Page 59 of Knotted Laces

I snort. “And the full cupboards and bags of food you brought in aren’t enough?”

“One,” she ticks off on her fingers, “those full cupboards are packed with healthy crap?—”

I chuckle.

“And two, I was anticipating a four hour drive, not being trapped with a ravenous hockey player with an affection for Snickers?—”

I had, in fact, devoured the king-sized Snickers from the bag. But still, there arefourfull bags of snacks. The thought of going through that much junk food in the next two days is…

Well, not impossible because we can botheat.

But certainly improbable.

“—if I had anticipated having to fill your hollow Jackson leg, I would have brought twice as much.”

I laugh and shake my head. “I’m scared to think what you’d bring on a road trip.”

Her eyes dance. “Why’s that?”

“Because you wouldn’t have room for clothes.”

“Ihappen to think”—she slides her gaze down my body and I feel heat flicker in my stomach, feel that flicker grow into a full-on inferno when she steps close and drags her hand across my chest, down my torso, slips it under the waistband of my sweats to grasp my cock—“that clothes are highly overrated.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Athena

“No.”I scowl and throw up my hands. “Jesus Christ, Cam! How the hell am I supposed to do this?”

He’s fighting a smile, which makes me want to launch the controller at him. “I don’t know how it’s possible, but you’re actually better at video games when you’re drunk.”

“Ugh.” I toss the controller to the side. “I hate that you’re right.” I scowl at him again for good measure. “And I hate even more that you don’t have any additional bottles of whisky so that I can kick this boss’s ass.”

He takes the controllers and sets them aside. “Who knew that a double jump would be your downfall?”

Double ugh.

I just can’t get the timing right, which is frustrating. I’m not a professional athlete, but I know how to handle myself. That I can’t hit two buttons at the correct moment is infuriating. “I need more junk food.”

Grinning, he passes me the bag, which, thankfully, still has plenty of my favorites. I pull out a bag of gummy worms and start taking my frustrations out by biting their tiny heads off.

We’ve spent the last few hours playing this game—after fucking for the hours in between watching the river rise, crest, and begin to descend, and then hitting the kitchen ravenous.

Thankfully, Cam has a metric ton of cinnamon rolls in his freezer, along with casseroles and pasta sauce that Martha clearly stocked up for him, so there’s no chance of starving?—

Or, God forbid, having to eat more of the vegetables in the fridge.

He pushes up from the couch and disappears into the hall. I have to bite back my question, have to resist the urge to stop him from leaving. A dangerous thought, that, being so in tune with him that I want to know where he’s going and what he’s doing and…

Why he’s leaving me.

That has panic ramping, almost sending me from the couch and out into the darkness. I’ll channel my inner mountain goat and leap rock-to-rock then hitchhike the four hours back down to the Bay.

This is dumb.

This is stupid.

This is…going to leave me bloody and bruised and?—

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