Chapter Twenty Cam
Chapter Twenty
Cam
Then I peek through my blackout curtains, butter knife from my midnight toast in hand, and see Mason Gray.
Hearing a methodical, very human tapping noise on my windowpanes at one o’clock in the morning is the most likely scenario within which I would shit my pants, bedsheets, and mattress simultaneously.
Which is why my first instinct is to scoop my phone up and prepare for imminent death.
Yet masculine curiosity grabbed hold—I had to see the source.
Lo and behold, it’s my water boy.
I unlock the window, pulling it up. “The hell are you doing?” I hiss, peering around the blackened forestry surrounding my house.
In summer, the sounds of life are unbearable, particularly with insects hiding among the tall grass.
Now, though, as the autumn weather takes hold, the sounds are more muted, giving way to the scraping of naked branches and whistling wind.
Mason is dressed in pajamas, his eyes streaked with reddish vines, shivering like he just emerged from an ice bath. “Sorry,” he whispers. “Am I bothering you?”
I shake my head, utterly bamboozled. “Come in!” I snap, nestling my arm against the top of the window frame so he won’t hit his head.
Hesitantly he hoists himself through the window, his tousled locks skimming my arm as he pulls himself inside.
The moment the house’s warmth floods over him, Mason releases a sigh of relief.
“What the hell, Mason?” I demand, drawing the blinds to conceal us from forest lurkers or nosy mosquitoes that should be dead. I flick on my bedside lamp to properly see him. “Why are you wandering around in your pajamas? You walked here?”
“Took a private jet,” Mason says dryly. His eyes flit along my front, and I realize with mortification that I’m dressed in hot-pink boxers. I scramble for my robe and fling it over my shoulders, though I guess he’s seen me in worse situations, like after the inflatable pool incident.
“What happened?” I ask sharply. If he’s going to occupy my bedroom on a Sunday night, I should know why. Even if tomorrow is a professional development day and we have school off. This is precious sleeping time for a special boy.
Not that I mind seeing him.
“Just needed air,” Mason says, light and blasé as he looks around, his eyes gravitating to the gigantic poster of Beau Rainey fastened to my wall. His lip crinkles down.
“Did something happen?” I ask. “Or was the thought of my face too charming to resist?”
Mason scoffs, and I’m glad because it means he’s feeling an emotion. “Cameron Morelli, could you not be an arrogant dick so late on a Sunday? Think of the children.”
“What children?”
“Me.”
I sigh, flopping onto my mattress. Why won’t he ever give me a straight answer?
Maybe he notices the trace of frustration in my face, because his fake half smile dissolves. “Sorry,” he whispers. “I know I shouldn’t be here, it’s just…I wanted to make sure of something.”
“That being?”
Mason inches closer, until his knees bump mine. His flannel shirt is sagging off his shoulders, exposing his smooth collarbone. “The things you said,” he mumbles. “Did you mean them, or were you just trying to make me feel better?”
I stare at him vacantly. “What things?”
“Uh…like what you said about my personality.” He scrutinizes me intently, then flatly says, “You forgot.”
The memory unfurls in little chunks through my mind. “I didn’t,” I choke out.
Mason gives a small shake of his head. “Makes sense that you wouldn’t remember,” he mumbles. “It was a completely normal, uneventful moment for you. You have no idea what it meant to me.”
I didn’t think that moment was a big deal, but the gap in my memory is more because I was so focused on the sensation of him.
His legs against my hips, his torso leaning back but not in a defensive position.
More like he was allowing himself to be vulnerable, rather than curling in.
The way his turtleneck hugged him and his eyelashes glinted in the gallery lighting.
The way his lips felt cool and silken against mine.
“I mean what I say,” I tell him, shrugging. “Maybe I wanted to make you feel better, but that just means I used that moment to tell you what I think. Hoping it would help.”
Mason smiles with just enough genuineness that his eyes crinkle.
The sight is like a rush of dopamine that causes my chest to tingle and the walls of my throat to narrow.
I’m sitting, he’s standing, but my bed frame is high enough that I’m only an inch below him, his straight, slender nose at my eye level.
“What?” I ask when the silence of my room becomes too thick with tension.
I’ve never wanted so badly to sling my arms around someone’s waist and kiss them.
Maybe it’s lust? He obviously thinks I’m a giant-dicked, tiny-brained idiot.
