For the Plot (All for Love #1)

Chapter 16

16

Josefine

Do I feel just a little bad about roping the man beside me into being my unwitting accomplice? Sure. But it’s too late now. I’m committed. As soon as I caught Cam coming my way, I panicked.

When I came face to face with my long-lost one-night stand earlier, my heart not only stopped, but it packed its bags and left without notice. His hair is a little longer on top than I remember, and it’s definitely been a day or two since he’s shaved. Not that I’m complaining. His olive skin is tanned to perfection, like maybe he’s been on the island for more than a few days.

Is he the jealous type? I guess we’re about to find out. He’s either going to stride over nonchalantly or bend me over his knee.

And if he is the bend-you-over-my-knee type?

Heat blooms in my core at just the thought.

No, Joey! Stop it. No getting bent over. Not by him, at least. Ugh, what is happening to me right now? I was completely over him. Sort of. I’d at least made peace with the idea that I would never see him again. Though any time I’ve hooked up with a guy in the last year, the encounter has fallen short because I couldn’t help but compare the guy to him .

And now we’re here. At the same resort. How is this even possible?

I train my attention on the poor pawn beside me. What did he say his name was? Isaiah? I swivel on my barstool so I’m facing him, my bare knee swiping the dark hair on his thigh. Tipping forward just a tad, I proudly display my girls. I’m only half listening to his story about a road trip with his buddy and logs on the highway, but I throw my head back and laugh, nonetheless. And that’s when Cam waltzes over and not-so-subtly knocks my knee away from Isaiah’s leg with his hip.

With his hands in his pockets, he stands close, cool and collected.

“May I help you?” I tilt my head and eye him. Terrible idea. He’s so damn close I can see the flecks of gold shimmering in his irises. There’s a slight scar I didn’t notice before running through his left brow, marring the perfection of his face in a way that somehow only makes him look sexier.

“Hey, man. There you are,” Isaiah says when he notices Cam standing close.

What the heck? Mr. Beard-And-Man-Bun is supposed to be on my team.

My accomplice hands Cam a glass of amber liquid with an orange peel garnish—no doubt an old-fashioned, my father’s favorite. They clink glasses, and Cam peers down at me with a wink. “I see you’ve met my buddy.”

I oughta wipe that shit-eating grin off his face right now.

“Oh, yes,” I say, using my knee to push him back a bit.

His eyes dart to the gap between my legs.

“Isaiah here was just telling me about how beautiful the east side of the island is and suggested we go sometime.”

Cam’s jaw ticks, and he turns to his friend, who’s wearing a look of confusion .

“ Ezra ,” he says, “meet Joey .” By the way he says my name and the way his buddy’s eyes bug out, I know my little ruse is over.

Ezra throws his hands in the air and tips his head back. “This is your Joey? I had no idea, I swear.” He brings his glass to his lips and finishes his drink in one gulp.

“We’re cool, man.” Cam tosses back his drink, too, then leans over me to set his glass on the sticky counter. The sweet scent of orange lingers between us when he doesn’t immediately pull away. “I ought to bend you over this bar and teach you a lesson for trying to make me jealous like that.” His breath is hot against my ear.

I knew he was the bend-you-over type, dammit.

Before I have time to process the comment Ezra made about me being Cam’s Joey, Millie arrives. It’s impossible not to be entranced by her presence. She’s got that glow about her. Yeah, she was absolutely made for theater. On occasion, the gals at FrenchSHEs—the drag and cabaret club where Millie bartends between tours—pull her up on stage and give her space to do her thing. And just like on those nights at the drag club, every eye in this place is on her. She’s wearing a two-piece set she bought in the city center during our shopping excursion this morning. The flowy skirt is blue and white with gold threading throughout. Her hair is pulled up in an intentional messy bun that accentuates the skin the backless crop top exposes.

Oblivious to the attention she’s pulling, she slams her clutch on the counter to the left of me.

“Hey, boo.” She looks from me to Cam and back again. “Oh shit,” she says under her breath, clearly picking up on the hostile energy. “What did I miss? Do I need a shot for this?” She waves over the bartender. “Three shots of tequila, please.”

“Make that four,” Ezra interjects.

“Who’s he?” She peers over my shoulder, checking out the new guy.

“Ezra.” He holds his hand out.

“Nice to meet you.” She presses her palm to his. “I’m Millie. I take it you belong to him?” She nods to Cam.

“I guess you could say that,” Ezra laughs.

“All right,” I say. “Now that the introductions are over, we’ll be on our way.” There’s got to be more than one bar at the resort.

“What?” Millie yaps, holding out two of the shot glasses the bartender slid her way. “We just got here.” Head held high, she hands both shots of tequila to Cam.

“Millie,” I urge, unsuccessfully trying to catch her eye.

Either she’s not picking up what I’m putting down or she’s deliberately ignoring me. Knowing her, probably the latter.

“Yeah, Joey,” Cam says. “We just got here.” He undoes the top button of his shirt, showcasing a smattering of dark hair, then rolls up his sleeves. The move reveals a collage of tattoos on his corded forearm that did not exist last year.

