Chapter 4
Cam
So, so numb.
I attempt to lift my head before I give up and flop back down. One eye pops open and I realize now why my arm’s numb. Bowen is currently cutting off the blood flow to it.
Just like my dumbass dick cut off all the blood flow to my brain last night.
Seriously, what the hell was that?
Possibly the greatest kiss I’ve ever had, and I wasn’t even naked.
My dumb brain!
With as much grace as my clumsy ass can find, I slowly slip out from under his tiny body then wave my arm back to life.
After we’d lain back down and I’d tucked him into me while silently freaking out, I slept like shit.
I was up on and off, and I tried not to move too much.
I know he didn’t get much sleep the night before because of yours truly, so I’ll let him be for now and freak out in the privacy of my own stupid, stupid brain.
Stars burst behind my eyelids as I press the heels of my palms to my eyes. I bite back the urge to scream. Gym. I need to work out. I need to release this stress somehow. I don’t know what the hell came over me last night. I was tipsy sure, but had sobered for the most part before he woke up.
Nope. Those bad decisions were brought to you by sober yours truly.
Carefully I get off his bed, then stop at the door to look back at him. A smile slips onto my face. Bo is swimming in the comforter and my shirt, that I only now realize he’s wearing.
He fits so perfectly against me.
I wish that was the first time I’d had that thought, but it’s not.
I’d been hard. That kiss, that scorching, breath-stealing kiss made me so hard.
“Bad!” I slap my dick, doubling over. “Bad,” I wheeze. Then whisper, “You’re such an idiot.”
Why the hell did I even do that? I was just playing around, then he touched me and I lost my damn mind.
I can’t explain what came over me. It’s like one moment we were watching TV and talking about how hideous the Dragon Ball characters were, and how not attracted to them he was, and next thing you know . . . bam! Tongue in his mouth.
Bo’s had his hands on me a thousand times before. Hands on my chest, my stomach, my arms, and nothing has ever set me on edge the way his touch did last night. Pleasure swirled like smoke in my belly. His touch flamed over my skin, and I burned for more.
I love women. Probably a little too much if I’m honest.
I love how they feel, smell, laugh. I love those bright flirty eyes and curves. Fuck, I love curves. Hips. Soft breasts, thick thighs, hot wet pussy I can just dive head first into. I love it.
But last night . . .
Holy shit, okay, I need to stop thinking about it. I need to stop. It’s easy. Easy. Easy. I’ve gone twenty-six years without thinking about it. It should be easy. Just stop. Poof. No more. Naughty thoughts be gone. Just. Don’t. Think.
Don’t think about the way his lips softened against mine, the way his hands gripped my biceps. Don’t think about the way he tasted, or his soft moans as they mingled with mine.
Or the way he was just as hard as I was, grinding into me.
Or the way, for just a second, I wanted to know what he tasted like there.
I squeeze my dick hard.
Bo snores softly, and his pretty lips part with every breath. His soft face, black lashes, and sleep-mussed hair . . . Warmth. Bowen is warmth personified. It hits my chest, fills my lungs. Bo has always been Bo to me, but last night he felt like more.
He felt like mine.
What the hell is wrong with me? How is one kiss winding me up like this? Last night, if I can admit it, was the hottest kiss I’ve ever had. Bo is a great kisser. Okay, I really need to stop thinking about it. None of it even matters.
We we’re both tipsy. Yeah, that’s it. Tipsy. Bo was hard because he’s attracted to men, and I’m a man. Two plus two equals four. That’s it. It’s math. Simple. You can’t argue with math.
I was lonely, and I don’t know . . . sad.
Sad because my girl cheated, and she isn’t the first. That’s all.
Sad and lonely and slightly drunk. None of it matters.
None of it. What Siena said to me hurt, and yes, she’s just one woman, but I can’t argue the history.
You can’t argue with math. If you’re always broken up with, you must be the problem, right?
I am the problem. I fuck everything up. Even if—and it’s a huge if—I was attracted to Bo.
Which I’m not, because that’s silly.
Sure, of course he’s cute, he’s fucking beautiful. But I don’t like guys, so again, even if—a huge if—I was attracted to him in that way, I refuse to ruin the most important relationship I have over kisses and sex. I can’t do that.
