Page 57 of Second Quarter Comeback
Killion: Oh, but you are. Tell me, Cam—do you ever practice what you preach? Ever think about me while you’re focusing on all that control?
Camille: Killion.
Killion: Do you? Because I can’t stop thinking about how incredible it’d feel to have you clenching around me. Tight. Perfect. Exactly the way I know you’d be.
Camille: I should turn offmy phone and block you.
Killion: But you won’t. You’re already picturing it, aren’t you? How good it’d feel to have me buried deep inside you, stretching you, making you lose every ounce of that control you’re so proud of.
Camille: You’re ridiculous.
Killion: And yet, you’re still here, listening. Because you know I’m right. You know how good we’d feel together.
Camille: You’ve got a dirty mouth.
Killion: And I’d use every filthy word to make you come, Cam. Imagine it. Me, on my knees, tasting every inch of you, whispering exactly how I’m going to fuck you until you can’t even remember your own name.
Camille: Killion?—
Killion: Say the word, baby. Just one word, and I’ll show you exactly how tight, how perfect, how completely mine you are.
Camille: We’re supposed to be on a get to know each (again) other basis, not . . . this.
Killion: I agree, but what if there are some benefits? Maybe you can reward me with, you know . . . sex?
Camille: I have to go to work, Killion. Keep your dirty thoughts (and texts) to yourself.
Killion: Miss me. I know I’ll miss you, a lot.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Camille
How to Parent Your Parents 101
I stand in front of the mirror, holding two tops like I’m auditioning for aWho Wore It Best?contest no one asked for. One’s plain white, the other a soft sage. It’s not exactlySophie’s Choice, but my brain is too cluttered to make a decision.With a huff, I toss the sage one onto the bed and pull the white over my head. Practical, professional, forgettable. It works.
There’s so many thoughts swirling inside my head that today’s attire isn’t that important. It’s definitely not a dress-for-success day. It’s more like a ‘what the fuck am I doing with my life?’ day.
The text exchange with Killion is taking all my brain cells. I told him my discussion with my parents had been amicable. Was it wrong lying to him? Absolutely. But let’s be honest, this whole second chance with Killion might not work out at all. We’ll soon figure out that being together is as realistic as me suddenly liking kale. He lives here, he’s famous, and his life is a whirlwind of people cheering his name while I’m over here wondering if I can handle not seeing him for weeks at a time.
And then there’s my family.
Last night’s call with Dad is still rattling around my brain like a particularly annoying song I can’t turn off.
“He shouldn’t be back. I’ll terminate him,” Dad snapped, the same fire in his voice that used to terrify my high school boyfriends.
“Dad, I don’t think you have that power,” I said, trying not to laugh. Sure, my dad’s got connections, but who’s really going to listen to a guy trying to take down the nation’s football sweetheart?
It’s not like Killion is just anybody. One time, I was on vacation in Cancun, and a restaurant was broadcasting a Gladiators game. Everyone was screaming hisname like he was their long-lost cousin. That’s what I’m dealing with.
But Dad’s vendetta wasn’t even the worst part of the conversation. Nope. I grab my necklace from the dresser, clasping it behind my neck as his words replay like a bad voicemail.
“This business of yours, Camille . . .” His tone was deceptively calm, which in Dad-speak meant brace for impact. “It’s fine for now. Well, barely fine. You almost undressed, moving your hips like you’re . . .”
“Like I’m what?” I interrupted, knowing exactly where he was going.
“Inappropriate,” he finished, every syllable soaked in disapproval. “Do you know how it feels to see my daughter doing that on the internet?”
