For the Plot (All for Love #1)

Chapter 44

44

Cameron

When Joey excuses herself, I consider running after her, but knowing her, she’d prefer a few moments of privacy. I finish my whiskey at the table, politely decline a few let me set you up with my daughter offers, and scare off a man who’s trying to rub up on my sister on the dance floor before I’ve reached my let Joey have some space capacity. I figured she would be back by now, and I’m starting to get worried. When I scan the room and don’t spot her, I head to the bathrooms, where I run smack into my parents and Dr. Draper, who are engaged in a whisper-screaming match.

“You don’t get to talk about my son like that.” My father shoves a finger into Dr. Draper’s chest, the vein in his forehead bulging.

“What’s going on?” I demand, stomping straight up to them.

“Oh, Cameron, there you are,” my mom rushes out, tugging on my arm.

My dad is still looming over Dr. Draper, but I let her drag me a few feet away. “What’s going on? Where’s Joey? ”

“She left, honey.”

My heart drops to my stomach. “What do you mean, she left?” I bark, chest heaving. If one of these assholes was nasty to her?—

“She got a call. Her mom was injured.” My mother pats my back, frowning.

“What?” My mouth goes dry, and I force my mind to focus. Why didn’t she come find me? Is she still here?

My mom mentions the town car and a red-eye, and that’s all the information I need. I flee.

In the eight minutes I wait for an Uber outside the venue, I call Joey six times, but she doesn’t answer. On the ride to my apartment, I book a one-way ticket to LA. There’s a red-eye leaving both JFK and LaGuardia. I don’t know which one she will be on, but I take my chances with LaGuardia because it’s closer. Either way, we’ll end up in the same place. My hands tremble and my heart practically beats out of my chest. I can’t hold still, so I tap my feet and try her again. When she doesn’t pick up, I text her: Please call me back .

Thankfully, Ezra is home. I call him next, and by the time I walk through our apartment door, he’s already throwing my toiletries into a bag.

While I pull out a change of clothes, I tell him what little I know.

“You really like this girl, don’t you?”

My chest squeezes so tight it’s hard to breathe. Bending in half, I grasp my hair and tug, then straighten quickly. “God, Ezra, I feel like I’m losing my fucking mind.” But I can’t help myself.

“Do you love her?”

She consumes me.

“I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.”

We haven’t even known each other long, but it’s been clear to me since the moment I saw her in Greece again this spring that this is exactly how my life is supposed to unfold. It’s fate .

As I’m zipping my carry-on, the tattoo on my forearm catches my eye. It’s inspired by the cover of my favorite book . It’s a reminder that the universe will help me achieve what I want.

I check the time on my phone, then strip and toss my suit on the bed. I pull on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, and by the time I hustle out the front doors of my building, the Uber is pulling up. Thank fuck, too, because I’m cutting it close.

But the universe has my back, I can feel it.

I’m a jittery mess as I head straight for security, scanning the people around me for my petite brunette. She must feel so alone right now. I’ve respected her wishes and let her keep me at a distance, but I’m done with that shit now. I want more. I deserve more. And she does too—she’s just too afraid to ask for it. When we were on the dance floor, her soul and mine were speaking. I’ve never felt so attuned to a person as I did in that moment. Maybe I shouldn’t have called her my girlfriend before speaking with her about it first, but god dammit, I want everyone to know she’s mine.

Especially her.

The line at security is outrageous for how late it is. The people around me probably think I’m strung out. I can’t stop twitching and bouncing around. Either that, or they suspect I have heroin shoved up my ass.

According to the airline app, the plane is already boarding. I offer to hold a baby for the couple in front of me just to move things along, and they respond to my offer with glares that promise they’re about ten seconds from calling the police. That’s fair.

I fly by the people flagged for pat-downs and race to the terminal. It’s only when my phone vibrates in my pocket that I falter.

It’s Joey.