Chapter 25 #2
My face drops. My mouth falls open. My heart feels heavy. “Camden, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“What exactly are you sorry for, Indie?” His tone is acidic as he says my name through clenched teeth. The muscle in his jaw ticks angrily.
I glance down the hallway as someone walks by. Otherwise, we’re completely alone in this very bare, very dank hallway. “Well…for a lot. But mostly for flipping the script on you so much. I could have handled everything better.”
“How so?” he asks quickly. “Would handling it differently have changed the end results?”
My eyes soften. “No.”
“Then you handled it fine.” His eyes are slits.
“Camden—”
“Indie, I have loads of girls I can ring any time. I’ve already had a couple call this week, so don’t trouble your mind with any more thoughts of whatever brief thing we were.”
It’s not a physical slap, but it hurts so badly my eyes sting. “Fine then.” I turn back on my heel and don’t slow my pace until we reach radiology.
I glance in through the thick window and the tech indicates he needs five minutes. I bite my lip. I don’t know how I’ll make it five full minutes. I want to leave now. I want to run away from this horrible, awkward, unpleasant sensation that’s consuming my body.
“Find yourself a number two yet?” Cam asks, leaning against the hallway wall as if we’re having the most casual conversation ever.
I nearly growl, “No. And it’s none of your business.”
He laughs. “Hey, I’m just curious. You seemed pretty determined and it’s been a while since I last saw you. I figured you’ve been busy.”
“Not as busy as you apparently,” I snipe.
He huffs out another exasperating laugh.
He’s laughing! He’s laughing as if this is any normal day and what happened between us was nothing.
Then that voice in the back of my mind pipes up and reminds me that it was nothing.
It reminds me I all but yelled that at him.
What we had was just sex. I was just his doctor. He was just my patient.
“I have a right to be curious. I was a part of the list after all,” he drawls and pats me on the shoulder like a guy. “Plus, we’re mates, right?”
My eyes turn to saucers at his platonic touch that feels like hot coals against my skin. “Mates? You think we’re mates?”
Shrugging his shoulders, he replies, “We’re a bit more than doctor/patient.” He winks and the look in his eyes is pure evil. “What was it you called us…Oh yes, ‘just sex.’”
“Someone could hear you!” My eyes scan the hallway for anybody within listening distance. He’s being so careless, I can’t take another minute. “They’ll come get you when they’re ready.” I turn to leave, but his hand flies out and grabs my arm.
“Indie,” his voice is pleading. It’s a tone I recognise better than the one he’s been giving me. I want to lean into it and let it comfort me. It’s the tone that brings back so many memories of fun and lust that it physically hurts my ears.
I turn back to him and look right up into his eyes. “No, Cam. I’m done. You’re making me feel small and silly and stupid and childish just like they did.”
“Who’s they?” he snaps.
“Those girls! Those girls from school I told you about in confidence because I thought you cared. Because I thought we were friends who could trust each other. Because you came to my home and we shared a meal, and I thought that meant something. I didn’t tell you so you could use it as ammunition to hurt me. ”
“It did mean something. And I’m sorry.” He slices his free hand through his hair and looks down the hallway.
His jawline is taut with emotion, but he’s never looked more beautiful.
He looks back at me and his ice blue eyes are now warm and soft again, just as they were the night I last saw him in my flat.
“Indie, I hurt you because I was angry. But you hurt me because you don’t care enough. One is certainly worse than the other.”
His words are so true I want to wish them away the moment he puts them out into the universe.
For some strange reason, they make me think of my parents and the fact that I don’t even have a framed picture of them anymore.
The one I had when I was six was at my gran’s house and got boxed away in storage with the rest of her things. They care about me, but never enough.
I want to ask him, “what’s enough,” because I genuinely don’t know. But the one thing I do know is that I probably can’t feel it. I feel my lower lip wobble, so I pull it into my mouth to chew on in a vain attempt to hide how this encounter is affecting me.
His grip on my arm softens as he moves his thumb to stroke the inside of my elbow. His blue eyes are soft and sympathetic when he says, “Look, we had a fun time while it was good. Let’s just leave it at that.”
I nod woodenly, knowing that this peace offering is probably more than I deserve, yet, for some mysterious reason, I don’t want to accept it.
Suddenly, the radiologist swings the door open and we spread apart instantly, both looking anywhere but at each other. He doesn’t seem to take notice and ushers Camden in for his scan.
I can’t bring myself to wait. The radiologist will have to see him out. He’s given me a peace offering and I need the space to accept it. What Camden and I had was fun while it lasted, but now it’s over and I need to move on.
“We’re going out,” I proclaim, pausing in front of the on-call room door where I find Belle standing at her locker. This sense of urgency has been coming on ever since Cam left a few hours ago. “We’re going to get dressed up. I’m going to let you do my makeup, and we’re going on a mission.”
“Well, yeah,” Belle replies. “I already told you a few days ago that Old George has Irish Way playing in the beer garden. I got us tickets for tonight, our first Tequila Sunrise night. Don’t you remember?”
