Chapter 38
38
Josefine
The couch’s springs squeak when I roll onto my back. Flopping a hand over my face to block out the light filtering in from the gap between the curtains, I curse myself for not going home with Cam last night. I did accept his offer to stay in his apartment while he travels for work, but he doesn’t leave until this weekend. We’ve technically only been on one date. Staying overnight so soon didn’t feel right. I refuse to repeat the mistakes I made with my ex and jump into things too quickly.
I reach for my phone on the side table and check my notifications, noting the sound of clothes hangers clanking on the other side of the wall.
Cam
Morning, beautiful
FYI Claire may text you. She begged me for your number and I couldn’t say no. I hope that’s ok
Just then, a ding .
Unknown Number
Hey Joey! It’s Claire. Cam gave me your number. Hope that’s ok. I go to spin class on Wednesdays at 8am. Wanna join tomorrow?
I reply to Cam first.
Me
Morning, gorgeous face blowing a kiss Yes, it’s fine. She’s already texted me
Then I reply to Claire.
Me
Sounds great! see you tomorrow
An eight o’clock workout is perfect. It’ll give me the energy I need for a full day of work after. Just as I’m about to set my phone down and crawl out of the bed so I can fold it back into itself like a reverse bunny in a magician’s hat, my phone rings.
“Hello?”
“Hey. How are you?” Cam’s husky morning voice is so damn sexy.
“I’m good,” I reply through a yawn.
“Are you just waking up?”
“Mm-hmm.” I hoist myself off the bed and stumble into the kitchen to boil water for the French press. “How are you?”
“I didn’t sleep very well,” he answers.
“Oh? Why not?”
The velvet edge of his voice sends shivers down my spine when he responds. “I was missing a certain someone.”
“Oh, you were, were you?”
“Mm-hmm,” he breathes. “When are you moving in?” The words are serious, but his tone is light and teasing.
“I’m not moving in!” I retort, pouring the hot water over the coffee grounds. I dig a spoon out of the drawer and give them a stir.
“I know, I know,” he says. “But I leave for Austin on Saturday. Want to spend the night Friday? That way I can help you haul stuff over.”
“I’m quite capable of carrying my own things,” I say, though warmth blooms in my chest at the offer.
“Oh, I know. I’ve seen those biceps. I’m just trying to make myself useful.”
Millie exits her room, catching my eye. I suppose staying with Cam for one night before he leaves isn’t a big deal.
“Okay.” I hip check Millie and mouth morning boo.
“Okay.” His tone is so chipper his happiness seeps through the phone. “I’ll let you go. Have a great day.”
“You too.”
“Oh, and have a great time at spin with Claire tomorrow.”
“H-how’d you know?” I stammer.
He laughs. “She already texted me.”
I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. “She seems like the type of gal who will dish all your embarrassing moments to me.”
“Oh god,” he buzzes. “What have I gotten myself into?”
“It’ll be fine!” I assure him, though I make sure to add a hint of mischievousness to my tone just to mess with him. “Goodbye, Cameron .”
“Goodbye, Josefine. ”
Millie slowly slides the plunger of the French press down, trapping the grounds at the bottom, then pours us each a cup. She hands one to me before pouring a ridiculous amount of sugar into hers. “How was your date? You were already asleep when I got in last night. I hope that doesn’t mean it was terrible.”
“It was really sweet.” I slide into a seat at the little table off the kitchen, and she follows. With my knees tucked into my oversized shirt and my feet flat on the chair, I take my first sip. “Cam’s leaving for Texas, and I think I’m going to stay at his place while he’s gone. What do you think?”
Her face remains passive. “How long will he be gone?”
“Two weeks, I think.”
She rubs her lips together in contemplation, and by the sparkle in her eye, I think she approves.
“Sounds good, boo.” She pops up and grabs two cartons of yogurt from the refrigerator, then two spoons from a drawer.
I honestly thought she might have more questions. I tear open the foil top and give it a good lick. “What will you do without me for two weeks?” I tease.
“First of all, I can record a scene without being interrupted.”
“That was one time!” I cry. “I thought you were being attacked!”
