Page 70 of Best Part of Me

“Of course,” I say coolly. Because I am cool. He doesn’t owe me anything—especially an apology.

He reaches an arm over the edge of the hammock, shaking the entire thing while he picks up his phone from off the ground, and I let out a strangled shriek, afraid we’ll fall out and our bare asses are going to be on display for the entire campground.

I don’t mean to, but I glance at his phone screen. Seeing Jones’s name causes my girl parts to put up the Closed sign instantly. Nope, this isn’t happening. The guilt stabs me in the heart. We’re not supposed to be here—together.

Maverick turns to look at me. I nod, not as if he needs permission, but more because we’re both liable here.

“Hey, Jones, what’s up?”

I can’t make out all the words Jones is saying. I only catch a few here and there. He’s just checking in. Something about the weather. He met a woman at The Pines. They’re going on a date. Might only be good for a hookup.Eww.I stop trying to listen.

Maverick doesn’t touch me while he’s on the phone. He doesn’t look at me either. It’s just as well. But it also causes the doubt to rush at me in a giant wave.

Coming with Maverick might’ve not only been the biggest mistake, but it might’ve put me behind in making progress with my future plans. He’s already the man I measure all other men against. And that was before I knew how good the sex is. How talented his tongue and mouth are. How sweet his kisses are. How the sound of his small chuckle causes my skin to hum.

I’m screwed. And not in the good way.

CHAPTER20

Maverick

Our drive today is long. It’s about ten hours from Yosemite to The Great Basin. We were awake before the sunrise and got on the road early.

After I ended the call with Jones last night, Cammie headed to the bathrooms for a long shower, and then we climbed into the tent. I held her until we fell asleep, my heart hammering in my chest, saying all the things I wanted to but couldn’t.

Things are awkward between us in the car today. I’d blame Jones if I weren’t already blaming myself. It’s much easier to forget about Jones when I’m out on the road with Cammie and it’s just the two of us. But hearing his voice made reality crash down. There’s no chance for us to have anything beyond this. There’s no hope for a future for us. I hate that we’re already over before we’ve even had the chance to begin.

Cammie feels the shift in our relationship since the phone call too. It’s obvious by the way she’s staying quiet in the passenger seat, gazing out the window at the scenery. She hasn’t even connected her phone to my stereo and started up one of her usual road trip playlists.

I consider reaching for her hand, tugging it into my lap. But I don’t. Instead, I switch the radio on but keep it low and grip the steering wheel. It’s too quiet. I miss Cammie’s chatter.

Usually, she’s going on and on about work, telling me about the customers at the store who she refers to aslifers, complaining about her dad and how he butts in and gets in the way of a sale, telling me about spending hours setting up a new paint can display only to have her dad change it the next day.

Besides the hardware store, her second passion is fashion. It’s the career she would be doing if her dad hadn’t needed her help at the store. She’s been filling me in about what’sinthis season and how it makes no sense to her. Which is good because it makes no sense to me either.

While she looks adorable dressed in black corduroy overalls, checkered Vans, and a tan Carhartt beanie, I’m questioning if this is the sort ofinshe was referring to or if this is her own style choice. My wardrobe consists of black T-shirts, black jeans, sweatpants, the occasional flannel, and Yankees sweatshirts. I’m fortunate with my job that no one sees how I’m dressed. The photos I take and post online and on social media are professional. I don’t even have a single personal social media account.

Cammie finds this appalling. And it only makes me crack up more. We’re opposites, that’s for sure. Even if I weren’t best friends with her brother, we’d probably never work out anyway.

I feel her intense stare on me for the first time all day and quickly glance over at her, finding myself dying to get just one smile out of her. It’s stupid. But I’m craving it. I want to punch myself in the balls because of it. I’m so fucking gone, infatuated with this woman. And I hate it.

Our eyes lock for just a moment, but the smile I’m yearning for doesn’t come. Instead, it’s a faded version. Flat lined with defeat written behind it. My heart stalls in my chest.

She looks away, returning her attention out the window.

I clear my throat. “Don’t go getting reserved on me now, Sunshine.” The use of the nickname I usually save for moments when we’re being intimate feels strange and off-putting.

“I guess I’m just not feeling very talkative right now.”

Understandable. But that doesn’t mean I want to spend the rest of our days like this. I’m almost tempted to ask her if she’d like to go home early and offer to take her to the nearest airport. But I don’t. I’m desperate to keep her close to me for the duration of our time together. I’m not about to give up even a second.

“What’s on your mind?” It’s a stupid question. And if she gives me a smart-ass answer, I won’t be surprised.

“Me. You. Jones. Everything.” Her response is the same as it always is when I’ve asked the question this week.

“Are you feeling guilty?”

“A little,” she admits, biting her lower lip.

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