Page 28 of Off Balance

He does like he says and keeps the workout light, but we’re both feeling the drag of a late night. At the end of the workout, we both lay flat on our backs and stare at the ceiling. I can feel my eyes getting heavy.

“Don’t fall asleep on me, old man.”

“Who are you calling old?”

“Uh, you. The big sweaty guy currently napping on my floor.”

Reluctantly, I sit up, pulling my knees up and letting my arms rest on top of them. “Sorry, I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Me either.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Do you?”

Touche.I can’t decide what would be worse, talking about how stressed out I am about the bad press this fight is getting because of my ex’s drama. Or admitting to Cameron that I can’t stop thinking about him and have basically been low-key stalking his performances, to the point that I wait across the street to watch him leave, sick to my stomach every single time he leaves with Alistar in his fancy town car.

Cameron huffs out a small laugh, at least partially reading my mind. "Your ex seems like a real piece of work."

A chuckle escapes me, and I run a hand over my close-cropped hair. I suppose this is a better subject than how unhinged I’ve become. "Yeah, she's a peach."

It’s silent for a moment and I think that might be the end of it, but Cameron blurts, "Why were you with her?"

I decide I might as well be honest, even though I’m ashamed of how weak it makes me look. "Because she pretended to be what I needed when I needed companionship. And she made it easy to stay with her."

"And because she was hot?"

I snort. "That, too."

"Did it make you feel good to have a pretty thing on your arm?"

That’s an odd question."I suppose so, yeah. I never really thought of it that way."

"What did you think of it as?"

I shrug. "Support. Someone on my side.”

"Did you like fucking her?"

Whoa.

I'm taken aback by the question. I don't love where the conversation, which feels more like an interrogation now, is going. I sense that same heaviness that I've been seeing since I met him. I don't know if he needs answers to a problem he's trying to work out for himself, or an outlet.

Despite my better judgement, I answer him. "Yes."

"Did you make her feel good?"

"What kind of question is that?"

"I mean, did you make her come? Did you do things she liked and focus on her pleasure, or was she your pretty trophy? Just a hole to use?"

"Jesus, Cameron, why?—"

"Tell me, Dom. Tell me if you cared about her enough to make her feel good, or if she was just another thing you owned."

"I thought our sex life was good."

"You thought?"

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