Chapter Sixteen Cam #2
He’s starting to get irritated with the stretching.
I can tell because when we’re doing a partner stretch, our legs spread into a V and our sneakers pressed flat against each other’s, he pulls forcefully on my hands as if to punish me.
But I’m used to exercises like this, so I merely follow his tug and stretch over my open legs, smiling knowingly.
“Trying to hurt me?” I ask skeptically.
“Hmm?” His gaze is detached and cold. “Cameron Morelli, why would I want to see you in pain? Could it be because you added a stretch to my regimen that literally forces me to spread my legs for you?”
I hack on my own saliva. “It wasn’t intentional!” I choke out.
“Oh.” He leans back, pulling my arms again, stretching me so far forward that I’m starting to feel the ache in my thighs.
“Wait, I’m serious, I didn’t mean—ack, water boy, mercy, please!”
Mason heaves a sigh, straightening up and freeing me from the excessive stretch. But his eyes are glinting with amusement, and I realize he’s not actually annoyed—he’s just pretending to be so he can torture me.
Little. Shit.
“I have a new stretch,” I say darkly, and his expression shifts at my tonal change. “This one works your abdomen.”
“Crunches again?” he asks, sounding miserable.
“Worse.” I fold my legs in so our feet are no longer pressed together, then yank on his hands, sliding him across the ground and into my lap.
He barely has time to rasp out a confused noise before I’m jamming his fingers into his waist and rib cage, causing him to suddenly shriek and wriggle against my iron grip.
“Wait!” he cries out, laughter raking his body as I poke at every sensitive spot on his midsection.
He’s trying to wrench his arms free, but they’re pinned firm between our chests, thanks to the arm I have wrapped unyieldingly tight around his back.
“Don’t you dare, let go, I’ll never forgive you, I’ll tell your mom—”
The rest of his words dissolve into uncontrollable laughter. The sight of his smile in full force, so close to me, his lashes sparkling with tears, his cheeks peachy pink, his forehead shimmering with warmth, is too much.
It’s too much.
The hand I’m using to torment his waist slides up his abdomen, his chest, until it’s latching around the back of his neck.
His honey-brown eyes, glazed with delirium, sharpen the moment his forehead falls to mine.
His hands, which have been pounding against my chest, fall still and unfurl.
The tips of his fingers graze the skin above my collarbone. Cool. Centering.
We sit frozen for several seconds, an echo of the night I drove him home from the beach party, his legs curled around my waist, his weight positioned atop my thighs, his face invitingly close.
His thin lips are pressed firmly together now, but the edges are curled upward, like he’s still fending off his previous laughter.
His breaths are tight, quick, and the sound makes my chest thump harder.
Neither of us care that our foreheads are sticky and will probably peel apart like glue when he draws back.
The point is that he’s not drawing back.
But he rejected me. Right? He only took the tutoring thing up to help the team and probably to have an excuse to get out of his house. If not for that, he would be avoiding me at every corner, because he’s made it clear my personality isn’t his type. So why…?
Why is he watching my lips like that?
I probably shouldn’t. I ghost them against the outer corner of his mouth anyway, my face moving in against my instincts.
His head twitches, like he wants to meet them, like he wants to correct my course.
He decides to keep still, though, and allows my lips to brush up against his skin, a mere inch away from fully kissing him.
His lashes flutter shut—he’s still not pulling back.
His fingers, though, are tensing against my chest, like he’s bracing for the moment he might want to shove.
My gut feeling is telling me to stay away from his mouth.
So I drag my lips lower, catching his soft, pale chin instead, my hand still pressed flush to the back of his slender neck.
The faintest fragrance of something woodsy and warm tickles my nose.
Did he dab cologne on himself before he came? Just for dinner and working out?
I press a slow, careful kiss under the jut of his jaw. My left arm remains hooked around his waist—it fits perfectly against me. My right thumb works the divot behind his ear, and he might be sensitive there, because I can feel his heart pulsing faster, deeper.
“Just my face?”
He gasps the words out like he’s been clinging to them.
I pause, my lips hovering at the arch of his neck. “What?” I whisper.
He shivers as my breath unfurls against his skin. “It’s because of my face,” he says, and suddenly, he’s pushing, his fingers digging into my chest. “It’s not because you like…It’s not because I’m actually…”
I want so desperately to hold on to him, to make him clarify his thoughts, but I can’t keep him hostage like this. So I pull my arms away, and he immediately scrambles out of my lap, stumbling to his feet.
“I should go,” he says, gazing toward the staircase leading out of the basement.
The last several seconds have happened so fast I can barely keep up with them. I’ve messed something up, though, so I sputter out, “Sorry.”
“Huh? No, it’s fine. Uh.” Mason’s eyes flick around with unease before returning to the stairs.
The sudden, weak tremor in his arms furthers my guilt.
I want to apologize again for assuming his body language meant he was on board with what happened.
I should’ve confirmed with him verbally before… yeah.
He’s already lunging up the stairs to escape me.
I drive him home in silence. I’m not sure what to say. I screwed up. Badly.
When I return home and start wiping down the exercise equipment, the jewelry bowl shimmers in the corner of my eye.
He left his aquamarine necklace.
Journal #6—October 31
Happy Halloween. I was invited to a party today but meh, it’s just a bunch of kids acting like dicks, and he doesn’t like when I go out on my own. I’ll probably stay home.
We got in another fight. I told him I went to a bonfire where there was alcohol and he said I shouldn’t go to places like that, especially since I still can’t remember him saying he loved me. It just shows I can’t handle my liquor.
Besides, he thinks some kids would take advantage of me.
He’s always saying people love to stare at me nowadays, and it makes him feel protective.
I appreciate him looking out for me. Though, I wish he’d stop throwing out my clothes.
I caught him tossing some of my favorite leggings the other day because apparently they make me look more “tempting.” I’m not sure what he means. My ass is flatter than paper.
He’s struggling this semester at college. I think he’s lonely.
I started learning how to play the guitar.
Mom has an old one in the basement from when she tried playing in some garage indie band.
I tried playing him a song when he came home last weekend but was so nervous I messed up several times.
He made a good point that it’s pretty late for me to learn a new instrument anyway.
Maybe I’ll get bored and go back one day.
It was kind of fun.
Journal #7—April 2
Oh. My. God. I. AM. ENGAGED.
The ring is so beautiful. I can’t stop staring.
He took me to the park for the most romantic picnic for my sixteenth birthday a couple weeks ago (it was cold as shit).
Then we went back to his house and almost didn’t make it to his bedroom, he was so excited.
I did a ton of research and think I did okay? He kind of dodged the question.
I love him so much it’s gross. Mom is excited. I’ve never seen her light up like that. Dad was weird about it but he’ll get over it once I’m eighteen. It’s not like we’re jumping down the aisle tomorrow. First he has to graduate, then he’ll buy a house.
Sometimes I spend weekends up at college with him. I can’t wait until the day I get to wake up beside him and don’t have to leave.
Nobody understands me like he does. He thinks it may be because I don’t have an easy personality to work off. He said there’s nothing wrong with that, though, since we balance each other out. As long as he’s with me, I’m okay around others.
He doesn’t mind my personality. Even if I’m unlikable or boring, he’s there for me. Sometimes I wonder if I deserve someone like him. I’m so happy he chose me. He could have anyone he wants, but I’m the one he put the ring on? Wild.
We’ll keep it a secret until I’m out of high school.