He enjoys insulting me, rolling his eyes, flicking my forehead, and scolding me while we study.
I don’t know where it came from, this feeling. But somewhere in our time together…
I’ve started to like this water boy.
The thought of holding his hand, sprawling my head in his lap when I give up on studying, encouraging him during workout sessions, talking casually with him on the benches of the football field sidelines, discovering vegetarian places we can eat, watching him paint…
it’s overwhelming. I want my existence to be interlaced with his, even if all we’re doing is this—staring at each other in the dim bedroom lighting, silent aside from quickened breaths.
“Cameron Morelli,” he says softly.
Everyone calls me “Cam” or “Morelli.” He’s the only one who lets the weight of my full name leave his tongue. It used to aggravate me, but now there’s something intimate about it. “Mason Gray,” I shoot back, because how else do I respond? Yes, that’s me. ’Tis I.
“Why do you pretend you’re such a prick?”
“Who’s pretending?” I snip, to which he laughs, one finger rising to conceal his lips, just one, and my God, I want to devour him.
“I like you.” Mason reaches out and sprawls his hand along my jaw, eyes still watery.
I…wasn’t expecting that.
He’s so nonchalant, I can barely comprehend his words. The tornado of fire that’s been contained to my chest since he crawled through my bedroom window spirals out of control, lashing into the rest of my body, setting my skin ablaze.
“You like me?” I squeak. His gaze is pouring into mine, but something feels strange. There’s a hint of detachment, like part of his thoughts are lying somewhere else. And since when has he ever been so forward?
Mason nods. His fingertips are nestled along the curve of my ear, and he pinches my lobe, sending my heart into a panicked, hot frenzy.
Is he coming on to me? He’s made some snarky, suggestive comments in the past, but he’s never actually flirted with me before.
He’s fluttering his lashes, like he knows exactly what I’m drawn to.
“Aren’t you the school’s biggest player?” Mason’s head tips, curiosity lining his features. “Why are you so flustered? It’s cute.”
Okay, something is definitely wrong. His smile seems genuine, and there’s honest desire in his eyes, but it’s overshadowed by something more intense.
Desperation.
“What are you running from?” I ask, catching his wrist. His heartbeat is elevated against my thumb, though it’s nowhere near as wild as mine, which means all of this…it’s calculated. “You’re using me as a distraction.”
Mason’s eyes shoot wide. He takes a startled step back and twists his hand free with such urgency, it’s like he thinks I’m going to attack him. “Sorry,” he says in a weak, broken gasp.
I rise to my feet, and he stumbles farther back, pupils dilating, arms rising defensively.
“Sorry,” he says again, faster. Quieter. “I didn’t mean…I wasn’t trying to…”
His reaction is so visceral that I freeze, not daring to flinch. I’d been planning on grabbing a sweatshirt for him, because he’s still shivering.
“It’s fine,” I say, swallowing. Seeing him wince every time I move unexpectedly drives a dagger of pain through my heart. I hate what it means. I hate whoever did this to him. “But if you kiss me, I want it to be because you like me back.”
“I do.” Mason’s eyes lock on my bedroom carpet. “I wasn’t lying.”
And maybe this should be a critical moment where everything comes together with a perfect, fiery kiss as passionate testosterone spills out of our pores.
I’m supposed to sweep him off his feet and go on a tirade about all his qualities that frustrate me but also draw me to him.
But I can’t. Because even if Mason is catching feelings…
He’s scared.
“Why did you walk here so late?” I ask, sinking into the bedspread.
Mason’s defensive stance loosens. He takes unsteady steps toward me, and suddenly, his face is falling into the crook of my neck, and he’s slumping against me. “I don’t know,” he whispers, his warm breath tickling my shoulder.
I’m not sure what to do with my hands. Eventually, I wrap my arms around his narrow waist, hugging him against me, slotting him between my propped legs. When he feels this, he leans more heavily into my chest.
“Sorry,” he mumbles. “Can I spend the night? I can sleep on your floor.”
“We slept in your bed once,” I point out. “Might as well do the same in mine.”
Mason melts fully into my grasp, until I’m the only thing keeping him from folding onto the carpet.
I shift, rolling him onto my mattress and then creeping beneath the blankets.
I flick the light off, plunging us into darkness as we rustle around, trying to get comfortable.
Soon after, the only sound is the whirring bedroom fan.