Page 50 of The Long Game

More images came, floating freely into my mind. “You meditate?”

“Among other things, yeah.”

I swallowed, now suddenly frustrated by this man who apparently was full of surprises. “If you tell me you also knit, I will stand up, leave, and never believe a word you say.”

“I don’t knit.” He tilted his head in thought. “Although I tried. I’ve tried many different things.” Well, that was just fantastic and not making me feel like a hobby-less person at all. He continued,“It’s said to be good to keep your mind off things. To disconnect. To appease your mind when it gets too loud.” He lifted one of those paw-hands in the air. “But my fingers are too big and battered for it, and I have little patience.”

I could have said that I knew how little patience he had, but I was busy taking the chance to inspect that hand up close. In detail. Without needing an excuse to. Just like I’d glimpsed in the past, he did have long and strong-looking fingers. Rough-looking, too. And his middle one in particular was crooked, like I’d seen the day we’d met, as if he’d broken it and it hadn’t healed right. The signet around his pinky sparkled under the last rays of sun.

“You should try,” he said.

“Knitting?”

“Taking your mind off things. Stop overthinking and overanalyzing every single second of your and everybody else’s life. Stop measuring each word that leaves anyone’s mouth. Yours included.”

I felt myself swallow. “I don’t do that,” I said, but my voice was pitchy. I was whining. I seemed to be constantly doing that and I hated it. “I’m perfectly able to take my mind off things and relax. I could try any hobby I wanted and be excellent at it, too. I could beat you at yoga if…”Your hands hadn’t been all over me. “I practiced enough.”

Cameron’s lips twitched again. “You really are a fiery, competitive thing, aren’t you?”

I scoffed. “Don’t call me a thing.”

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” Cameron admitted, his gaze so intently on me that for a moment I thought he was peeking right into my brain.

I opened my mouth to ask what he could possibly mean.

But his hand reached out for my face. His outstretched palm brushed my cheek, making my breath catch, and then, the pad of his thumb grazed my skin. It skimmed softly along the line of my jaw, making my lips part and a wave of static blanket the skin of my face.

Quickly, like gunpowder lighting up, it spread down my neck. My arms. It tingled and traveled all the way down to my toes.

Cameron touched me, and I couldn’t do anything but remain still, so very still, while the rough feel of his thumb brushed against my face.

Chest pounding, I watched his eyes dip down, inspecting that spot on my jaw that now was buzzing, burning, flaring under his touch. “You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep this up,” he said so softly that I couldn’t make sense of his words. “You’re in shambles, darling,” he murmured, green eyes returning to mine. “I can hardly see you underneath the mess.”

I should be moving away. But Cameron’s touch—the physical tie I was feeling to him—was so powerful, so sudden and intense, that I was being sucked in. Like an energy field or a vacuum. I was trapped.

His hand cupped my jaw in a tender gesture I didn’t understand or expect, and my eyelids fluttered closed. He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be touching me like this, gently wiping dirt from my face like he cared it was there. And I—it shouldn’t be feeling this good.

I jerked back.

Physically removing myself from his touch and whatever it was doing to me.

When I opened my eyes, Cameron didn’t seem bothered by my reaction. Not at all. If anything, he looked curious. As if he’d seen something he wanted to examine up close.

Probably all the dust and dirt.

I couldn’t do anything but furiously pat at my face with the hem of my shirt, outraged and confused, focused on showing him I didn’t need anyone to do this. I only needed myself.

Cameron hummed deep in his throat before standing up, and only then he said, “Perhaps we’re not so different.” The green in his eyes darkened. “Maybe I’m also trying to prove a point.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Cameron

“Those are the uniforms?”

I nodded. “The very same.”

Adalyn muttered something under her breath before mumbling, “But— But they—”

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