Page 48 of Stray for You

Chapter Twenty-Four

Julian

“STAY,” I WHINE, pulling Cameron back down into bed with me.

He chuckles but doesn’t shove me away, which is a dream come true in and of itself. I’m sure I’m awake, however, if only because of the light spearing into Cameron’s bedroom and searing my eyes. The sunlight slashes across his bed. The sheets ensnare us like grasping vines, twisted and tangled from how we rolled around in them last night. I hug Cameron against my chest, burying my face against the back of his neck and breathing him in.

“I can’t stay in bed all day,” he says, but he doesn’t try to free himself from my grasp.

“Why not?” I retort like a petulant child.

“Because it’s nearly noon and I have band practice in Seattle at one,” he says.

“Nnnnn.”

“Your disagreement is noted, but it’s not going to stop me.”

Cameron turns in my arms, his face suddenly close to mine. Then the most miraculous thing happens. Cameron smooths my hair away from my face and leans forward to kiss me, morning breath and all.

“I won’t be gone that long,” he says. “Do you want food before I go? We can watch a movie or something when I get home. It won’t even be dinner time yet.”

“Why don’t I come with you?” I say.

From this close, there’s no way I could miss his wince.

“We don’t let people come to our practices,” he says. “It makes it weird. We need to play without worrying about an audience. It’s the only way it works.”

There’s something about the set of his mouth that makes me think there’s more to this than the band’s policy on practicing alone, but I don’t push it. I’ve already been luckier than I ever dared hope for, and I have the entire rest of the week to look forward to. Much as I don’t want to, I let him go, and Cameron slinks out of bed and pads to his bathroom.

I flop onto my back and listen to him brushing his teeth and getting ready for the day. It doesn’t take him long. He throws on clothes, combs his fingers through his hair, and stuffs his phone, wallet and keys into his pockets. He disappears for a bit, and a few minutes later he returns with half a bagel covered in cream cheese, which he sets on the nightstand. He holds the other half.

“Breakfast,” he says. “Or lunch, I guess. I haven’t slept this late in a while.”

“I guess your body needed some rest after all that late-night exercise,” I say with a waggle of eyebrows.

Cameron sighs and rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t seem genuinely upset, and trust me, I’ve seen him genuinely upset plenty of times.

He sits on the edge of the bed and scarfs down his bagel. I sit beside him, but only pick at the half he brought for me. He brushes the crumbs off his jeans, then kisses me swiftly.

“Don’t burn down my apartment,” he says. “I left a key on the kitchen table so you can let yourself in and out if you want. There’s not really anything to do around here, but the weather is weirdly nice today if you want to walk down to the park or something.”

“Maybe I’ll just raid your underwear drawer,” I say.

He shoves my shoulder. “You’ve seen my underwear. It’s not interesting.”

He rises from where he sits on the edge of the bed.

“I really have to go now,” he says. “Please don’t do anything crazy.”

I put up my hands in a placating gesture. “I probably won’t even bother getting out of bed.”

“Typical,” he grumbles. Yet he smiles and kisses me one last time before grabbing his guitar and finally heading out of the apartment.

I hold in my sigh until I hear the door click shut behind him. I lay spread out on his bed, arms wide, the sheets messy around me, the whole space smelling like him, like us, and I can’t imagine feeling more content for the rest of my life. What I’d give for things to stay this way forever. I want to see him off in the morning. I want to eat half his bagel for breakfast. I want to wait eagerly for him to come home. I want to do all that boring domestic stuff that never interested me before. Until now, I thought I’d want to keep living my playboy lifestyle indefinitely. It never crossed my mind to imagine a real future with Cameron of all people, yet it’s hard to swat away the fantasy when I’m enveloped in his space.

I leap out of bed, too restless to lie there waiting for the minutes to tick by. I brush my teeth and freshen up a little before throwing on clothes. Then I make the bed. But I don’t simply make the bed, I also clean up the clothes strewn about it. I straighten the clutter on the nightstand. I tidy up what I can in Cameron’s room, so that when he comes home he gets an instant physical reminder that I was thinking about him all day.

It doesn’t take very long, however, and soon I’m right back where I was — bored and restless. I wander through the tiny apartment, mentally collecting all the miscellaneous detritus that makes up Cameron. I feel like a character in a detectivegame. Every picture frame, every book, every shirt in his laundry, every dirty coffee mug in his sink — they’re pieces of the full picture. He has a weird and random collection of mugs. Some must be gifts. He reads a lot of biographies about musicians, apparently, but there’s also a few fantasy novels thrown into the mix, which is an interest of his I never knew about.

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