Chapter 22
Sadie
Have a good boyfriend – from Sadie’s list of things she’s never done
Cam: Rubber side down, baby. Did you remember your sunscreen?
Me: Of course.
Cam: That’s my girl.
He’s been calling me his girl for months, but it feels different now that I know he truly means it. He always meant it.
“I am so proud of you,” Devon says, jogging in place to keep her legs warm before the start of our half marathon.
“I haven’t even run the race yet,” I say.
“Yeah, but you trained for it. That’s the hard part.” She points toward the starting line. “This is the payoff.”
“I don’t know, Dev. I think this part is going to be pretty hard, too,” I laugh, and Bea joins in from my other side.
“You didn’t enjoy the training,” Devon says, “But you did it anyway. You set your mind to it, and now you’re here.”
“What makes you think I didn’t enjoy the training?” I ask.
“The look on your face every time you run,” she says, dryly.
“I’m—” I start to apologize but stop myself. I don’t need to be sorry. I’m following through on my commitment . Just because I haven’t connected with running the way she has doesn’t mean I owe an apology. “I’m probably never running again after this,” I say.
“Good for you, angel,” Bea says, pulling her headphones over her head. She and I did most of our training together, but we decided for the actual race it would be nicer to zone out to music and move at our own pace.
When the race starts, I’m reminded of the way Cam’s races begin. Everyone is crowded together for about the first quarter mile, but then people find their rhythm, and everyone settles in. I’m grateful we picked a race in San Diego—the cool ocean breeze blows in from the water.
My goals today are to finish and to run the whole race without walking. If someone had told me that after my first run with Devon and Bea, I would have fallen over laughing. But we’ve trained hard, and I think I can do it.
Cam: You’re a really sexy runner. Do you know that?
I do not know that. In fact, I’m highly aware of what I look like after every run—red-faced with blonde-pink hair plastered to my neck. Not exactly cute.
Cam drove down with us, and he’ll be waiting at the finish line with Rhett, Allie, and Luke. He even joined me on my last eight-mile training run. It was no problem for him. A three- or four-mile run is his usual warm-up. “What’s twice that?” he’d asked as we laced up our shoes. I had to remind myself multiple times during our run that he’s a professional athlete, and I don’t need to compare myself to him.
Allie: You’re doing it! Go, runner girl, go!
My location is shared with her, so they can see where I am on the map.
Cam: Two miles down, sunshine!
His text comes in right as my app tells me I’ve hit the two-mile mark. He knows my pace and times his encouragement perfectly . As the race continues, a few pictures come through, including a selfie of my friends at the beach waiting for me. He sends me silly gifs and jokes as distractions, and I start saving them for when I need the boost.
My legs are tired. I’m sweaty. And I’m nowhere near the finish. But I am doing a really hard thing , and I’m proud of myself for it.
Checking my texts for more encouragement, the latest isn’t from Cam or Allie.
Hanna: Can you send me recs for the weekend I’m there? Where are the places I have to try in Palm Springs? I need all your insider info! Can’t wait to see you!
Ugh. At some point, you’d think she’d learn to take a hint. I’ve barely responded to her texts. Fortunately, she got moved off my team a few weeks ago, so I don’t have to interact with her at work anymore. Ignoring her, I text Cam instead.
Me: My legs hurt.
Cam: I’ll give you the leg massage of your dreams tonight.
I’ve never dreamt about a leg massage before, but I am now.
Devon was right—this is the payoff. The energy is palpable. Thousands of racers are on the course, and people line the sides with signs, cheering us on. The water stations are a godsend, too. I love not having to carry a water bottle.
Cam: Where did you land on the whole ghost thing?
Me: What? What does that have to do with running?
Cam: Nothing. Just wondering if you still want to see one.
Me: It’s still on the list.
Cam: Amazing.
It gives me something to focus on as I continue through the run. Is there a ghost running this race somewhere? What the hell?
Next time my phone buzzes, it’s not Cam.
Mom: So proud of you, Sadie!
Sadie: Thank you, Mom! Call you soon!
We’ve talked a few times since that first night I reached out to her, and it’s been amazing having her back in my life. We still need to have a heart-to-heart about everything that happened between us, but I’m okay letting that wait.
Allie: You are running a half marathon right now. You’re doing it!
