Page 65 of Cougar

Cam

“Cameron,” a sultry voice sings into the phone.

I blink in confusion as I pull the phone from my ear and look down at the screen.Emerson.Bringing the phone back to my ear, I say, “Jayla?”

“Hi, Cam,” she chirps. “Mom’s getting dressed for her party.”

“What party?”

“Some dinner party some of her old friends are throwing for her at Oceanside Grill.”

“Oh.”I wonder if Chris is one of those old friends.

“Hey, I was at your house today with Zach. We went to the beach. And while I think your house is beautiful, it looks like a squatter has taken up residence.”

I bark out a laugh.Smartass. “It’s not that bad. It has everything I need.”

“Your godmother is a decorator. Why haven’t you let her go to town in there? She did a fantastic job on our house.”

True.“I haven’t had time to think about it.”Also true.

Jay whistles into the phone. “Damn, woman. If I weren’t your daughter, or a female, and was into the whole cougar thing, I’d totally hit on you.”

I throw my head back and laugh, prompting my teammates to look over at me.

“So this outfit is a yes?” I hear Emerson ask in the background.

“It’s a hell yes,” Jay replies, and a surge of jealousy shoots through my veins. “Talk to you later, Cam. Here’s Mom.”

Jay says something in the background and then Emerson gets on the phone. “Hi,” she breathes. The sound of her voice tugs at my heart.

“Hey, you’re going out?”

“Just dinner with some old friends at Oceanside Grill. How was the game? Did you win?”

“We did. We’re on our way back now.”

“Congrats on the win. I need to finish getting ready. But you know where I’ll be if you want to come by.”

“I might just do that. See you later, Em.”

“Bye, Cam.”

* * *

Emerson

“What are your thoughts on anal sex?”

I choke on the wine halfway down my throat. I have no choice but to spit it back into the glass or it’ll end up all over my top.

Melissa Freye is a fellow classmate and cheerleader who was definitely born without a filter. Sometimes I wonder if maybe she and I were switched at birth—she’s foulmouthed and blunt, just like my mother.

“I have none,” I reply with a smirk.

“Oh come on. You were married to a rock star. I bet that man fucked you six ways to Sunday. You could probably write a book just on your sex life.”

I probably could.

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