Page 36 of Knotted Laces

I’ve made the stop when I should be well on my way home—yes, it wasn’t really all that far off my planned route, but itwasa stop, and he was drunk and in an unlocked house and fuckingnaked.

I grind my teeth together.

Naked is the smallest problem in this scenario.

Okay, well not thesmallest?—

Fuck, Ats. Just stop.

He gets up, but instead of reaching toward the pile of Car Snacks like I expect, he pushes off the couch and heads into the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“I wasn’t kidding with my mom. I drank my calories these last few days. My body needs green things and some protein.”

I wrinkle my nose because that sounds awful.

“AndthenI need my empty calories.”

Okay so that’s alittlebetter.

I rip open a candy bar and make my way back into the kitchen.

“Not pissed any longer?” he teases.

“You’re alive and talked to your mom,” I say. “You text the family group chat and stay sober enough to not go incommunicado againandlock your fucking door, and you’ll be clear in my books.”

He glances at me then pulls his phone from his pocket and taps at the screen. “Done on the text. Noted on the lock. And you saw my fridge and cabinets—I’ve emptied the bulk of my alcohol stash.”

Ihaveseen the state of his fridge—chicken and broccoli, yogurt and fancy protein shakes.

Fucking lame.

But also very Cam. And very muchnotlike a man who’s going to drink himself into an early grave.

He starts pulling ingredients out and heads to the counter to prep. “It’s getting dark out there and the rain’s falling harder.”

I pause and realize the sound I’m hearing is raindrops hitting the roof.

“You should leave soon, or you’ll need to stay. The roads will be unsafe.”

I have complete confidence in my ability to navigate bad roads—I’ve taken the driving classes, have the certifications, have the experience driving through many a winding, dark road.

But he wants me to leave.

And that prickles enough of my senses that I don’t go out the door, get in my car, and start heading back down the mountains.

Instead, I grab my pile of snacks, sit at the table, and watch as he prepares something disgustingly healthy.

He doesn’t break the silence, though, and I find myself sitting here and watching him, trying to figure out what the hell feels so wrong about this whole situation…

And what feels so right.

And why I want to get up and walk over to him, to pinch that ass and see if it’s as firm as it appeared when he was naked.

Because it looked like I could bounce a fucking dime off it, or take a bite?—

I nearly choke on my candy bar.

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