The final mile hits, and a burst of adrenaline floods my system. I pick up my pace. It’s so close, I can feel it. And then, I can see it.
Cam: You’ll see us soon. On your rose side, by the cluster of big orange flags.
On my rose side. He hasn’t forgotten, and he’s never once made me feel bad when I struggle with directions. I lift my hands, knowing exactly where to look.
As expected, Devon and Bea finish ahead of me, and they’re waiting and cheering me on with the rest of my friends. I tear up when they all jump and cheer as I run past. I’m doing it , but that’s not all. They’re here for me.
After crossing the finish line, we all find each other, and despite being sweaty and gross, we hug it out.
“I cannot wait to never do that again,” I laugh as Devon, Bea, and I pose for pictures with our finisher medals.
“You never have to,” Devon laughs. “Don’t worry.”
As soon as the idea of never running again—after putting all this effort into training—settles in, I start to think I’ll actually miss it. “Maybe not another half, but I’d be down for some casual after-work runs every now and then.”
Bea smiles. “Thought you might.”
We all head out for a celebratory late lunch, and maybe it’s just the endorphins talking, but I have the most outrageously delicious burger I’ve ever eaten.
Allie leans across the table toward Cam. “Did you tell her yet?”
I swallow down a mouthful. “Tell me what?”
“Whoops, guess that’s my answer,” she giggles. “Sorry to spoil it.”
“You’re not sorry,” Cam laughs, narrowing his eyes at her. “But that’s okay. It’s time she found out.” He looks at me, and I sneak a fry from his plate. “I found another way for us to check something off your list today.”
“Is that why you were texting me about ghosts?” I ask, eating his fry.
He nods. “Found a haunted bed-and-breakfast between here and home. You and I are staying there tonight.”
I do my best to stay present for the rest of lunch, but it’s a struggle. How haunted is this place? How often do ghost sightings happen? Are they nice ghosts? Did we get the most haunted room? I get my answers when we check in via plaques and sepia-toned photos near the check-in desk. It’s super haunted.
Our room is on the third floor, with a four-poster bed, a writing desk in the corner, and a turret window overlooking rolling hills and oak trees.
“ It doesn’t feel haunted ,” I whisper.
“Don’t most hauntings happen at night?” Cam asks, putting the bag of clean clothes I packed to change into after the race on the luggage stand.
“Maybe, but if there are ghosts, they’d already be here. Right?” I ask, standing closer to him than necessary.
“Right.” He grabs my hand. “We’d better check.”
We move around the small room, looking behind curtains and under furniture. No ghosts, but when we push open the bathroom door I gasp.
“What do you see?” he asks, concern furrowing his brow.
“That tub,” I point at the claw-footed beauty beneath the window.
He chuckles. “Oh yeah, that’s the other reason we picked this place.”
“We?” I ask.
He explains that Allie, Rhett, and Luke helped him find it while they were waiting at the beach, keeping me company while I take a quick rinse before sinking into a glorious, steaming bath.
“You need anything?” he asks.
“What could I possibly need?” I wave my fingers through the top of the water. “I’ve never been happier.”
“A drink maybe?” he asks. “There’s a store down the street. I was gonna get toothbrushes and stuff too.”
I sit up, sloshing water over the edge of the tub. “Are you trying to leave me while I’m naked and vulnerable in a haunted house?”
His eyes drop to my chest where my breasts have risen above the water level. “What was the question?”
“Cameron, what if a ghost tries to get me while you’re out buying toothbrushes and rum?”
“So, you want rum?” he asks, backing out of the bathroom. “Got it.”
“Don’t you dare leave me,” I warn, bracing my hands on the edge of the tub as I prepare to chase him.
He points out the window. “The sun hasn’t set yet. Why don’t you enjoy the soak, and I promise I’ll be back before dark?”
I roll my lips together. “Rum does sound good.”
“And pineapple juice?” he suggests.
“Fine, but hurry. If something paranormal happens when you’re gone, I will never forgive you.”
“Not sure if you heard, but I’m really fast,” he laughs. “Promise it’ll be less than fifteen minutes.” He shuts the bathroom door behind him, and I’m left soaking in the tub alone. In a haunted house. Which is fine. Why would you haunt a bed - and - breakfast if you didn’t want visitors? Plus, the sun is still up. Nothing is going to happen.
