Page 200 of Waiting Game

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

Even Camille’s laughter is sweet—it’s more of a tinkle than a chuckle. “I think in Cole’s warped mind it is.”

He scowls. “Warped?! Camille!”

She winks at me so I smile/grimace back, more focused on not falling off Gloria than Cole’s attempt at easing my anxiety.

Seeming to sense it didn’t work, Camille shoots me a worried glance. “Are you going to be all right? I can come with you. Guide you out there.”

“Nope,” Cole answers on my behalf. “I’m going to take it real slow and show her how I was taught.”

“She has more of a drop-down than you did when you were four, Cole,” Camille argues, stacking her hands on her hips.

“Gloria’s quiet as a mouse. She won’t toss Mia. You think I’d put her in danger? She’s precious cargo, Camille. I got plans for that butt and it doesn’t involve bruising it.”

Laughter bursts from me but Camille tuts. “Honestly.”

“Hey! No need to be a prude. I’ve seen what you and that husband of yours get up to when you think no one’s around.”

Her eyes flare wide. “Shut up.”

Cole’s smile is smug. “Don’t worry. I turned around and headed back here like a good boy.”

She flushes. “I didn’t?—”

Cole winks but I grumble, “Leave her alone, Cole. Like you’re innocent.”

“I never said I was. I live for filthy sex.”

Camille shoots me a dry smile. “My husband’s the same. We should join forces.”

“And what? Out-filthy them?” I smirk as Cole pouts and declares:

“Impossible!”

“He thinks he’s a romance book hero.”

Camille blinks at me. “He does?”

“Yeah, he’s delusional.”

“Hey!”

Snorting, Camille gently taps Gloria’s butt. “The things you learn.” She leans closer to me. “We should exchange numbers. I need to leverage some of his secrets to keep him in his place.”

My lips twitch. “Gladly.”

Cole sighs. “Is this how you thank your most beloved donor? The one who spends weekends in the summer helping out with your programs?!”

Okay, so my heart might flutter at his words.

Doesn’t stop me from giving Camille my number though. My old skating buddies have been quieter than church mice since Chuck’s passing so the potential for a new friend is a pleasant one.

“I’m never going to live that down,” he complains five minutes later when we amble out of the stables.

“You love not living stuff down,” I retort easily. Then, I query, “Which part?”

“The book boyfriend stuff.”

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