I smiled back, ready to see just how bad Gavin actually was. And also surprised to see that Camden was almost…normal. Here, in his own house with just his friends, he didn’t have to put on airs. It was almost like what Court had said about how Camden didn’t have to pretend for him. They had each other’s backs. And now, somehow, I’d been pulled into it.
About an hour into our game, we’d gone through half a bottle of scotch, and Camden had pulled out the cigars. English finally got up from where she’d been seated, typing away on her phone.
“Okay, boys, this is boring as shit. Court was right,” she said, stifling a yawn.
“We can make it more fun for you,” Gavin said. He patted his knee as if to tell her to sit down.
She raised one eyebrow. “I’ll have you know that I have a black belt. I’d reconsider that offer.”
Gavin guffawed. “You could probably kick my ass.”
“Yes, I could.” She turned her attention back to Court. “Let me know if you need me.”
“Don’t worry. We won’t,” he said, turning away from her and back to the cards.
She shrugged and then walked out of the room. Gavin followed her ass the whole way out.
“Phew, she’s smoking hot,” he said.
Court furrowed his brow. “Don’t even fucking think about it, dude.”
“What? Are you hot for teacher?”
“That doesn’t even make sense,” Camden said.
“She’s a huge pain in the ass,” Court ground out. “It doesn’t matter if she’s hot. Also, she’s married.”
“Never stopped you before,” Gavin said with a shit-eating grin.
“Yeah, well, it’s stopping me now.”
“And what about you?” Camden asked, diverting attention away from Court. He was looking right at me.
“What about me?”
“You and Lark have it bad.”
I shrugged. “Did you tell everyone, Court?”
Court laughed and leaned forward on the table, lighting his cigar. “I didn’t tell Camden shit. It’s just that fucking obvious.”
“Wait…you and Lark?” Gavin asked with wide eyes.
“Except to the most oblivious dude on the planet,” Court added.
“So, are you going to do something about it?” Camden asked. His eyes stared pointedly into mine. Like he had his magnetism that made you want to answer. “When you want something, you take it. However you have to.”
And for a moment, it felt like he was talking about himself. Not me at all.
“Yeah…maybe I am,” I conceded.
“That’s right,” Court said, clapping me on the back. “You get your girl.”
Camden nodded. “Also”—he glanced down at the chips—“did you fucking hustle us?”
My laugh was real this time. I had three times the number of chips as anyone else. Court and Gavin had almost nothing at this point.
“I did say that I played some at home.”
Camden’s smile grew. “Well done. I don’t think anyone has ever beaten me at poker like this before.” He brought his cigar to his lips and leaned back in his chair. “Court, you chose well. You’re welcome next time.”
In that moment, it felt like I’d just been tapped into a secret society. Except this might be even more elite.
And while it felt good to be accepted…my mind was on Lark. Something about what Camden had said struck a chord in me. Now, I needed to figure out how to get what I wanted.
23
Lark
“What the hell?” I groaned.
I opened my bleary, tired eyes and reached for my phone, which was buzzing on the nightstand. Finally, it stopped. I flopped back onto the bed and searched desperately for the dream that I’d been in. But it wouldn’t return.
Then suddenly, I heard a banging on the door.
“Ugh,” I muttered as I pulled myself out of bed.
I rubbed a hand over my face and hurried through the apartment to the front door. It looked like English was sleeping through this racket. If it was another drunk ass who had the wrong apartment, I was going to fucking kill someone. I could see why my parents wanted me in another apartment. If this kept up, I might actually agree with them. My sleep was too fucking valuable.
I ripped the door open, ready to curse the asshole up and down for waking me. But instead, Sam stood there, taking up the entire doorframe. He was in navy slacks and a white-and-blue button-up with mussed hair and hazy eyes. He smelled like tobacco and bourbon. And my mouth went suddenly dry at the sight of him, as if conjured straight out of my dream.
“What are you doing here?” I blurted out.
“I came to see you,” he said, all smooth words and long vowels. He’d had plenty to drink, enough to make him lean against the doorframe, but he wasn’t drunk.
“I said that I wasn’t ready to talk to you.”
“I don’t want to talk,” he said.
Then his hands were in my hair, and his lips sensually fitted to mine as if they had always belonged there. His tongue trailed along my bottom lip, asking for permission to enter. A moan broke free at the pure power of him. He stole the breath from my lungs and the thoughts from my mind and power from my body. God, I fucking wanted this and him and everything.
He skimmed my shoulders, my sides, my waist. I shuddered at his touch. At the feel of him and how long I’d waited for it.
“Sam, you…you have things to figure out,” I said, gripping his shirt hard in my fists. I wasn’t sure if it was to bring him closer or push him further away.
“I figured them out.”
“You did?”
“You. I want you.” He nibbled along my jawline. “Just you, Lark.”
“Oh god,” I breathed and then yanked him into the apartment.
He toed the door closed behind him.
Our lips crashed back together, hungry and possessive.
“Yes,” he growled against my lips. “Yes.”
And I came apart.
“Please,” I groaned.
“Anything.”
What did I want? I wanted him. I’d just admitted that to English…and to myself. I’d just decided not to go on a date with anyone else. To figure out what was happening here. Even though we’d ended terribly in the past, that didn’t mean we had to be history repeating.
It was a fresh start. Turning over a new leaf. A blank slate. All those things and more. It was me and Sam. And in every way, we felt right.
Against the odds, we’d found our way back to each other. It was easier to stay mad at him. To harbor that inner fire that said this couldn’t be mended. We’d hurt each other too bad. Irreparable damage had been done. My paper heart had been cut up into little pieces, and no matter how I tried to tape it back together, it would never be the same. But there was hope.
Hope that we could survive what had happened and move on. That he could love that taped-together paper heart again. Find a few scattered pieces and put them back into place the correct way.
It was that hope that had me leading him back to my bedroom. Heedless that English was asleep in the guest bedroom. No protests left his lips.