Page 73 of Cold Feet
"Metoo," I admitted, the words barely audible even to my own ears.
I felt him shift beside me, turning to face me though I kept my eyes fixed on the ceiling, afraid of what he might see in my expression.
"Hey Lana…”.
"Should we sleep?" I whispered, still not looking at him, still not fully ready to face what was happening between us. "Early start tomorrow. You've got practice tomorrow and we've got our season opener on Tuesday."
"Probably," he agreed, though he didn't release my hand. "Goodnight, Lana."
"Goodnight, Cam."
Neither of us moved away. Our hands remained linked in the dark, a bridge across the careful distance we maintained. Eventually, the steady rhythm of his breathing and the warmth of his hand in mine lulled me toward sleep.
As I drifted off, I allowed myself one final, dangerous thought: What if this didn't have to end? What if, somehow, we could make this real?
Tomorrow would bring reality crashing back. Tomorrow I'd have to face the consequences of my growing feelings. Tomorrow I'd remember all the reasons this was impossible.
But tonight… Tonight I would hold his hand in the darkness and pretend, just for a few more hours, that this fairy tale could have a happy ending.
Chapter 13
I'd been awake for several minutes, but I hadn't moved, reluctant to disturb the man sleeping beside me.
Cam lay on his stomach, one arm tucked beneath his pillow, the other stretched across the space between us. The sheet had slipped down to his waist during the night, revealing the broad expanse of his back – all sculpted muscle and smooth skin, interrupted only by a small scar near his left shoulder blade.Funny, he was wearing a t-shirt when we went to sleep, I remembered. I glanced around the bed, taking great care not to move or shift my weight, until I saw it, scrunched into a gray ball at the foot of the bed. He must have gotten too warm overnight again. His face was turned toward me, relaxed in sleep in a way it rarely was in waking hours. Long eyelashes fanned against his cheeks, his usual cocky grin softened into something sweeter, more vulnerable.
I allowed myself the luxury of looking at him, really looking, while he couldn't catch me staring. The strong line of his jaw was covered in golden-brown stubble. The slight furrow between his brows remained even in sleep, as if he was puzzling through some hockey strategy in his dreams. The curve of his bicep, the definition in his shoulders that revealed countless hours of training.
God, he was beautiful. The kind of beautiful that made my breath catch and my fingers itch to trace the contours of his sleeping form. I wondered what it would be like to wake up to this sight every morning, to reach across and run my palm along the warm skin of his back, to feel those muscles flex beneath my touch.
My smutty Cam thoughts were going to be the ruin of me.
I carefully slipped from the bed. This was dangerous territory. In less than two hours, we'd be back in St. Pete, back to our professional roles and carefully maintained boundaries. Whatever this strange, liminal space had been between us this weekend, it wasn't real life.
I padded to the bathroom, closing the door softly behind me. As I got dressed, I tried to mentally shift gears, preparing myself for the transition back to work mode. Monday meant a full slate of meetings, media requests to sort through, and preparations for Tuesday's season opener. I needed to be Lana Decker, capable PR director, not this softer version of myself who'd spent the weekend pretending to be in love with Cam Murphy and finding the “faking it” part a whole lot harder than the “madly in love” part.
When I emerged from the bathroom forty minutes later, I'd armored myself as best I could. My hair fell in soft waves around my shoulders, my makeup was subtle but flawless, and I'd chosen a structured teal sundress that happened to match the sapphire on my finger. The espadrille slides added three inches to my height, making my legs look longer, giving me the confidence boost I desperately needed.
Cam was awake now, sitting on the edge of the bed in just his shorts, hair adorably mussed from sleep. He looked up as I entered, and the appreciation that flashed in his eyes sent a flutter through my stomach.
"Wow," he said simply, his gaze traveling from my face down to my legs and back again with unhurried admiration. "You look… incredible."
I smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle from my dress, secretly pleased by his reaction. "Thanks. Early start, remember? We've got practice and meetings."
He nodded, smoothing his disheveled hair with his fingers. "Right. Reality calls."
The word hung between us – reality. As if this weekend had been something else entirely, a shared fantasy we'd both temporarily inhabited.
"Bathroom's all yours," I said, turning away from the intensity in his eyes. "I'll finish packing."
We moved around each other with surprising ease as we prepared to leave, a domesticity that felt both alien and familiar. I folded my clothes with perhaps more precision than necessary, trying not to think about how Cam's toiletries had mingled with mine on the bathroom counter, how his hoodie was draped over the chair next to my cardigan.
"Ready?" he asked, surveying the room one last time.
I nodded, knowing as soon as we walked out this door, the spell would begin to break. The knowledge sat like a stone at the bottom of my stomach.
Downstairs, my parents had gathered for a farewell breakfast. My mother fussed over us, pressing a bag of extra muffins into my hands for the road. My father actually hugged Cam – not the brief, manly clasp he usually offered, but a real, actual embrace.
What in the world?
