She sits across from me and gives me a side-eye. “No, you’re not.”
“Actually, I am. I was hoping he’d bring pot.”
Cami laughs, and it’s the sweetest, most genuine sound I’ve heard since we both arrived. “You mean you didn’t bring any?”
“Of course, I did. But I figured a rich boy like him would have the good stuff. If you want to wallow, I’ll share mine with you.” I flash a grin.
“How nice of you,” she deadpans. “I don’t smoke it with him. He looked like an idiot but did it around his stupid friends to seem cooler than he was.”
That’s not surprising. Zane’s a fucking moron, especially if he broke up with her.
I inhale half my omelet. “I can teach you. I brought my pipe.”
“A pipe? Oh, my God. What are you, eighty?” She crosses her legs on the chair. Right now, in her non-designer tank top and cotton shorts, she looks normal. Not at all like she’ll inherit billions of dollars before she turns thirty.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Would you prefer to be classier and smoke it rolled in a joint?” I take a sip of my juice and grin.
Cami’s frown turns into a full-on smile, and knowing I made her laugh gives me a small sense of pride.
“Vodka and weed. Sounds like the perfect medicine for heartbreak.”
“I’ll even sweeten the deal…but I’m gonna need something in return.”
She waves her hand. “Like what?”
“Since I made you breakfast—a delicious one, might I add—you have to make dinner.”
Cami narrows her bright eyes at me. “You’re joking.”
“No, really. Try it. This omelet is fan-fucking-tastic.”
“Not about that,” she says. “I can’t cook.”
That I knew. Cameron St. James has never had to cook a day in her life.
“Well, now’s a good time to learn.” I flash her a devilish smirk. She shoots a death glare my way, folding her arms. “Okay, okay.” I laugh. “I’ll help. Consider me your personal cooking tutor.”
“That’s a horrible idea,” she states. “I’ll probably poison us both.”
“I guess that’s just a risk I’m willing to take.” I tap my knuckles twice on the table, then stand and grab my dirty dishes. “We’ll start nice and easy.”
“Like what? Boiling a pot of water?”
“Well, that’ll be the first step for making pasta.” I rinse my plate and mug.
Cami follows with her vodka in hand, and I watch as she takes another gulp.
“You’re gonna be drunk before we make it to dinner.”
“That’s kinda the plan. I’d like to numb as many feelings as I can right now, so you either find more alcohol or you’re a part of the problem.”
Chuckling, I take the bottle from her tight grip and put the cap back on. “Go take a hot bath and relax. I’ll be here to shout curse words at later.”
The moment the words fall from my mouth, her shoulders slump, and guilt washes over her face.
“I’m sorry about that,” she says softly.
“I know.” I flash her a wink, and she groans with an eye roll. “Now, upstairs you go. Take a nap after the tub. Once you’re awake, we’ll cook a delicious non-poisonous meal, then smoke.”
Cami snorts, and I can tell she’s already feeling the vodka. “This really must be the twilight zone.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m at the cabin—one I haven’t been to in ages—with you, and we’re talking about weed. I must be dreaming.”
“Well, that’s very possible, but just in case…we should make sure.”
Sauntering toward her, I close the gap between us and grip the back of her neck. She steps forward, and I cover her mouth with mine.
I halfway expect her to push away and slap me, but she leans in and wraps her arms around my waist. Cupping her face, I slide my tongue between her lips and deepen the kiss. Cami moans against me, and her response has my dick reacting. I’m not sure what came over me—especially since she’s been single for barely a few hours—but she looked so sad and helpless moments ago, and I wanted to help her forget that asshole.
“Well?” I ask, breaking the kiss after a few moments. We’re panting and out of breath.
Cami blinks and brings a finger to her mouth. “Um…” Swallowing hard, she looks up at me. “What the hell was that?”
I shrug as if it didn’t affect me, but truth be told, I’ve imagined kissing her like that since when we were teenagers. “Guess you’re not dreaming.”
Cami blinks again, licks her lips, then nods. “Apparently not, though I’m unsure if I’m happy about that or not.”
“Well, dreaming would almost be better because the current circumstances kinda suck.”
“Oh, uh, right. Yeah, that part definitely does.”
“Okay, well, I gotta shower and check in with my boss.” Walking toward the stairs, I notice she’s flustered, which has me grinning, but I tuck it inside. “Don’t forget about our dinner plans.” I point at her. “Five o’clock sharp.”
“Sure. Maybe eat a big lunch in case it’s a fail.”
“Nah, I have faith in you.” I flash her a wink. “But just in case, I have snacks.”
Bruno follows me to the stairs, and I take two steps at a time, then go into the bathroom. I’m not sure what the fuck came over me, but I don’t regret it. Even though Cameron tormented me for years, I still fantasized about kissing her. And it was everything I thought it’d be—searing hot and passionate, greedy even. Since Zane just broke it off, and she was in a vulnerable state, I shouldn’t have taken advantage, but…Cami didn’t push me away either.
Once I finish showering and get dressed, I hear the water running upstairs, and smile knowing she’s soaking in the tub like I suggested. Cami’s so damn uptight; she probably doesn’t know how to chill out, but it makes me happy that she’s trying.
“Alright, Bruno…work time, buddy.” He nudges me with his wet nose, nearly climbing on my lap as I sit at the desk. “Lie down and take a nap. We’ll play later,” I tell him.
He’s used to constant attention because one of my roommates played with him while I was at the office, but he won’t be getting that here. I have to complete my tasks remotely through this crisis, which is fucking with my head.
On one hand, I need to figure out new ways to connect with clients and am even hoping to get promoted soon to an appraisal manager. But on the other, I hate pushing people to sign contracts on leases they don’t need right now. Nevertheless, I still need a paycheck, and I’m grateful to receive a salary when millions have lost their jobs.
After an hour of responding to emails and following up with a few clients, I take a short break to get a drink. As I’m walking down the hallway, I hear a commotion from above and pause. I wait and then hear Cami scream followed by a loud thump.
Rushing to the third level, I knock on her door and call her name. “Cami? You okay?”
Her feet pad against the floor, and when she opens the door, she’s only wearing a towel.