Page 8 of Best Part of Me

Rosie Milano is blunt and a spitfire, but she’s trustworthy. I put the food into the bag on the back of the bike and latch it closed.

“Ready?”

She nods, stuffing her phone into her cleavage. My eyes can’t help but track her movements. I clear my throat and flick my attention away.

Once I settle on the bike and Cammie holds onto me again, I pull out into traffic. Up ahead a few miles is a familiar viewpoint but it’s not an overpopulated one. I veer off the road, pull the bike onto the wide shoulder, and park.

Camille gets off the bike, holding onto about a thousand layers of fabric in the process. The dress is gorgeous on her. A tight, low-cut bodice, holding in those perky breasts of hers. My imagination runs wild, visualizing how perfect they must look underneath the white jeweled fabric. Or how perfect they’d look writhing above me. I’ve seen her in a bathing suit plenty of times, but I’ve never been fortunate enough to see her naked.

“What’re we doing?” She fists her hands at her sides.

With a tilt of my head, I say, “C’mon, we’re taking a moment so you can catch your breath.”

I carry the bag from the food mart, along with a blanket I always bring with me, and lead the way through the tall, dry grass. When we reach the clearing, I spread the blanket on the ground.

Camille sits and leans back on her hands, inhaling a deep breath. It makes my chest overflow with relief. She looks like she could be posing for a photoshoot, and I wish I had my camera with me. The several yards we’re away from the road dims the sound of the traffic zipping by.

“I’ve never been here. It’s gorgeous.” She takes in our surroundings.

The sun is at a perfect place in the sky where its beams peek through the valleys of the mountain. The glow ricochets off her, illuminating her in the sparkling dress and causing her to look even more beautiful than she already is.

My hard-on is instant. I only hope she’s too distracted by the nature around us to notice it. I stop staring at her and busy myself with the food.

“I’ve taken a lot of photos here. It looks different with each season.”

“I’d love to see it in winter,” she says, popping a piece of cheese into her mouth.

“You should.”

I refrain from telling her I’d love to bring her back here in a few months after the snow has fallen. A lot can change in a few months. This, right now, could be a little detour on her road back to Chris, for all I fucking know.

I crack open a beer and hand it to her without asking. Something tells me after the day she’s had, she needs it. Her shoulders sag and relief shines in her glossy blue eyes as she takes it from me.

“Thanks,” she mumbles while she presses it to her painted lips.

I zone in on the sleek column of her neck while she drinks, so inviting that I’m tempted to press my mouth to her creamy skin. It’s a fucking idiotic thought. Less than an hour ago, I was sitting in a chair, expecting to watch the most enchanting woman I’ve ever known walk down the aisle and commit her life to another man.

Then I planned on going home and drowning my sorrows in an expensive bottle of whiskey I’ve been saving for this exact occasion. In the morning, I’d drag my hungover self out of bed and hit the road for ten days. I’ve never been more grateful for my job at Three Creeks Travel. Getting out of town after watching Cammie marry another man was my only saving grace.

Until she didn’t get married. And here we are. Possibilities stretch out in front of us. Only, fuck. I have to remind myself there is nous. There can never be anus. I’m the playboy and she’s Sunshine.

To her family, I’m the bad boy. The one she’s been told to stay away from since Jones and I became best friends when we were sixteen.

I rub the back of my head and take a swig of water.

“And thanks for the food,” she adds after a few moments.

“Of course. You think I could let my best friend’s little sister starve? He’d never forgive me.” I release a strangled chuckle, the realization of my words setting in.

She’s my best friend’s little sister. Just me being here with her is fucking wrong. I’m not even positive he’ll forgive me for rescuing her.

“I think that’s the least of our worries,” she states.

I catch her studying me while she chugs the last of her beer, and I do my best to look anywhere but at her.

The sun slips behind the mountain, and from my peripheral I see Cammie shiver. Instinctively, I shrug out of my suit jacket and go on my knees to slip it over her shoulders. My fingers slide down the fabric, holding her close enough I catch a hint of her sweet, floral perfume. Her blue eyes lift, taking hold of mine. Our eye contact doesn’t waiver, and I’m afraid if I stare too long, I’ll be tempted to act on cravings I’ve stuffed down for years.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, breaking my trance. At last, I withdraw, tearing my attention away from her. I swallow the lump in my throat.

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