For the Plot (All for Love #1)

Chapter 29

29

Josefine

“Are you left-handed too?” I rub the sleep from my eyes and sit up.

I didn’t spend the night with Cam after dinner last night, but we did visit the nude beach together one more time this morning. Afterward, he brought me back to his room and ate me in the shower before properly fucking me in bed. Then he fed me lunch and put me down for a nap.

He sets the pen on top of the hotel’s stationary and makes his way to the espresso machine across from me. “Coffee?”

“Please.”

“ Too ? Does that mean you’re a leftie?”

When I nod, his eyes light up behind his glasses.

Motioning to the desk with my chin, I ask, “What are you writing?”

The espresso machine whirs to life, spitting out liquid fuel in a cup the perfect size for an American Girl doll.

The bed dips when he scoots in next to me. “Just something.” He holds the porcelain cup and saucer out to me but carefully pulls it back before I can take it. “Wait. I don’t know how you like your coffee.”

“Black. Like my soul.” I laugh.

He presses a kiss to my forehead. “Trust me, sweetheart, there’s nothing black about your soul.”

Like his compliment, the first hit of liquid warms me from the inside out.

With the cup to my lips, I watch as Cam saunters back to the desk. He doesn’t sit again, but he crouches over the page, scribbles something at the bottom, then folds the paper, slides it in an envelope, and seals it with a swipe of his tongue. I’d like to be that envelope right now.

Millie insisted I spend time with him this morning, even though it’s our last day on the island. Oof, am I glad she was cool with it, because the things that man did to me in the shower… Maybe he’ll let me take a snapshot of his tongue and show the salesperson at a sex shop. I have to stifle a laugh when I imagine marching into the shore, and demanding do you have anything that resembles this?

“What are you smirking about?” he asks. The tattoo on the inside of his forearm—a circle with a line drawing of clouds, mountains, water, and a path cutting through—snags my attention. It’s simple yet complex all at once.

“Nothing.” I pull my lips between my teeth to hide my smile before draining the last of my espresso and setting it to the side. “Come here.” I pat the mattress next to me.

Cam concedes and drops onto the bed with a groan. Praying my coffee breath overrides my napping breath, I kiss him with more intention than I’ve ever had, then pull back to study him like he’s a work of art.

“What was that for?”

Letting the duvet fall to my lap, I tug at his biceps until he’s flush against my bare chest. I’m going to miss the warmth of his skin against mine; the friction from the heat of our flesh.

He wants to bring us back to New York, like a souvenir. He may have mentioned it a time or two. But I made a commitment to myself. To my writing career. And I won’t let a man distract me. No matter how big his dick is.

“One more O before you go?” His voice is soft, the opposite of his erection, which is now digging into my thigh.

I groan into his lush lips. He smells of mint and coffee. “I can’t.”

He grinds against me in protest.

God, how I wish he could tuck himself between my thighs right now. I’m so wet he’d glide right in with just one thrust.

“Please, Josefine , ” he breathes into my neck, causing a cascade of goose bumps.

Just like earlier, when he licked the length of my leg, from my ankle to my hip, and blew over my core through pursed lips.

If it weren’t for the screaming of the cicadas outside our open window, he would hear the pounding of my heart.

“I have a flight to catch and I still need to pack.” I place a kiss on the tip of his nose. “Thanks for getting us an extended checkout, by the way.”

He rests his forehead on mine. “I wish I could keep you just a little longer.”

“What the hell is this?” I guffaw, casting shade at my cousin.

“Oh, that?” Millie’s eyes twinkle.

I shake my head. A mini wooden penis keychain painted with flowers in varying shades of blue hangs from my carry-on bag. All the kitschy tourist shops sell them, along with wooden penis bottle openers of all sizes. I assume the popularity has to do with fertility, like the Penis Festival in Japan, but wouldn’t wooden vulvas make more sense?

“Just a little something to remember your time on Crete.” She winks.

“I don’t think that’s what my dad had in mind when he imagined this trip.” Though I try to fight it, a snort sneaks out.

My bag slips off my shoulder, and Ezra catches it before it hits the ground.

“Thanks,” I say. “I can’t believe we’re on the same flight back to New York.”

Not wanting to draw out our departure, I said my goodbyes to Cam in his hotel room. A clean break is what I was going for, although by the ache in his eyes, it looked like I trashed his heart. When I returned to my room, my cousin was waiting for me with outstretched arms.

I make it through security before Millie, who gets selected for a random pat-down. Yes, please she mouths, paired with an eyebrow wiggle, when the hot TSA agent approaches. I chuckle when I notice his name tag. She sort of got her Adonis after all. When we meet up, carry-ons in tow and shoes on our feet, she’s homed in on her phone, with a scowl glued to her face.

“What’s wrong? Was Mr. Sexy Security’s inspection not thorough enough?” I tease.

Instead of grinning like I expect, my cousin shoves her phone in my face instead. “Look.”

There’s an email from Gideon, our landlord, on the screen.

