I hadn’t been prepared for an immediate job offer. I look at my boss, who smiles at me again. “It’s time for you to progress,” he says simply. “I had you in mind for this position as soon as it was posted. I just needed you to feel comfortable and to decide if it’s really what you want, really the best thing for you.”
I beam. “Thank you. I look forward to reviewing the package on Monday.” What I really wanted to say was Yes! Hell yes! but I didn’t want to appear too eager. Besides that, I’d like the chance to negotiate.
Because I know my worth—and I won’t take anything less than an offer that upholds that.
As I head back to my desk to collect my things and leave for the day, I can’t help but realize that my happiness can’t fully be realized because of what happened with Cameron. I’ve been thinking about what happened nonstop. He’s texted me a couple times, brief, polite texts to check on me and make sure I’m okay. His last message to me said that if I wanted to talk, he would be there.
It’s time to talk. I can’t let him leave without knowing that I’m sorry.
I send him a text and ask him if he’s up for a meet. He invites me to The Draught, a favorite bar of his near the base.
The drive with rush hour takes me about an hour to get there. In that time, my anxiety swells, despite all the positive affirmations and breathing techniques I employ. What if he’s not interested anymore? What if he doesn’t forgive me? What if he changed his mind about me? Worse, what if I was right all along?
When I walk in, I expect a crowded bar, but it’s actually a super chill pub. A pretty, dark-haired woman works the bar. Another waits tables. There are only about a dozen people in the place, and most of them are concentrated at a table near the back of the room.
A tall, handsome guy heading back from the restrooms pauses and glances at me. “Who you lookin’ for?” he asks in a friendly tone.
“Um…Cameron?”
Nodding, as if I’m expected, the guy cups his hands around his mouth and bellows, “Kang! Front and center.”
I huff out a little laugh.
Cameron stands up from where he’s sitting at that table and walks toward me, holding a pint of some kind of beer. Several of the guys he’s sitting with glance over at me, and I feel horribly uncomfortable.
“Thanks, Hop,” he says drily. “Joshua Hopper, this is Maya Mitchell. Maya, Josh. Or Hopper. Or Hop, we call him.”
“Pleasure,” Josh-Hopper-Hop says with a smile, then saunters toward the table Cameron just left.
“Hey,” Cameron says quietly. “How’s it going?”
“Um, kind of great and kind of horrible,” I reply.
“Do you want to sit down?” he asks, gesturing at a smaller, two-person table near us.
“Cam, what’ll the pretty lady have?” the bartender hollers in a deep Southern twang.
I’m about to refuse, but then I think, hell, maybe a little liquid courage would do me some good. “Moscow Mule,” I call back.
She gives me a little salute and turns to make it.
“Here, let’s sit.” He pulls out my chair for me, and I could cry. Such a gentleman. Not the kind of guy to use a woman. I’m such an idiot.
“A last hurrah before you leave?” I ask, gesturing toward the table.
He chuckles a little. “I suppose, but we’re here almost every night. It’s not like we need a reason, really.”
The pretty bartender strides over and sets down my drink, then offers me a friendly smile. “You’re new. How you perkin’, sweetheart?”
“That’s Southern for ‘how are you,’” Cameron interjects, grinning up at her.
Oh no—are they a thing? I’m not picking up on a flirtatious vibe, but they definitely know each other, and she’s definitely gorgeous.
“You Cam’s gal?” she continues.
Okay. Not together. “Um—”
“We’re friends,” Cameron says quickly, glancing down at his beer.
My heart drops.
The bartender seems to pick up on the awkward tension between us. “Okay, then. Enjoy the drink and holler if y’all need anything.” She whirls away and heads back to the bar.
“So, what’s up?” Cameron asks. “What’d you want to talk to me about?”
“Everything,” I say in a rush. “I’m sorry for freaking out on you the other night, Cameron. I just—I got really scared. I could blame it on my anxiety or my sister’s situation, but the truth is, it’s all on me. I’m responsible for the ways I feel and the things I do and say, and I’ve been doing a lot of thinking this week. You didn’t deserve the things I said to you. You’re not like that, and I know that.”
He studies me intently. “How do you know? You seemed pretty sure of the kind of person I am the other night.”
“I know because…” I pause and take a breath, summoning every last piece of courage I have. “I know because I’m in love with you.”
His eyes widen.
“And I really want us to have a chance to see if we can build—if you want to. And if you don’t want to, then this is closure to let us both go our separate ways. At the very least, I owed you an apology.”
Cameron shakes his head.
My heart drops again, farther this time.
Then he reaches for my hand and brings my fingers to his lips. “Three things.”
“Um…okay.”
“Number one. I don’t want us to go our separate ways. Number two. I do want to build with you. And number three…”
I hold my breath, my heart already taking flight. “Yes?”
Cameron gets up from his chair and walks around to my side. He holds out his hand. I grasp it, and he pulls me up into his arms.
“Number three,” he says, lowering his face to mine. “I love you too, Maya.”
My lips are on his before he’s got the last syllable of my name out of his mouth.
“Thank you for not giving up on me,” I whisper. “Thank you.”
“I would never, and I will never.” His arms tighten around me. “Will you wait for me? Give me one month to do what I have to do, and then I’ll come back home to you?”
I beam up at him. “I’d wait forever for you, Cameron Kang.”
Epilogue
Kang
Five years later
I stare up at the goddess on top of me as she rides me, both graceful and wickedly lusty at the same time. I still can’t believe she’s mine, even after four years of marriage and two babies.
It still feels like a dream, and I hope it always will.
Her nails dig into my chest, her head falling back as she rolls her hips, taking every inch of me deep inside her. “Yes,” she moans. “Yes, baby!”
I grip my wife’s hips, guiding her, enjoying the sensation of being buried so deep inside her tight channel. “Fuck, Maya. I love you.”
“I love you,” she croons, then her brows rush together, and her mouth falls open. “I’m coming, baby!”
From outside the bedroom door, Zelda, waiting impatiently to be let back in—yes, we require privacy even in front of our dog—lets out an alarmed bark.