The hot water feels magnificent on my sore muscles, and before long, I’m not even thinking about ghosts. Not much , anyway.
Pulling out my phone, I look through all of today’s pictures. There are some unflattering ones from the race, but also a few where I look strong and happy . I save those.
I should be used to being on Cam’s social media by now, but it still surprises me when he tags me in something. I thought, since we agreed we’re not pretending anymore, he might scale it back. But I guess he actually enjoys sharing about me because he keeps posting. Today, it was a picture of me standing between Devon and Bea after the finish, all three of us wearing our medals. His caption reads:
Could not be prouder .
He told me he loved me during my meltdown after he lit on fire . I dismissed it at the time, thinking he’d say anything to calm me down—even offering to quit racing. But the more I think about it, the more I believe he really would quit if I asked him to. He hasn’t said it again, but I think he’s waiting for me to say it back—not because he didn’t mean it.
He went out of his way today to make me feel special, supporting me all the way. I’m not passionate about running—not the way Cam is about racing. But I’m passionate about my friends. And him.
When my phone buzzes, it startles me enough that I almost drop it in the steamy water. Okay, maybe I’m still a little concerned about ghosts. I look around the bathroom. The orange and pink colors of the sunset shine through the window, but I don’t see any ghosts.
The notification is from Cam—a picture of rum and pineapple juice seat-belted into the passenger seat of my car.
Cam: Secured.
Me: Hurry back.
It only takes a few minutes before I hear him at the door to our room. “It’s me—not a ghost!” he calls out.
“ Cameron , what if they hear you?” I giggle.
A moment later, he comes into the bathroom with two glasses full of yellow drinks. He passes one to me and holds his up for a toast. “To crossing things off your list.”
“Do you really think we could see one?” I ask, sipping my drink. “A ghost ?”
He eyes my body through the water. “If they’re lucky.”
“You’re terrible.” I shake my head, loving his attention.
“I’ll wait for you out there,” he says, pointing to the bedroom. “You deserve to rest.”
When he leaves, I sink under the water again. It feels too good for words, but I’m in a spooky bed-and-breakfast with my not -fake boyfriend, and the sun has just set. Taking a bath by myself seems like a wasted opportunity.
As I resurface, the lights in the bathroom flicker.
“Cam!” I call out to him.
“I’m here,” he says from the next room. “You’re okay.”
It could be faulty wiring. It’s an old house. Or, it could be ghosts—which is why we’re here. My eyes search the bathroom again. I’m not sure what I’m looking for, but all I find are vintage tiles and white towels. The lights flicker again. Yeah, bathtime is over.
“Is that you doing that?” I ask him, stepping out of the tub and pulling the drain.
“Not me,” he says.
After rushing to wrap myself in one of the white towels, I walk into the bedroom. I don’t see Cam.
“Cameron. If you’re hiding to scare me, it’s not funny.”
“Wouldn’t it be a little bit funny?” His voice comes from around the corner in the turret window.
I prop my hands on my hips. “Nope.”
My eyes catch the bed. It was pristinely made when I got into the bath, and now it’s a tangled mess. What is he up to?
“Ooo—ooo—ooh,” Cam’s voice echoes, drawing out the words in the style of a spooky old-timey movie.
When I look over, a six-and-a-half-foot tall ghost —Cam, wearing a white sheet—moves toward me.
I snort a laugh.
“Sadie,” he says in the same spooky voice, holding his arms out in a T -shape and waving the sheet around. “Are you loo—ooo—ooking for me?”
“Cam.” I sit back on the bench at the end of the bed, barely able to control my laughter.
“I don’t know any Cam .” He continues to wave his arms, moving closer to me. “I am a gh—ooo—ost, and I’m here for you—ou—ou.”
I stand up, backing away from him as he continues making spooky noises. Can he see through that sheet? He’s got me cornered, so I jump up and run across the bed to the other side, almost losing my towel in the process.
But when I land on the ground, he’s there. So I jump back onto the bed and run off the end, completely losing my towel. He chases me again, catching me when I reach the turret and wrapping his sheeted-ghost arms around my waist.
He lifts me off the ground, bringing his face to my ear.
“Cam,” I squeal, kicking my legs.
His voice rumbles, “You ever made love with a ghost before?”
Made love? That shouldn’t be the part I’m focused on, but it is.
“I have a boyfriend,” I breathe. “I can’t make love with a ghost.”
