Page 28 of Curious
“To be fair,” Cam says, “helping someone put clothesonis not usually any kind of foreplay.”
Foreplay.
I want foreplay with my husband.
“You have a point,” I whisper.
“We’re going to respect your wishes and go slow.” He grins. “I can take care of myself in the shower just fine.”
Nowthat’san image. I’msoquestioning my previous resolve.
But I’m also questioning the premise. Cam may be new at letting himself be touched by a man, but he’s doing a great job of it. And if he’s my husband, maybe it’s not the same thing as guys before. With Evan, I thought I was escaping from Tyler. John-John. Alex. Frankie. Any of the other “straight” guys I’ve been with and who dumped me when I wanted more than they could publicly give me. Of course, Evan turned out to have his own issues.
Cam’s not hiding, and he’s not hidingme.
So maybe doing things with him is consistent with my new determination to not mess with straight guys after all, since he’s certainly not seemed ashamed of me the few times I’ve been in public with him.
Or maybe I’ve just hung out with enough lawyers to be able to make a persuasive argument for whatever I want.
Right now, it doesn’t matter, since we have to get going. I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt and see how he acts with me today.
I turn around to give him privacy to pull his underwear up the rest of the way, and I start opening drawers. “Okay, what else do you want to wear?”
“Um, T-shirt and jeans, I think. Or maybe sweats.”
I nod and hand him a navy blue T-shirt, and he puts it on. Then I get out some dark gray sweatpants and help him with those. I try not to linger on his shapely legs or the bulge in his boxer briefs.
Soon he’s dressed, except his feet are bare and his hair is wet. And I still want him.
“Let me get your boot,” I say, gesturing to where he’d left it by the bed.
He starts to hop without his crutches. “I can do it.”
“I know. But I kind of like helping you.”
“Okay,” he says. “I appreciate that.”
Somehow his acquiescence is so damn hot. Because Cam is used to being able to do anything. It’s not in his nature to accept help—and I think doing so makes him a bigger person.
I should take notes.
Now that I think about it, Cam has listened to me all along. Even in those first moments with Evan, he was willing to back off once he’d stood up for me. He listened when I suggested this out-there insurance solution. He listens to me chatter about work and everything else.
Sigh. He’s getting under all my defenses, and it’s making me uncomfortable—uncomfortable with how happy I am when I’m around him, that is.
We get Cam’s ankle set up, and he slides his other foot into a flip-flop, then uses crutches to go out to the kitchen, such as it is. I make us pancakes on his electric griddle and brew coffee, and he sniffs appreciatively. “Thanks,” he says. “Living by myself, I forget to eat properly sometimes.”
“No worries. Pancakes are easy.”
“But I feel like things are unbalanced between us. Let me do the dishes, at least.”
I cluck my tongue in disapproval. “Nope. There’s plenty of time for you to do that once your foot is feeling better.”
“I still feel like I need to do more.”
“What you need to do is heal.”
Cam sighs. “Yeah, okay.” We eat our breakfast, and I tidy up. Then he hobbles over to get his keys, wallet, and phone.
