Chapter 8
FINN
Cameron Walker was the most awkward turtle I’d ever met.
Case in point—we were in his own house, but he still blushed when after dinner I asked where the bathroom was.
He apologized for not showing me sooner, then disappeared and reappeared clutching a fresh towel.
“I thought you might like to shower. Not that you smell or anything,” he said quickly, his cheeks going pink.
“I mean you do, but you smell like brown sugar and spice and gingerbread. It’s kind of amazing.
You’re like a human Yankee Candle. Not that I’ve been sniffing you, because that would be weird!
” He let out a nervous, high-pitched laugh, at which point I took pity on him.
“Bakery smells are the best,” I said easily, “but a shower would be great.”
Cameron lost his anxious expression and handed me the towel. I flashed him a grateful smile and closed the door. I stripped down quickly, turned on the taps, and got under the water.
The steam and heat went a long way to soothing my aching muscles, although I could feel the deep throb where bruises had formed on my tailbone.
I didn’t know what the situation was with Cameron’s water heater, so I didn't linger under the spray, as tempting as that was.
Instead I soaped myself up quickly and rinsed off, then stepped out of the shower and dried myself.
It took me all of two seconds to figure out that although my underwear was fine, the rest of my clothes were too damp to put back on.
Well, shit.
I put my boxer briefs on before opening the door a crack. “Uh, Cameron?”
Seconds later he appeared, a worried crease between his brows. “Are you okay? You’re not dizzy or anything, are you?”
I opened the door wider. “No, but I don’t suppose you have something dry that I can wear?”
Cameron’s gaze traveled down over my bare chest, lingering on the soft bulge in the front of my underwear before he caught himself and his head snapped up, his cheeks darkening.
“I mean I can stay like this if you’d prefer?” I said with a teasing smile, just to see him blush harder.
Cameron swallowed, eyes wide, and said, “I—uh—let me—” and then he vanished.
He was back in under a minute, holding out a faded long-sleeved tee, a pair of dark sweats, a navy sweater, and a pair of fleecy socks.
He gave an apologetic sigh. “They might not exactly fit since I’m shorter than you, but they should be warm enough.
I’m sorry I didn’t think to stop and pick up some dry clothes.
I guess I was more rattled than I thought. ”
“It’s fine,” I said. I took the clothing with a nod of thanks that made my head thump more than I wanted to admit and closed the bathroom door.
I dressed quickly, before the warmth of the shower left my body completely.
The tee and the sweater were tight across my chest and around my biceps, and the sweats left an inch of bare ankle that reminded me of the time back in high school when I’d grown six inches seemingly overnight and nothing had fit right.
But the socks took care of that, and at least I was warm.
I hung my towel on the rail to dry and made my way out to the living area. Cameron was in the kitchen with his back to me, and I caught the scent of chocolate right before he turned with two steaming mugs in his hands. “I thought you might like some hot chocolate,” he said, raising his eyebrows.
I took the mug gratefully and inhaled, catching underlying notes of cinnamon and nutmeg. I took a sip and moaned as the flavors, warm and rich, rolled over my tongue. “This is incredible.” I took another sip and hummed in appreciation.
Cameron flashed me a pleased smile, and we settled at the dining table with our drinks and sipped in companionable silence until the shower, the hot chocolate, and the painkillers I’d taken earlier all combined to wash over me in a wave of exhaustion.
I found myself letting out a massive yawn before I’d reached the bottom of my mug.
“Sorry,” I said, right before another yawn escaped me. “I guess it’s been a day.” I drained the rest of my mug and went to stand, but I had to grab the side of the table when the world tilted a little. Okay, maybe I was more than just tired.
Cameron’s gaze narrowed. “You’ve gone pale.”
“I just stood up too fast,” I said.
“You need to go to bed,” he said firmly.
“Yes, nurse,” I teased, but bed actually sounded amazing. I wanted to sink into a pile of blankets and pass out until my head and my tailbone stopped throbbing. Except there was only one other door in the cabin, presumably leading to only one bedroom—and only one bed.
This shit was getting more Hallmark by the minute, wasn’t it?
I glanced over at the closed door and Cameron followed my gaze. “You take my room. I’ll sleep on the couch,” he said, standing.
“What? No. I’ll take the couch,” I said.