Which I don’t want to, I don’t. I’m just . . . lonely. That’s right, lonely. I was lonely and horny, and I love Bo, and that feeling just got a little fuzzy is all. Bowen’s my safe place, and I let that feeling spill over into uncharted waters.
When my father would hurt me or my mother would be so far gone she didn’t notice me, Bo was there.
He’s been there through everything with me—the beatings, the fights, the screaming, the words and hurt that are still branded in my DNA.
Sometimes my father would get so drunk he’d wake me up in the middle of the night and beat me.
When he got really drunk, he’d lurk in my doorway like my own personal bogeyman, watching and waiting for me to fall asleep.
Then he’d drag me out of bed and hurt me.
He always took his anger out on me since she was never lucid enough to react to him. My father loved a show—he loved a fight—and my mother drugged herself so she wouldn’t be able to give him one.
Bowen’s family had emigrated from Hong Kong.
I remember the day I saw him for the first time.
I smile at the memory, not letting myself linger on it too long, though.
We found out we lived on the same street.
There’s this tiny playground there, where I used to run to when my father was on one of his tirades.
I remember one day I snuck out of the house and ran to the playground. I saw Bowen on the merry-go-round, just sitting. Not moving. He was so tiny even then. Big glasses, cute little scowl. He was scared, but that tiny attitude never fazed me. In fact it egged me on.
Soon we were inseparable, then his family became my second home.
Whenever I could escape I found myself at their house, in the warm shelter of love I never received at home.
I found out years later that his mom suspected something was going on.
To this day she still checks in with me every week, calls me on my birthdays, and asks me if I’m doing okay or need help.
I love her, I love them, I love him.
Time goes on. Relationships come and go, but Bo remains the same.
Which is why I need to apologize when he gets up. If there’s one thing I will not do it’s risk him. Us. It’s never worth it.
I’m not worth it.
Hours later, Bo finally comes staggering out of his room, his fingers running through his silky black hair.
A tiny smile slips onto my lips watching pieces fall obediently back into place.
His glasses are on, and maybe last night fucked with my brain chemistry .
. . but damn does he look good. Sleepy and sexy, and wow.
Get it together.
What the hell came over me last night, and why won’t my brain go back to normal? Go back! Cautiously he walks to the island counter and drags out a bar stool, the sound louder than it should be this early in the morning. He hops onto it.
“You made food?” He slowly grabs a plate of eggs.
“Are we stress cooking again?” I give him a couple of slices of wholegrain toast and slide him the small bowl.
“Special butter?” I nod. Whenever I’m here I make him this garlic butter that he loves because I know he doesn’t exactly love sweet foods.
Last night he was humoring me while I spiraled about Siena.
“And why am I getting your special garlic butter?”
Mindlessly he spreads the butter across the pieces of gluten free toast. This brand is nearly seven dollars a damn loaf, but it’s the only kind I’ve found so far that I can stomach and he can eat. “I know you like it.”
He nibbles on the piece of toast, and his eyes flick up to mine before focusing back on the piece of bread. Then he sighs, his thin shoulders drooping. “Go ahead, Cam. Give me the speech.”
“The speech?”
“The ‘last night was a mistake’ speech.”
This is so hard. “Bo, I’m not—”
He cuts me off with a glare. “Oh, I know you’re not, Cam, but you did, and I’m wondering why.” My mouth won’t make words. It won’t say it. It was a mistake. A huge mistake. So say that. Say it right now! “Right.” He slides the butter back to me. “Keep your sympathy butter. I don’t want it.”
“Bowen, you need to eat before work.”
Ignoring me, he slides off the bar stool and storms to his room.
Dammit. I finish the parfait I made earlier and give him a moment.
He’s eating, though, before he works. I have the spoon halfway to my lips when he storms back in.
“You know what, no!” His red lips are bunched, his nostrils flaring.
Oh, we are pissed. “You will tell me right now, Camden Olivia Almeida, that it was a mistake. To my face. Tell me you were drunk. Tell me you didn’t mean it. But tell me to my face. Right now.”
“Bobo.” I hate this. I knew today was gonna suck.
I’m going to the gym when he goes to work, to clear my head.
I don’t know what to say now. Guys do nothing for me.
Even now I can’t conjure any guy who could compare to what I felt last night.
So it has to be because I’m just comfortable with him.
We’re comfortable, maybe too comfortable.
I was sad. Bo is adorable, and I love him, and my White-Claw-soaked brain just didn’t know the difference.