“Sometimes it be like that.” She laughs, and so do I. Yeah, so I may have burst into her room thinking someone was strangling her, only to find her with giant headphones on, moaning into the mic.
“Plus,” she continues around a mouthful of yogurt, “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll invite Sam over while you’re gone.”
“Oh?” I scoot forward in my chair. “What’s the story there?”
“No idea.” She shrugs. “She’s giving me whiplash. Things were cool when I stayed at her place, but I’ve barely heard from her since.”
She stands and tosses her spoon into the sink, signaling that the conversation is over, and heads to her room to work.
I stay in for the rest of the day, taking breaks from writing to help Millie practice her audio recordings for the LULU app. I play the male role opposite her and do my best impression of a man climaxing, but we end up in hysterics, and I nearly crack a rib falling off my chair. It’s safe to say she will not be asking for my assistance again.
Spin with Claire on Wednesday is a blast. Our instructor, Paul, reminds me of Ted Lasso. While he doesn’t have the infamous mustache, he has the motivational speeches down to a T.
“I want you to turn up that resistance! And while you’re at it, turn up that love for yourself!” Then, “Time to sprint! But this time, we’re sprinting for our dreams!” and “Life’s a lot like riding a bike. As long as you keep pedaling, you’ll keep moving forward!”
I tend to prefer instructors with more of a Roy Kent vibe—the kind who grunt and yell controversial things like “Pain’s just weakness leaving the body!” and “Turn up the resistance. Life’s full of fucking hills. You either climb ’em or get left at the bloody bottom!”
Although it’s farther from my house than the place I normally work out, the studio’s atmosphere is incredible. The locker rooms are cleaner and the staff is friendlier too. Plus, Claire is a member, and I really like her. She doesn’t have much time before her shift at the hospital, but we grab a couple of acaí bowls in the gym’s café and chat.
The second we sit down, her mouth split into a wicked grin. “My brother really likes you.”
Heat creeps up my neck and into my cheeks, and I duck my head, at a loss for what to say. I’ve never been friends with the siblings of any man I’ve dated.
“I’m not trying to embarrass you,” she says, giving me a real smile this time. “It’s just, I haven’t seen him this happy in a really long time.”
That gets my attention. “What do you mean?”
She sets her spoon on a napkin next to her bowl and clears her throat. “Has he told you much about our… ”
“Chloe?” I ask. “Yes. I’m so sorry. That must have been so awful.”
“Honestly, I don’t remember much other than following my big brother around like he was the coolest guy in the world. He always made sure I was safe and happy.” She presses her lips together, and her eyes go glassy. “That’s backfired a little now that I’m older, because I don’t know how to sit with some of my emotions, but I’d never tell him that. We were so young, and he did what he thought he was supposed to do—care for me.”
I nod, envisioning a little Cam taking on a huge role at such a young age.
“My brother likes to care for people. It’s in his nature. I just wish someone would take care of him.”
It’s Friday, my kinda-sorta-but-not-really-move-in day. Cam is coming to “help” me carry my bags to his apartment. It’s evidence of the truth of Claire’s comment. He’s always caring for others. I hope I can find a way to reciprocate. I say I’m a feminist, and fuck the patriarchy and all that jazz, but if someone offers to carry my bags, I’m going to pack extra shoes and shout, “Here you go!”
“Ms. Beckham, it’s so lovely to see you again.” Hector greets us at the door to his building.
“You too.” I match the intensity of his smile.
“Staying a while, are we?” He nods to my small rolling suitcase, then looks to Cam, who’s carrying my duffel.
Cam’s eyes crease at the sides when he grins. “Yes. She’s staying here while I’m in Austin.”
“Delightful!” Hector sings, corralling us into the elevator.
“You ran this by Ezra, yeah?” I’m suddenly nervous that he “ forgot” to mention to his roommate that I’d be crashing here for the next couple of weeks.
He unlocks the door to his apartment and holds an arm out. As I step through, I’m hit with a reminder of the last time I was here. It was the day he called me out for being chickenshit. The day I left him hanging. Crossing the threshold now feels like a new beginning.