“You’re taking the bed,” Cameron said, his chin jutting out. “Doctor’s orders.”
“I don’t think it is doctor’s orders,” I said, “unless you have a degree I don’t know about.”
“I hit you with my car, Finn. You’re taking the bed.
” Cameron put his hands on his hips and gave me a look that evoked the spirit of every pissed-off librarian ever, and it was clear he wasn’t budging on this.
And honestly, that earlier wave of exhaustion was back and I didn’t have it in me to argue.
I sat back down. “Fine.”
Cameron gave a satisfied nod and disappeared, coming back a minute later with a comforter and a couple of pillows. He made up the couch with easy efficiency, and I had to concede that it did look pretty cozy, so I didn’t feel too bad about him sleeping there.
As he plumped the last pillow, Asshole trotted across the room and with a single graceful leap, landed on the stack of pillows.
Then she fixed Cameron with a baleful stare that doubled as a challenge, started making weird, wet growling sounds—and before you could say hairball, she’d coughed one up, right on the pillows.
Cameron and I both stared in horror as she coughed up another wet chunk of… something disgusting. It looked vile and smelled even worse.
Not satisfied with her work, Asshole tiptoed around the mess, plopped herself in the center of the comforter, and proceeded to throw up—again.
It was honestly impressive how much crap she managed to hurk up for a small cat.
She glanced at the small lake of yellow-green bile and hair that was pooling in the middle of the comforter, then licked her ass a couple of times before jumping off the couch and glaring at us both like we were the problem here.
“Oh my god,” I said, mildly horrified. “Is she okay?”
“She’s fine,” Cameron said through a tightly clenched jaw.
He scooped the cat up and carried her through to the laundry room and closed her in there, ignoring the outraged howls she was making.
Then he came back and surveyed the damage.
“Shit.” He ran a hand through his hair and sniffed the pillow.
His nose wrinkled and he lost some of the color in his cheeks.
He bit his lip and was silent for a long moment, but then he squared his shoulders and said, “Well, I don’t have another comforter, but I’ll be fine.
I can wipe it off and hope for the best. I mean, how bad can it be, really? ”
I took a step forward and sniffed as well, and the acrid smell of cat puke had my stomach roiling.
“It’s bad,” I said. “There’s no way you’re sleeping with that. We can share.”
Cameron opened his mouth, presumably to argue, but I held up a palm.
“I’m too tired to fight you on this. You can’t sleep in cat puke, and it’s too cold not to have a blanket.
And everything hurts right now, my painkillers are wearing off, and I just want to sleep.
So you don’t need to worry. Your virtue is safe tonight. ”
Cameron hesitated, but he was obviously tempted. “If you’re sure…”
“Can we just go to bed? Please?”
Some of my desperation must have bled through, because he gave a slow nod.
“Yeah, okay. This way.” Cameron led me to the bedroom and opened the door.
We stepped inside and I looked around, curious, while Cameron fiddled with the heating controls and warm air started to circulate.
The room was small but cozy, much like the rest of the cabin, with wood flooring, what was presumably a picture window hidden by deep gray curtains, and soft blue paint on the walls.
A chair in one corner held a pile of clothing, and a plush rug covered most of the floor.
A Banksy print hanging over the unmade bed completed the picture.
I was relieved to see the bed was a queen, so at least there would be plenty of space for both of us without it getting weird—well, weirder, because there was no way this wasn’t going to be at least a little awkward.
I could cope with awkward. Right now I just needed some sleep, and when I woke up I’d be well enough to go home.
And later, when I’d hopefully charmed my way into Cameron’s bed for real, we could laugh about the whole “accidentally running you over” thing.
I smiled to myself despite my aching bones.
This could be our real-life “meet ugly turned cute” story. Because Cameron was cute.
But that was something to think about later. Right now I was more interested in that big bed and the thick quilt piled on top of it. I stared at it longingly.
Cameron followed my gaze. “Um. Sorry the bed’s not made,” he said, ducking his head and running a hand over the back of his neck. “Give me a minute to change the sheets.”
I appreciated the sentiment, but Cameron was already sharing his house and his bed. I wasn’t going to give him extra laundry. “I don’t need clean sheets,” I said. “I just need to pass out for eight hours. Unless it’s like, a total jizzfest in there?”