I bite my lip at the realisation of how utterly vacant I’ve been all week because this doesn’t ring any bells. Well, no more. I’m done feeling the sting of that slap on my hand. Cam’s completely over me and probably off screwing a new girl as we speak.
“That’s right.” My eyes narrow with strategy. “Old George is perfect.”
Belle frowns. “Indie, you’ve been weird all week. What is going on with you? I saw Camden Harris’ brother Tanner today at the hospital, so I know he was here. Did something happen between you two? Your eyes look a bit more Tarsier Primate today than usual.”
A tiny part of me wants to tell Belle everything—to blurt out every nasty word that was said between Camden and me.
But then I would have to tell her I let him push into me without a condom.
That I knew he was doing it and I wanted him to do it.
That I craved the feeling, but then, like a lunatic, I wigged out on him afterwards.
I accepted him, rejected him, and then slapped him.
She’ll think I have schizophrenia. Sharing will only shine a bigger light on how truly detached I can be, and I don’t want Belle to see that side of me.
She’s the one person who embraces my quirks.
I don’t want to wreck it. Plus, I need her to keep me going on this Penis List mission.
I defiantly raise my shoulders and reply, “Nothing bad happened with Camden. I accomplished my goal, so it’s time to move down the list. Tonight we’re on a Penis Number Two mission.”
She eyes me skeptically. “Shag ‘em and bag ‘em is more my gig…But hey, you are officially deflowered, so who the hell am I to judge? Just call me your wing-woman, darling.”
“Two more, please!” I shout down to the cute bartender and blink slowly, appreciating the cut of his jeans. “You know, those jeans would look even hotter on a footballer,” I slur over my shoulder to Belle. “God, they can wear jeans!”
“Too right,” Belle growls, raising her glass in a toast to hot thighs. “I’m craving a footballer for myself right about now.”
My brows raise. “I’m not craving a footballer. Come on, we’re here for Penis Number Two. Stay focused.”
“Well, Stanley is right there. Primed and ready.” She points toward the end of the bar where Stanley quickly looks away.
I shake my head. “Why does he always end up everywhere I am?”
“Because you invite him,” she sings.
I sigh. “I know. He asks and I don’t want to be mean. Stanley is a nice bloke.”
“So why don’t you put him out of his misery and shag him?”
“His eyes are too brown,” I grumble.
She begins to argue with me as the bartender sets down our tequila. We grip the glasses in our hands, do a quick cheers, and gulp down the spicy liquid.
“Tequila Sunrise!” Belle shouts, giggling happily. “Well, just straight tequila I guess, but the sentiment is there.”
“Tequila Sunrise,” I murmur, propping my head on my hands.
Belle whacks me on the arm. “All right, we’re good and buzzed now. It’s time to get serious about Penis Number Two before we get so pissed we can’t pick a good pecker.”
Turning away from the bar, we lean our backs against the dark lacquered wood and admire the scene for a moment.
Old George’s beer garden is a gorgeous outdoor sight at night.
It’s located in the alley behind the pub and is completely ensconced in high lattice fencing covered in crawling ivy.
Rustic picnic tables fill the left side, but they’ve removed several for a small dance floor and the band on the right.
The ground is all original cobblestone—there’s probably horse manure stamped into the divots from the Medieval era.
Because of this, you can always spot the regulars from the tourists.
The regulars are in sensible flats while the tourists wobble around awkwardly in heels.
It’s not a proper night at Old George if you don’t see at least three girls take a tumble.
Top the entire scene off with string after string of Edison bulbs and you have the most gorgeous, glowing, backyard party you’ve ever seen.
“I love Old George,” I coo.
“I know, love. You look fab tonight, too. Have I told you that?”
“You look better,” I murmur.
Belle is kitted out in black leather leggings and a studded, black tank top that makes her look as badass as the combat boots she’s rocking.
I’m a bit more colourful in floral print leggings and a fitted white T-shirt that Belle says makes my tits look great.
Wearing my hair down is usually the only accessory I need to spruce up an outfit. That and my black vintage eyewear.
“Okay, so let’s do this.” Her gaze narrows on the crowd. “Are you sure you don’t want to give Stanley a shot.”
“I’m sure.”
“So what’s the type you’re looking for?”
My face turns serious. “Penis Number Two type. Sweet, sensitive, and a nurturing lover. Must cry when he comes.” I giggle as I remember that little tidbit from our list.
“I meant physically,” Belle says around the straw of her drink.
My brows rise. “I don’t know…I guess I like light hair.”
“What else?”
“Maybe tall and broad.”
“Yes…”
“With eyes that smoulder.”
“Got it.”
“And I wouldn’t say no to some abs.”
“What about another crack at Penis Number One?” she asks, her eyes locked on something behind me.
“That’s not what—”
She grabs my chin and turns my head toward the far back corner of the beer garden. Despite the darkness, I can make out the outlines of two huge, strapping men sitting on top of a picnic table. It looks like a hairy and non-hairy set of twins.
“Oh no,” I say.
“Surprise!” she giggles and clutches my arm, yanking me in that direction.