Page 85 of The Boyfriend Gamble

“I’ve made up the guest room—it’s got blackout blinds. You said some chamomile tea will help you sleep but you won’t be groggy when you wake up. You said eight hours, right? Will you want breakfast food or lasagna or something else? Because it’ll be six in the evening. Oh God, I need to stop talking, and you need to get into bed. Shower or...?”

I shook my head. “Bed.” Before I could say anything else, he was at my feet and untying my laces. “Cameron—”

“Shush. You’ve been up for more than thirty hours, and you’re falling over. Bed. I turned on the heating blanket—Dad liked it when he visited. But you can turn it off if it’s too much. You’re frozen.”

“I had to keep the cab cold to stay awake.” I eyed the stairs. “Can I just sleep under your desk down here?”

“Youreallywant to give me a blow job. The answer’s no. I’d carry you, but that would end disastrously for both of us. Come on, I’ll help you.”

And he did—all the way up two sets of stairs, into the guest bedroom, out of my clothes, and into bed. He’d left the fucking reindeer pajamas for me to borrow, but the heated bed was fine, so I dove in naked. I didn’t even care if he saw me.

Well, I kind of liked that he did.

And that he maintained the clinical approach.

I was so tired that I didn’t even react to being near him. I drank half a mug of tea and was out before he even left the room.

Eight hours later, my alarm went off, and I squinted at the display.

A text from Taryn assuring me I was needed—when I was safe to drive. Technically we were exempt from the hours-of-service rules because we were performing emergency functions, but Taryn followed the rules scrupulously.

I hopped into the guest shower and was dry and headed downstairs within fifteen minutes.

Hot lasagna awaited me. Along with an insulated mug of coffee and a zipped cooler bag.

Tears sprang to my eyes.

“No.” Cameron’s eyes widened. “This was supposed to make you happy. To make things easier. I shoveled the front of the truck so you can just drive out. I…” He faltered. “Are you okay?”

I sniffed. “Just…no one’s ever done this for me before. Like, certainly not at work. And Mom’s all about practicalities and being self-sufficient.”

“You just worked thirteen hours. Self-sufficiency was you making it here safe. This—" He pointed to the table. “—is about me taking care of you. Now, sit.”

I dropped into the chair.

And devoured the food. I’d eaten everything he’d packed last night.

God, had that only been twenty-four hours ago?

“I didn’t have a lot of snacks, so I raided Everett and Rayne’s pantry. I have a couple of other neighbors I can hit up—”

“The 7-Eleven have staff and are open. So’s the Petro Canada. I can get snacks and fuel.” I scratched my stubbled chin. No way was I wasting time shaving. “They say this storm will be worse than last year’s. Maybe as bad as the storm of ’96.”

Cameron shut his eye for a moment. “I was three.”

I grinned. “And I wasn’t even born.”

“Don’t remind me.” He grumbled the words, but in jest.

“Eleven years,” I reminded him cheekily.

He rolled his eyes.

I grinned.

“Oh, do you like éclairs? I took a container over to Rayne and Everett’s last night and they sent me home with a few. Let me grab them.”

“You went out?”

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