Page 12 of Stray for You

“I hate you,” he says. “I’ve hated you since the day we met.”

“I’m aware.” I glance at his hand on my shoulder. “But you aren’t pushing me away.”

“Shut up,” he says between his teeth.

Working in sales has honed my instincts when it comes to people. I’ve learned to sniff out the tipping point, the moment when they break, when they give in to something they might have been unsure about before. They might not even realize they’re going to give me what I want, but I know. Pouncing on those opportunities has gotten me far in my career.

And tonight, it’s going to get me Cameron.

He puts up no resistance when I close the scant space between us. His fingers tighten subtly on my shoulders as my hands go to his waist and tug him toward me. Our similar heights make it effortless to reach up and kiss him, his lips unsure but yielding all the same.

It starts soft and hesitant, a brush of lips, but when I breathe against him, he shudders in my grip. I turn my head and go in deeper, pressing our mouths more firmly together. Cameron’s is every bit as warm as I always imagined. His kiss is firm and definitive; I’d expect nothing less. He could open me up with histongue, but he doesn’t, holding at least that much back as our mouths explore.

My head is light. I cling to him for balance as much as to touch him. How long have I wondered about this kiss, and here it is outside some bar in Seattle? It’s the time, the distance, the strangeness of the circumstances. I know even as I kiss him that I could never have this outside of this bizarre setting, but I don’t care. He tastes like that music that exploded out of him, shocking and overwhelming and stunningly beautiful. I could delve into him for the rest of the night learning every corner of him, discovering every piece of him, and suddenly I’m desperate to do just that. This is a fantasy I’ve carried since I was a stupid teenager, and now here it is in my hands, impossibly tangible.

I try to lean toward him, grabbing him harder, pressing not just our mouths but our bodies together. His chest is against mine; his hips meet mine. And I want even more. I want all of it. A kiss isn’t going to be enough, not when I’ve felt the potential lurking behind his lips. We could be something explosive, something incredible, if I can only get him to my hotel tonight.

That’s when Cameron shoves me away.

I stumble back, nearly tripping over my feet in my shock. Cameron wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand like he can scrub away that long, lingering kiss. It brightens his blushing lips, leaving them swollen. God, how I want to kiss him again.

“What the fuck, man?” he says. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

As though he didn’t participate in that. As though he didn’t kiss me back. As though this game we’ve been playing since high school hasn’t always gone both ways.

When I don’t respond, Cameron shakes his head at himself. “Not you. No way. Anyone but you.”

The sting of his words is still stabbing through my chest whenhe turns for his driver-side door.

“I’ll be here all week,” I call after him as he slides into his car and slams the door shut.

Because the one constant in me and Cameron’s lives has always been me opening my big, stupid mouth when I should keep it shut.

He responds by starting the engine and narrowly missing me when he pulls out of the parking lot. I watch him go, touching the spot on my lips where the memory of his kiss lingers.

Chapter Seven

Cameron

I DRIVE TO AUNT Mary’s place after finishing up work at the café. I wasn’t lying to Erin and the others about that, even if I did maybe lie about how early I had to start my shift today. That’s hardly the worst sin I committed last night, however.

Why the hell did I let Julian kiss me like that?

I spent my entire drive home trying to scrub it off my lips, then brushed my teeth twice before going to bed. It didn’t work. The memory of his mouth warmed my lips as I fell asleep. My morning coffee didn’t wash it away either, nor did an eight-hour shift at the café. My weekly dinner with Mom and Aunt Mary is my last hope.

“Cameron, is that you?” Mom calls from the kitchen.

“Yeah, Mom. Sorry I’m late.”

“Help set the table. Everything’s ready.”

I toe off my shoes and pad through the living room to the kitchen at the back. Mom and Aunt Mary dodge around each other pulling things off the stove and out of the oven. I skirt around the edge of the chaos, collecting plates and cups from the cupboards to set them on the table in the dining room. When I go back for the cutlery, Mom scoots past me carrying a dish. Aunt Mary follows her, and by the time I return with cutlery, a big steaming platter of lasagna sits on the table accompanied by green beans slathered in salt, pepper and butter.

My stomach grumbles at the sight.

“Hungry, are we?” Aunt Mary says.

She doesn’t look much like me and Mom. We’re both dark-haired and dark-eyed and a little on the taller side, but Aunt Mary is a short woman with a mop of curly brown hair and green eyes. She smiles warmly at me as I take a seat across from her and Mom and immediately start heaping lasagna onto my plate.

---