“I don’t think he’ll mind,” he says, kissing my neck through the sheet.
He opens his mouth, massaging my skin with his tongue through the fabric. It would be hot— and it almost is —but the sheet makes it tickle more than anything.
I squeal, kicking my legs again. “That tickles!”
“I wonder where else it might tickle?” he says, using his new, sexy ghost voice. He carries me over and drops me onto the bed, using sheet-covered hands to spread my legs. He buries his face between them and kisses and licks through the—now soaked—sheet.
“Can you breathe?” I ask, gasping and giggling. The wetter the sheet gets, the less it tickles, and the more... it—
“Oh my word ,” I gasp. “Get up here.”
He sits up, still covered by the sheet, but his gigantic smile is visible through the fabric near his mouth. And lower, the shape of his hard cock is outlined by the sheet too.
I snort. “You look ridiculous.”
He looks down at his lap, though I know he can’t see anything, and uses the silly ghost voice again. “I’m here to haunt you with my—”
“Stop,” I laugh, grabbing the front of the sheet and pulling it up until I can see his face. I lean in for a hungry kiss, then drop the sheet behind my head, so we’re both underneath it.
“Why are you naked under here?” I ask, looking down at his cock.
He shrugs. “Because I wanted to seduce you.”
“By dressing up as a ghost?” My chest bounces with silent laughter.
His brow lifts. “Worked. Didn’t it?”
“Weirdly yes,” I say, smirking at him in the dim light under the sheet, then drop my mouth to his length. I swirl my tongue around the head once, then spread my lips to cover him completely.
He groans my name, rocking into my mouth and hitting the back of my throat. I bring my hands to his base, moving them up and down as I suck and lick.
Suddenly, the sheet is ripped back. I look up, my mouth still full of him, to see it gathered in his hand. “I wanted to watch you,” he says.
I gather more moisture in my mouth, pushing down in one slow, deep motion.
“You’re incredible at that,” he breathes.
I pull my mouth away long enough to say thank you before diving back down to take him in again.
“You can cross that off,” he moans, “taking a compliment.”
I giggle around him.
“You want to race?” he asks.
The memory of the first time he brought that up rushes back. He’d been surprised I’d never done sixty-nine with anyone. Is he offering to —? I pull away. “I’ll win,” I say, returning to my task with renewed determination.
I’m going to beat Cam Hacker at this race.
He grabs my hips, pulling me toward him, and I almost lose my grip on him as he drags me back to his mouth. His lips, fingers, and tongue work in unison, skipping the usual gradual buildup.
I gasp, drawing him deeper into my mouth, pressing my chest against his lower abdomen. My body rocks in sync with his mouth. Waves of sensation wash over me, and I’m tempted to stop what I’m doing and lose myself in the pleasure he’s giving me. But then he’ll win. Pre-cum salts my tongue, making me want to taste all of him.
Keeping my rhythm, I slide my mouth lower over him, feeling his tip against my throat as I swallow him down. His hips jerk, and my thoughts blur, lost in what he’s doing to me. My legs start to shake. I’m close, but so is he.
My mind splits between the frenzy of wanting to give him pleasure—taste him, feel him, make him crazy—and wanting to come, but fighting to hold it back.
His hips jerk again, and the instant I taste his release on my tongue, I feel myself tumbling over the edge. We reach completion together, and I roll off of him, gasping for breath as I crawl up to lay my head on the pillow beside his.
“That’s run a marathon, take a compliment, try sixty-nine , and win a race ,” I say. “I don’t think I’ve ever crossed so many things off in one day.” I’m not ready to admit it to him, but I’m about to cross off fall in love again and have a good boyfriend too.
“Not see a ghost ?” he chuckles. “And didn’t you cross off ‘win a race’ after go-karts? And wait —you did not win this race.”
“I won,” I breathe.
“You did not,” he protests, tucking his arm under my shoulders and pulling me close. “You were already clenching around—”
His words are cut off as the lights flicker again.
“How do you keep doing that?” I ask.
“I’m not,” he says, his face the picture of innocence.
The bathroom door slams shut, as if pushed by a gust of wind, but all the windows are closed.
“Okay,” I nuzzle closer to Cam, raising my voice loud enough to be heard through the closed bathroom door. “I’ll cross off ‘ see a ghost ,’ too.”