is smart.” He shakes his head and turns to face me. “I had no idea she was so unhappy with Chris.”

At the reminder of Cammie’s happiness, my skin tingles while flashbacks from the night before play through my mind.

“Did you?” Jones asks.

I jolt and run a hand over the back of my neck. “Yeah... I mean, a little.”

“Really?” His expression is smeared with hurt.

I shrug off his question. “It just seemed obvious to me.”

“Did she tell you?”

The line between truth and lies blurs, and it kills me not to be able to tell Jones about Cammie and me. But what could I really say? That she not only confessed her unhappiness to me, but I was the remedy? Or that I’ve wanted her for as long as I can remember?

“Nah, man. Just had a feeling, is all.” My attention flicks toward my bedroom door once again.

Jones must finally catch a hint that something is going on and we’re not alone in the apartment.

He whirls around to face the bedroom, staring at the door before turning his attention back to me, eyes wide. “Shit. Do you have someone over?”

“Uh...” I rub my mouth with my thumb and finger.

“You do.” But he says it like a statement. “Why didn’t you fucking say something?” He rushes to the door.

My shoulders sag in relief. “You didn’t really give me a chance.”

He opens the door to leave but stops, keeping his hand gripped on the knob. He scrutinizes me over his shoulder, his brows furrowed, and I suck in a breath.

“You never let women sleep over.”

The thing about best friends is they know you. Like, really know you.

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