Fuck, this cannot be happening .

“Plus,” he adds, “it’s karaoke night.”

Millie squeals beside me. Shit, that’s it. I’m never getting out of here. I don’t wait for anyone to make a toast before I throw back my shot.

The four of us relocate to a table near the stage where the staff is setting up for karaoke. After two more shots of tequila, I order a vodka tonic with lime, feeling much more at ease than I was thirty minutes ago.

“Easy there, sweetheart.” Cam drapes his left arm over the back of my chair.

Sitting next to him means I can avoid making eye contact for the most part, but the proximity and the heat radiating from his body are dangerous for my libido. It’s said that energy isn’t exchanged from one person to another during sex, but that’s hard to believe when I’m this close to this man. We exchanged something a year ago, and it’s still trapped inside me. The question is, how do I get it out?

“Don’t tell me what to do,” I sneer. I dig through my clutch for a hair tie, then secure my hair in a low ponytail.

“If I recall correctly, you liked it when I bossed you around,” he whispers, gently tugging at my ponytail.

Thankfully, Ezra and Millie are locked in a heated discussion about which songs are best for karaoke and aren’t paying us a lick of attention.

“The best ones are the crowd pleasers,” Millie states. “People want familiarity.”

“I disagree.” Ezra crosses his arms. “The best are the unexpected ones. People want to be wowed.”

“And you would know this because?”

I tune them out and turn my attention back to Cam, keen to change the subject. “How’s Little Miss Pearl Necklace?” Sure, I’m prying, but I don’t care.

He shrugs. “Last I heard, she’s back in DC. We didn’t keep in touch after…”

Despite my best efforts, my heart aches just a little for him.

“What about you?” He shifts in his seat. “Please tell me you didn’t take that asshole back.”

“Don’t call my husband an asshole.” I sit straighter and square my shoulders. “Our daughter would be very offended.”

His jaw drops so far I worry it’ll detach completely. “Wha?—”

“I’m kidding!” I snort loud enough for Millie and Ezra to stop arguing. “You should see the look on your face right now.”

“You jerk,” he teases, leaning back in his seat. He takes a swig from his second old-fashioned. “How’s LA, then? ”

“Actually…” Should I tell him I relocated?

I’m still pondering the implications when Millie pipes in. “She’s living in the city with me now.”

Guess we’re telling him, then.

“What city?” He turns his head and watches me as he brings his lowball glass to his lips again.

“ The city,” Millie answers so very helpfully. “Manhattan.”

Cam rocks forward and nearly spits out his drink. “For how long?”

“It’ll be a year next week,” I say, lifting my chin and brushing a stray strand of hair from my face.

“You’ve been in the city this whole time?” His eyes are wide, and there goes that slack jaw again. “You’ve been in the city this whole time and never told me?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. How was I supposed to contact you to let you know? Telepathically maybe? Or via carrier pigeon?” I deadpan. “It’s not like we traded digits or handles.”

He huffs. “You’re right.” With his focus still locked on me, he digs his phone from his back pocket. “What’s your number?”

“Nah, I’m good,” I say, shaking my empty glass in the air to signal to the passing server that I’d like a refill.

“What?” He puts a hand to my forearm and lowers it. “Why not? We’re practically neighbors now.”

I take a deep breath and collect my thoughts before speaking. “Look, I don’t know why the hell we’re back on this island at the same time, but you made it pretty clear what we had was a one-time thing.”

“Joey,” Millie interjects. “It might be good to have his number. You never know when you might need it. Like for an emergency.” She sounds reasonable, but the glee in her eyes tells a different story.

“Exactly.” Cam smiles at her with a similar level of excitement. “Thank you, Millie. ”

Before I can come up with an excuse for why I won’t give him my number or social media info, she snags his phone, holds it up to his face to unlock the screen, and punches in my number.

“Traitor.” I stick my tongue out.

When she hands him back his phone, he says my full name for the first time. God, it sounds good coming from his lips.

“Josefine Beckham,” he murmurs. He gives me a long, thoughtful look, then sucks in a breath and changes the subject. “So, what’s with the matching tattoos? Was that like a drunken best friends’ Truth-or-Dare thing?”

My heart leaps at the mention of Truth or Dare and the memories that flood my mind.

“More like a pair of cousins honoring their dad and uncle sort of thing,” Millie responds.

It’s so subtle I almost miss it, but his fingertips tenderly caress the top of my shoulder. I squeeze my arms to ward off the goose bumps threatening to erupt across my skin.

“Ah. Cousins. Makes sense,” he says, rotating toward me. “How old were you when your dad died?”

“Ten.” I keep my answer short and rack my brain for ways to roll this conversation into something more chipper.

But he tips closer, his irises swimming with anguish and his lips downturned. “I understand big losses like that at such a young age.”

My expression must morph from can we just change the subject to I’m confused, tell me more , because he continues. “My sister died when I was ten.”

“I thought—” I drop an elbow to the table and shift so I’m looking at him head-on. Last year, he told me his sister had gifted him the camera he’d brought along.

