Page 30 of Can I Tell You Something?
“I’m just getting this all straight in my head. Separating fact from fiction. There’s a lot I thought was real. I fully believed you’re out having incredible sex all the time.”
“I have a great imagination, and I’m a good storyteller, but I’m not even that active. I’m not dating anyone.”
“I should hope not after the way you kissed me last night,” I say, playfully slapping his arm.
“I mean it,” he says, grabbing my hand and holding it there. “I haven’t even slept with anyone in over six months.”
“Oh. Well, that’s… not that long.”
“How long has it been for you?” he asks.
“Um, a year. Maybe more.”
He huffs out a heavy sigh. “That makes me so fucking mad. And also happy.”
“What?”
“Happy that nobody else is touching you. Mad because your body is gorgeous. It deserves to be touched and worshipped and adored.”
“You haven’t even seen my body,” I laugh nervously.
Cameron slips his gloved hand between my thighs and tugs me closer. “I’ve felt it, and I can’t wait to feel more. And if you haven’t been touched in that long, I bet you’ll be so needy for me.”
Oh, good God.
I know full well how good he is at getting me worked up into a desperate state. He’s already started and if he keeps this up, there’ll be no way I can stop this.
“How’s that going to work if you don’t get involved with your fans?”
“Thought you weren’t a fan,” he teases.
“Thought you said my DMs proved otherwise.”
“Touché.”
My mouth tightens into a pout as I try not to smile.
“The thing is, you’re not like other girls, Hannah,” he says, then cringes. “Sorry, that’s such a gross line. What I mean is, you knew who I was when I arrived here, but you didn’t say a thing. If I hadn’t figured it out, I’m pretty sure you’d have kept that to yourself this entire trip, right?”
“God, yes, I never wanted you to find out.”
“That’s how you’re different. You showed me respect, you gave me space, let me be myself. Other women might have thrown themselves at me, seen me as a challenge and tried to seduce me.” A small growl rumbles from my chest. “What was that? Do I detect a hint of jealousy?”
I don’t like feeling this way, but I am. His content always centres the listener as the other partner in the story. I’ve imagined myself with him so often, but sharing is not something I’m interested in. “Of course I’m jealous.”
“Hey can I ask you something? And feel free to tell me to get fucked if you don’t want to talk about it.”
I feel my shoulders physically tighten, lifting towards my ears as nervous anxiety kicks in. “Um, you can try me.”
“Your brother mentioned an ex, a bad breakup. First, what a dick, but second, are you OK?”
I shift uncomfortably in the padded seat, but the safety bar keeps me pinned in place. “He told you about him?”
“Only very briefly, as part of the‘don’t hit on my sister’conversation. Do you want to talk about it at all? You don’t have to.”
“Two shitty exes, actually. They both cheated. It was a long time ago, and yes, the aftermath was a bad time for me. We don’t even speak their names in our family. I have a lot of trust issues because of it, but I am OK. It’s all in the past.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” he says.
