Page 31 of Catching Camila

Camila put both hands on her hips. “You will not be fine. Look at it out there.” Lightning split the sky.

John shrugged. “Do you have an umbrella?”

Camila arched back in her chair as she thought. He tried not to focus on the pull of her tank top across the swell of her breasts.

“Look, here’s what we’ll do. You can sleep in the spare bedroom. It’s a mess, but it’s better than out there.” Her eyes flicked uncertainly to his face and then away. “We’ll shut the door. Mama never goes in there. That’d come too close to facing her problems.”

John swallowed hard. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

“Why?” A blush crept up her cheeks. “You’d rather sleep in the rain than with me?” She clasped her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. “Oh, no. We’d just, you know, be sleeping.”

A blush burned up John's cheeks. “It’s okay. I knew what you meant. I don’t want to sleep in the rain, but I can’t get you in trouble.”

She tugged on the hem of her tank top. “She probably won’t even come home. If she does, we’ll sneak you out the window. My mama’s not the most observant person.”

John felt himself nodding. As he followed her to the spare bedroom, his eyes locked on the backside of her yoga pants.

Camila flicked on the bedroom light. The small room was, to put it bluntly, a disaster. There was a footpath that lead to a bare mattress surrounded by mounds of clothes and shoes. It reminded him of a crater, his crater. He shuttered.

She shrugged. “Sorry.”

“It’s great actually. So much better than where I’ve been sleeping.”

She pulled down a sleeping bag and spare pillow from the closet. A two-inch expanse of stomach appeared as she reached up for it and heat burned up John's chest. He took the bedding from her, suddenly aware of the warmth of the room. She was so close to him.

“The mattress is okay. It hasn’t been slept on in ages. I just wish I had clean sheets.” She looked up at him.

John spread the sleeping bag on the mattress, plumped the pillow, and lay down on his side, facing her.

“Camila,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you,” he rolled over on his back and looked up at the ceiling. “As far as I can remember this is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

She laughed lightly. “Considering you only remember the last three days, that’s not saying much, but you’re welcome. Good night.”

She clicked the door shut. John lay on his back, his hands locked behind his head, listening to her footsteps. Sleep pulled him down, but he fought it for as long as he could, if just to hear her a little longer.

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