“I was ten, Claire was six,” he explains, lowering his head. “Our sister Chloe was two weeks old when she suddenly died in her sleep.” He brings his drink to his lips but holds it there. “My mom was never the same after that. I did everything I could to make her happy, but it was never enough to fill the void left behind when Chloe was gone.”

The story Cam told me about bringing his mom rings from the dentist takes on a deeper meaning now. He spent his childhood desperately striving to make his mom happy. I know the feeling all too well.

“Why birds?” he asks, clearly ready to move past his revelation.

I laugh, and my heart lifts just a little. “My dad was terrified of birds. Like, would walk out of his way to avoid them. It made trips to the beach and zoo quite interesting.” I peer at him from beneath my lashes. “When he died…” I pause when his fingers dance down the back of my arm. “Three birds circled above for the entire funeral service. One bird shit directly on his grave, like a giant metaphor for the day.”

“Seriously?” His brow—the one with the scar—raises, along with the corners of his lips.

I nod, finding it impossible to hold back a full-on smile. The memory is too precious.

“All right, boo.” Millie claps, knowing full well if I start to talk about my dad whilst drinking, I’ll be on the fast track to ruining our night. “What are we singing? Our usual?”

Ezra perks up and plants his forearms on the table. “Oh, there’s a usual?”

“Hell yeah!” She pulls out a tube of lipstick, a stunning Taylor Swift red.

“How often do you do karaoke?” he asks.

Millie shrugs. “With Joey? Maybe once a month.”

Cam arches a brow, probably wondering where in the city this takes place. FrenchSHEs puts on karaoke once a week, but I accidentally became a once-a-month regular not long after I moved to the city. The energy the crowd puts out is addictive. The best kind of karaoke night is the kind that leaves a person dabbing a cocktail napkin between their boobs the moment they jump off the stage.

Ezra tilts his head and eyes me, then turns back to my cousin. “And by yourself?”

“Oh, all the time, honey.” She winks.

“She’s a pro,” I add.

“So the usual?” Millie finishes applying her lipstick and drops it back into her clutch.

“I think I’m going to skip this one,” I sigh. No amount of alcohol could get me on that stage in front of Cam. He’s seen me naked, but right this minute, this feels a lot more vulnerable.

She pouts. “But who’s going to be the Danny to my Sandra Dee?”

“I’ll—”

“Fine!” she huffs, cutting Ezra off. “I’ll just have to go with the next best thing.”

“And what’s that?” He keeps inching closer to my cousin.

“Prepare to have the time of your life ,” she croons. And with that, she’s out of her seat and gliding toward the emcee, shoulders back and flowy skirt swaying.

“Please don’t tell me she’s doing the song from Dirty Dancing ,” he says to no one in particular.

“Nope. Just you wait.” I beam.

If karaoke were an Olympic sport, Millie would be dripping in gold.

Minutes later, with her Pilates-toned midsection on full display, she’s got the entire bar convinced she’s Meryl Streep in Mamma Mia .

Then we’ve all got our hands in the air as we shout along with her to the last refrain.

On the verge of floating off the stage, she waggles her index finger at Ezra. “I told you! The crowd-pleaser always wins.” She flops into her seat and blots at the sweat beading at her hairline with a napkin.

There’s a sensuous flame burning in his eyes when he watches her. “It was an exceptional performance, although it would have been better if you had an actual tambourine rather than the tiara you ripped off that poor bachelorette’s head.”

“I did her a favor.” She waves him off and brings a glass of water to her lips. “Like you’d do better.”

“Oh shit.” Cam brings his fist to his mouth and bites down on his knuckles.

“What?” I spin to face him. “What’s happening?”

“You’ll see,” is all he offers.

“Up next,” the emcee calls, feedback screaming from the mic. “From Dancing Queen to The Queen. Give it up for Ezra from New York City!”

He stands, his man bun bouncing, and straightens his broad shoulders. “Watch and learn how it’s really done, honey .”

The crowd is frozen in wonder as the iconic opening strains of Freddie Mercury and David Bowie’s “Under Pressure” blast from the speakers.

Millie flinches in her seat and her mouth falls open. But she quickly crosses her arms and sucks in her cheeks. She’s doing everything she can to keep a smile from spreading across her face.

As if rehearsed, the audience screams “ Let me out! ”

But not my cousin. For the entire performance, her brows are drawn together. She’s going to need Botox to smooth out the creases between them. I wave a hand in front of her face, but her expression doesn’t falter.

After the roar of the crowd dies down, Ezra drops beside her and leans back in his chair with a grin.

I sit silently, watching them, waiting for the bomb she’s about to drop .

But it’s Ezra who speaks first. “See, I told you,” he gloats, tucking stray hairs behind his ears.

Without a word, she jerks to her feet and storms out of the bar, and a second later, Ezra is hot on her heels.

“I should probably go after her,” I say, rising from my seat and snatching my clutch from the tabletop. The two things Millie hates most in the world are being wrong and being upstaged. It’s going to take a while to calm her down.

Cam grasps my forearm. “Stay.” While his fingers are strong, his eyes are gentle and contemplative and filled with a curious longing.