I mean, it was fantastic sex.
I managed a handful more popcorn because it was so ingrained in me to stay away from anything that might wreck the abs, although I did spend a short time reasoning that sex burned off more calories than I’d be consuming. Then, for some crazy reason, my brain decided to contemplate my exit strategy. I don’t know why my instincts told me I needed to leave—maybe it was my actual brain taking over from the one in my pants after a self-preservation switch was thrown. I should listen to my instincts, after all, if Atlas found out I’d done this with Cameron without an NDA, he’d go ballistic. All I knew was that as soon as the credits began to roll on a ludicrous ending, I was itching to leave.
“I should go.” I scooted back, picking at popcorn in my lap.
“You don’t have to.”
“I probably do. Sorry.”
“That’s okay,” Cameron said, then tilted my chin, so I was meeting his gaze instead of staring at the remainder of my snack sticking to my T-shirt. “You don’t need to apologize for needing to leave. I’ll see you tomorrow at the rink, and then after, maybe we could—”
“I think we should stop doing that.”
He made a face like a goldfish, and wariness filtered into his expression. “Because of what happened between us?” he asked in a regretful tone.
“You’re too much of a temptation,” I whispered.
“Back at you.” He smiled at me. “Maybe I can find someone else to help you, someone on the team who won’t want to kiss you.”
“I don’t want anyone else,” I said without thinking.
“So, we’re good to keep going.”
If we were doing the hockey, then I wouldn’t have to be doing the talking, and maybe I could re-learn how to skate, and everything would be okay.
“Yeah,” I said, then slumped back and, this time, I stared at the TV, which had gone into sleep mode. All I could see was a reflection of me being the awkward idiot I am and gorgeous sexy Cameron being… well, being gorgeous and sexy. We were so different, and I don’t mean only in looks, with my blond thing against his hot—burning hot—dark-eyed devil. I was deep in the closet, and he was free of all that. I mean, he marched in LA Pride for fuck’s sake, and I knew that because there were photos of him and some of the other team members all waving flags on the Storm’s social media. I’d never even seen a Pride parade up close, let alone joined in with the love.
“Did I say something wrong?” he asked.
The need to leave poked at me from nowhere, and my chest got all tight. This was the moment he asked me if I was okay, and then, I’d have to make exaggerated excuses about why I was quiet. “No.”
“It’s just that you’ve gone strangely quiet,” he murmured.
“Sorry.”
“It’s all good. I like just sitting with you.”
Okay. He doesn’t want me talking. Message received. Not that I had anything else to say right now. I was in my liminal space, that time when I knew I needed to move on to the next thing; in this case, I should be leaving.
“Sorry for talking too much.” And then going quiet.
“About movies? I loved that. Don’t get me started on hockey. Next time, we’ll watch a game, and I’ll explain everything.”
Next time? Was there going to be a next time?
What about when he realized his comment on me being quiet was hitting the nail on the head. I could handle interactions, hell I could handle an entire movie, but the downtimes when I was chilled, that was the other side of me—the person I became after I’d run out of vibrant excitable me. It happened all the time, people meeting me, chancing upon me on a day when my social well was full, and then finding out that any kind of social brilliance they thought I had was a pretense.
It was happening now. All the positive stuff about movies, and me joking with him, was being replaced by worries filling the empty space where relaxed and happy should be. Freaking social anxiety crippled me, and it came from nowhere. I wanted to sit and hug, but Cameron was normal, and he said I was quiet, and that was something I needed to address. Right?
Maybe we should just have sex again because we don’t have to talk when we’re fucking… making love… whatever.
People who met me when I could channel the star of an action franchise—confident, strong, saves the world. But once the hellos were over, all I had was the uncanny ability to talk their ears off about movies, and then luckily, I could move on to the next person.
But one-on-one interactions? They were hard.
And I’d already shown Cameron my particular skill of dissecting a script. So now what? Give him some impromptu acting lessons to fill the quiet space?
“I’m not sure I can do this,” I said, but not to him, more to myself.
“Watch movies?” he joked.
I wish he would stop joking and listen to me.
How can he be serious when you’re not explaining anything?
He nudged me, and I glanced up and fell into the warm beauty that was his dark eyes. His socket was bruised, the center of the wound darkening, but it didn’t take away from how sexy he was. “We had fun,” he said. “I’d like to have fun again, but I get the feeling maybe you’re done with this now. And that’s cool as well. You do you.” I wasn’t sure he meant that last part, given he cradled my face and stared right into my eyes.
“You don’t know the real me, and doing this again means that you’ll see everything.” Fuck. Where had that come from? Had I warned him off? Or exposed my soft belly ready to be ripped apart?
“Well, the real you has weak ankles,” he murmured and kissed me again, and somehow the urge to run quietened inside me.
“And ADHD,” I admitted in a whisper.
His eyes widened momentarily, but then he nodded. “Okay.”
Wait. Was that all he was going to say? Where were the questions or comments?
“Okay, and?”
“Thank you for telling me,” he said and smoothed his thumbs over my cheekbones. “Our coach’s daughter, Meghan, has ADHD, and sometimes she just needs to be alone and doesn’t want anyone messing with her. I learned that the hard way, good old Uncle Cameron teasing her and pushing things too far at a cookout a few years ago. I grew up teasing other kids; that was how my siblings and I related. Anyway, Coach sat me in a chair and explained impulse control, and masking, and the overwhelming desire of Meghan wanting to be on her own, and all the spaces in between.” He added another smile. “I’m a much better friend, now.”
I waited a beat. “So, if I said I needed space, you wouldn’t need to dissect why.”
“Sure.”
“Because it doesn’t mean I don’t want to be here. I do, but maybe I shouldn’t be here because it’s a step too far, and it feels like I’m jeopardizing my movie roles, but then, movies aren’t real and…”
Cameron pressed one final kiss to my nose. “I’ll see you at the rink in the morning.”
“You still want to do that?”
“Tomorrow. Nine a.m. I’ll bring coffee; you bring breakfast.”
He walked me to the door, giving me a lingering kiss, before standing back as I walked to my car. Impulsively, I stopped and went back to him.