“Yes,” he chuckles. “Of course I ran it by him.”
“And he doesn’t mind?” I ask, kicking off my shoes.
Ezra pops his head out of the kitchen doorway. “Mind what?”
“Mind sharing whatever it is you’re cooking!” It smells delicious: garlic and onion, with hints of rosemary.
The hairs on my neck stand when Cam whispers against my ear. “Don’t worry, baby. I promise you’re welcome here.”
If I weren’t a totally monogamous girlie, tonight could have been a real “why choose” moment, because the boys of apartment 6206 can cook. Between Cam’s quiche and Ezra’s homemade focaccia, I may never leave.
We share a bottle of Shiraz while the guys regale me with all kinds of entertaining stories. They’ve got a seriously adorable bromance going on.
“Remember the time you got caught stealing condoms from the drugstore?”
Cam shoots a glare at Ezra but can’t keep a straight face. “It was the first and last time I played Truth or Dare.” He gives me the side-eye, though, because we both know that wasn’t actually the last time . But for the sake of this conversation, I don’t correct him.
“It was sort of this unspoken initiation between seniors and freshmen in this mentorship program at our high school,” Ezra adds, “and I dared him to steal a box of condoms.”
“What happened?” I ask.
“I got caught,” Cam admits. “The owner wanted to press charges, but Ezra convinced them to call my parents instead.”
“Which might have been worse,” Ezra laughs, dragging a hand down his face.
“Why’s that?” I love the dynamic between these two.
“Because my parents grounded me for a month and made me watch this sex education video—circa 1970. For nearly a year after that, I believed you could get a girl pregnant just by kissing.”
I can’t help the snort that escapes me. “Aww, babe, I hope you’ve learned a little more since then.”
He leans in and whispers, “Oh, baby, I’ve learned more than a little.”
“And on that note!” Ezra rises and gathers our dishes.
I insist on cleaning them since he cooked, and Cam helps me while Ezra excuses himself to the building’s basement to finish his laundry.
In the bathroom, he hands me a clean towel and shirt, then leaves me to freshen up before bed. When I’m finished, we switch places, and when he comes out, he’s wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs. I turn so I’m facing him as he slips under the sheets and gets settled. I can’t see him in the dark, but I hear his labored breathing; feel it against the bridge of my nose.
His fingers graze against my wrist, spurring me to sputter, “I don’t think we should have sex.”
“Okay…” He draws out the word, but there’s no accusation behind it.
I loop my fingers in his. “It’s just,” I huff. “We jumped into things so quickly. And I want to make sure this…this ”— Relationship? —“thing between us is about more than sex.”
He presses a chaste kiss to the back of my hand and holds it there. “Oh, Joey,” he murmurs, smiling against my skin, “it’s more than just sex.”
I sigh, shifting so close our noses brush.
The air between us is thick and heavy. My heart thunders in my chest, and my stomach is all twisted up.
Cam, probably sensing the way the moment is consuming me, lightens things. “What about over-the-shirt stuff?” he asks, his tone full of mirth. “Maybe some heavy petting?”
“Oh my god,” I laugh into him. “Do not say heavy petting.”
“No?” He tickles my waist. “That doesn’t do it for you?” He eases back a fraction. “A little dry-humping never hurt anyone.”
I snort out a laugh, and it takes me a solid minute to calm myself.
When I do, he pecks at my nose. “Fine.” He drapes an arm over my midsection and pulls me in tight. “What about kissing?”
“As long as there’s no hip thrusting involved,” I breathe.
“Got it. My hips shall not thrust.” He presses his mouth to mine quickly, but drags out the release, like he’s inflating my lips.
I hold back a moan, eager to sink my lips into his. But this man is so damn thoughtful. He’s hesitating, waiting for permission. So I part my lips, my way of saying yes, kiss me more , and swipe my tongue along his, slow and delicate, soaking him in. We communicate that way, an unspoken understanding, a silent language of our connection.
Mini promises being passed between us—of a future filled with passion and desire:
I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I’m here with you now .
I’m here too.