Page 11 of Stray for You

He clutches his keys in his hand like he might try to stab me with them. I know he finds me annoying, but what have I done to make this man murderous every time he sees me?

“Why were you at the show?” Cameron says. “Why are you following me around?”

I’m not sure how to answer that. I could explain that Henry told me about the show, but that will imply that I asked Henry for the information. I did, but that’s beside the point. I don’t want Cameron turning his rage on Henry as well. The guy did nothing but answer my questions. I’m the one who dug for information about Cameron instead of maintaining our silent truce.

The truth is … I wanted to find him. As soon as I knew work was sending me to Seattle, I wanted to find Cameron. I didn’t really care if it was at a café or during a show at a bar, I just wanted to see him. I guess I never really got over my first impression of him back in high school. He was a quiet, broody guy sitting alone in a corner, doodling in a notebook. Something drew me to him, something I couldn’t shake. Something still draws me to him today. But it’s not a feeling I have any name for. It’s more than a silly crush, or I might have gotten over it by now.

When we were kids, I fell back on doing what I always do when I’m unsure: teasing. Poking. It always got a reaction, andnegative attention still counted as attention, so I kept on doing it. It became almost routine to poke at Cameron’s insecurities every time I saw him, but there was never any malice behind it. I simply wanted him to notice me.

It’s childish, I know, and I should probably apologize and beg for forgiveness, but being sincere with Cameron is far scarier than being punched. He’d never accept a schoolboy crush as an excuse, especially because we’re far from schoolboys. I should be upfront with the guy, repair whatever I can repair, try to earn his trust, but all of that sounds way less fun than pushing his buttons and watching those dark, piercing eyes laser focus on nothing in the world but me.

Perhaps that’s why I answer him the way I do.

“Can a guy want to reunite with his brother?” I say.

Rage darkens his face. For a second, it looks like he might actually lash out and hit me, but he just grinds his teeth and says, “Cut it out, Julian. I’m not in the mood tonight.”

“Come on, it’s just a joke. Shouldn’t you be with your band?”

“Shouldn’t you be with your conference or whatever?”

“The conference is during the day,” I say. “We do whatever we want at night. And I do meanwhateverwe want.”

He rolls his eyes at the implications dripping off my words, but it would have been more gratifying to find a flash of jealousy instead. A man can dream.

I step closer, and Cameron’s annoyance flickers into wariness. He can reach me now. He can punch me in the face if he really wants to. Yet he’s the one who seems cornered, his hips against his trunk like it’s a wall boxing him in.

“So, what, you guys sell shit all day then get shitty drunk all night?” Cameron says, clearly trying to sound pissed instead of anxious.

“That’s about the shape of it,” I say with a shrug.

“Thrilling.”

“It can be, if you’re getting drunk with the right people.” Again, I let the implications hang between us.

“Then why aren’t you inside getting drunk with the right people? Now’s your chance,” Cameron says.

“Ah, the vibe in there wasn’t it,” I say. “I thought I’d have more fun out here.”

Cameron narrows his eyes as I inch a bit closer. His gaze flickers up and down me, so quick I’m not sure he even realizes he does it. He’s probably busy telling himself he didn’t look, but I’m under no such illusions. Whatever else has happened between us, I’ve always found him attractive, and I have no qualms about that. He’s slightly taller than me, his dark hair messy in a way that’s begging for fingers curling through it and tugging. And those eyes. When they blaze with anger as they do now, they’re hot enough to scorch. I can only imagine what they’d look like boiling with passion. I’ve always wanted him, and I’ve always gone about it in the worst way possible. Just as I am tonight.

“There’s nothing out here,” Cameron says to rebuff me. “Nothing fun. You should go back inside.” His protests grow weaker with every word.

“I don’t know,” I say easily. “You’re out here, aren’t you?”

“I’m not fun.”

I smirk up at him. “You’re selling yourself short, Cam. I bet you’re all kinds of fun when you let yourself be.”

He puts his hands on my shoulders, but doesn’t actually push me away. Something shifts between us, the thin pretext of this conversation dissolving in the warmth of his hands on me. He’s touched me plenty of times, usually to push me away or elbow me or shove me off of him, but this time is different. There’s more time behind us now. There’s more space between us. I shouldn’t be here, and I’m going to disappear again in a week when I return to the East Coast. Our moms aren’t dating. Noone knows we’re behind this bar. The conditions are right to tear down the wall of resentment we’ve erected between us over the years.

“Go home,” Cameron says. “All the way home. Don’t come back here.”

The words should sting, but he’s speaking more quietly, the edge in his voice cooling.

“It’s only a week,” I say, quieting my voice as well. “Just one little week. Then I’ll disappear for good. How much harm can I do in a week?”

His eyes narrow a twitch, a gesture I only catch because I’m so close.

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