RE: Urgent Evacuation Notice for Critical Concern

Shit. I scroll down.

The safety and well-being of our residents are of the utmost importance to us, and as such, we must take necessary action .

I dart a glance at Millie, then continue reading. Something about “structural engineers” and “building’s infrastructure.”

“What does this mean?” I ask, just as my eyes land on The evacuation is scheduled to begin on Sunday and is expected to last for approximately ? —

My stomach drops to the floor. “ One week ?” I screech. Starting tomorrow.

Ezra takes hold of the phone and scans the email himself. We’re blocking the path of restless travelers, so we shuffle to the side, where he murmurs phrases like “leave your apartment” and “relocate to temporary accommodations” and “secure your personal possessions during the evacuation period.”

“Where the hell are we supposed to go?” My heart pounds so hard against my sternum I’m worried I’ll crack a rib. A week away to relax, and this is how I’m welcomed home?

While my IKEA pull-out sofa isn’t as luxurious as the bed (okay, beds ) I’ve been sleeping in for the last several days, I was looking forward to the comfort of my own home. Drinking tea out of my favorite mug and lazy weekend mornings with my best friend nursing our hangovers. Even listening to Peg and Fran next door argue over which Campbell’s soup flavor is superior. (Peg: classic tomato; Fran: New England clam chowder.)

Millie’s frantically texting when Ezra speaks up. “You can stay with me.”

“Absolutely not.” She doesn’t even look up from her phone.

“Amelia,” I reprimand.

“Sorry,” she tries again. “What I meant was, thank you for the offer, but I’ll be staying with Sam.”

Her face is still buried in her phone, so she doesn’t see the way he flinches at Sam’s name.

“Sorry, boo,” she goes on, “but Sam says accommodations would be too tight for both of us. I’ll text Stevie at the club, but?— ”

“Joey will stay at my place.” Ezra pipes up again, giving me a soft look. “Cam’s away for another week.”

I look to Millie for assistance. Do you see a flaw in this plan?

Her silent response: Sounds perfect to me .

“You’re sure you don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” he grins. “I wasn’t looking forward to going back to such a quiet apartment. You’d be doing me a favor.”

Feeling a tad resigned, I shrug. “All right.” Why the hell not?

“Are you shitting me?” My eyes practically pop from their sockets when Ezra sends me his address outside baggage claim. “You live four blocks away?”

I’ve been living this close to Cameron for a year?

After our geography surprise, we share an Uber into the city. Ezra offers to help me collect my things, but after catching him yawning for what has to be the twentieth time, I send him on his way with the promise that I will head over to his apartment later.

On the outside of the building, the only sign that things aren’t business as usual are a couple of orange cones, but inside, a sea of yellow caution tape floods the walls. While Gideon assures us it’s safe for us to enter, the elevator has already been disabled. That means we have to climb four stories with our luggage. After traveling for the past eighteen hours, I’m not confident my legs won’t give out. Maybe I should have accepted assistance after all.

Gideon gives us thirty minutes to collect our things. We’re too jet-lagged to do more than just gather our shit and leave.

On the curb outside our building, we say our goodbyes, and then I’m off. The differences between New York City and Greece bombard me, one after another, on my trek to Ezra’s— Cam’s —apartment. The aromas of thyme, sage, and rosemary are replaced by gasoline, hot dog water, and garbage. The symphony of cicadas is traded for the cacophony of New York City’s urban melodies—cars honking, construction trucks crooning, and sirens wailing.

I can do this. It’s no big deal. Cam isn’t even on the same continent, and I will be back in my apartment before he returns.

As I approach the building, a jaunty older man, who introduces himself as Hector and is obviously expecting me, greets me by name and ushers me into the elevator. Thank goodness, too, because the apartment is on the sixth floor.

“How long will you be staying with us, Ms. Beckham?” His smile shines bright. He keeps his eyes locked on mine even when I discover my shirt is askew from schlepping my luggage four blocks. I like him.

“Just a week. Maybe less.” One can hope.

He carries my duffel down the hall of the sixth floor while I follow like a timid puppy being brought home for the first time. It hits me, suddenly, that I’m intruding on Cam’s personal space. My heart lodges in my throat. Shit. This was a terrible idea.

“Here we are, Ms. Beckham. Number 6206,” Hector announces, just as Ezra opens the door.

6206? Oh my ? —

“Hi,” I squeak, bewildered. No wonder Cam was all squirrelly about my room number at the resort.

“I’ve got it.” Ezra takes my bag.

I shuffle into the narrow entryway behind him, shouting “Thanks, Hector!” over my shoulder.

“See you around, honey.” He salutes, then turns on his heel and strides back toward the elevator.

I kick off my shoes and add them to the basket in front of what I presume is a coat closet. To the left is a narrow, updated kitchen. Directly in front of me is a large wooden desk in a beautiful chestnut color. A Mac desktop rests on top, and on the wall above are two exquisite photographs.

“Are these?—”

“Yup,” he responds. “He took them in Greece last year.”