Chapter 5 #2
Did Cam look at him like Aidan said? Or was Aidan just seeing desire everywhere, now that he’d finally experienced it for himself?
No question, there was a thread of hero worship going on there. Dawson’s ego, bruised and battered, did enjoy that. A good reminder that at some point, not that long ago, he’d been aspirational. The kind of player other special teams guys talked about in hushed whispers.
He’d been proud of that. Probably too proud, which was what his dad was always saying came before a fall.
But Dawson didn’t think that was all of it, either. It felt good, sure, and soothed a hurt. No question about it. But other guys had reached out, after Baltimore had released him, and he hadn’t been tempted to cash any of the checks their gazes promised.
They drove back to downtown together, as they had for the last few days, now. It felt good to even have Cam next to him in the seat, even if he was quiet. So it couldn’t just be the sweetness of Cam’s hero worship.
“Offensive-line dinner tonight,” Dawson reminded him as they were in the elevator heading up to their apartments.
“Right,” Cam said, nodding. “Should be a good time. I heard Lane and Trev were crashing, too.”
“Ugh, the demon twins,” Dawson muttered.
“Hey, they’re pretty nice,” Cam argued.
“Don’t let them be too nice to you,” Dawson warned.
“What?” Confusion crossed Cam’s face.
“Just . . .don’t let Lane charm you.”
Cam was straight-up frowning now. “Lane’s not interested in me.”
Dawson considered saying that he shouldn’t be, but that would probably come across shitty, like nobody, ever, should be interested in Cameron, when actually the opposite was true.
There were plenty of reasons why anyone would be interested in Cam. It felt like Dawson had spent all day turning them over and over again in his head.
“See you in a bit,” Cam said, when the elevator hit his floor.
“I’ll order an Uber for us,” Dawson said, and Cam gave him one last look before the doors shut behind him.
Dawson dumped his stuff by the door and, after showering again, headed to his bedroom and its walk-in closet. He had clothes in it, of course, because he had to wear clothes every day, but it had been so long since he’d actually cared about looking good.
He still wasn’t sure he cared, but when he grabbed the first shirt off the hanger, he did at least glance at the mirror and make sure he didn’t look embarrassing.
Positively, Aidan could give a shit about what he was wearing, so he wouldn’t catch any strays for wearing a variation of what he’d worn the last few times they’d gone out to Vault.
Maybe if he was actually trying to hook up, he’d make an effort.
But the idea of going through all the small talk and posturing and then maybe if everything went okay, figuring out how two lives meshed together all over again?
Dawson’s skin crawled. He didn’t think he could do it.
Maybe he should download an app. Or he could stick to what was easy and what was already working, which was his right hand.
After checking his email, responding to a message from his agent, and spending thirty minutes flopped on the couch watching ESPN and sucking down a Gatorade in anticipation of the booze he’d probably be drinking, he headed downstairs.
There were a handful of figures scattered around the front of their building, but only one caught Dawson’s eye.
He was wearing jeans that fit his ass like a second skin, and a dark button-up that hugged him in all the best ways. Emphasized the curve of his hips, and the slenderness of his waist. Dark hair curling over the smooth tan skin of his neck.
Dawson did a double take and angled himself a little closer as he waited for Cam.
He was fine with his right hand, if he could think of guys like this when he touched himself.
And this guy was worth thinking about; Dawson’s gaze kept getting caught on shoulders and thighs and the tiny bit of visible skin he could see between hair and collar.
Imagined, for a single second, what it would feel like under his tongue.
And then the guy turned around and Dawson nearly choked.
It was Cameron.
Here was the thing: Dawson knew the rookie was attractive. Had known it but was steadfastly ignoring it, for a hundred very good reasons.
But it was going to be even harder to ignore it now.
Dawson debated running away, despite that he’d never been a coward, even through the worst of the shit he’d been through. Gave himself a firm pep talk-slash-warning and then headed over to where Cam stood.
“Hey,” Dawson said. Suddenly wishing that he’d not just grabbed the first Thunder-branded polo shirt he’d found in the closet.
“Oh, hey.” Cam grinned, giving Dawson’s shoulder a pat. “Looking good.”
Dawson wasn’t sure he’d go that far. But Cam was looking good. Good enough to eat.
Down, boy.
“Uh yeah. Thanks. Ditto.” Dawson forced his gaze to slide past Cam’s front, then down to his phone. “Car should be here in a minute.”
Cam nodded, like everything was normal.
And everything was normal, except Dawson.
He’d seen the rookie dressed up before, right? They’d gone out to Vault at least twice, but he couldn’t remember what the guy had been wearing before. Clothes?
Certainly not these clothes.
“You’ve been quiet today,” Cam observed as Dawson tried to fall into his phone screen, tracking the car that was supposedly just around the corner but that had yet to appear.
“Uh, just . . .preoccupied, I guess.” It was early October in Toronto; he should not be sweating under his collar.
“You’re not still worried about that kick on Sunday, are you?” Cam frowned, his eyebrows narrowing together. “’Cause we’ve worked hard this week. It’s not gonna happen again.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Dawson said automatically. Realized his mistake in activating Defender Cam only when he curled a hand around his bare forearm and squeezed supportively.
Dawson made the mistake of looking up into his eyes. Regretting that yes, Cam was at least two inches taller. His eyes were brown, yes, but a rich and dark brown, with tiny flecks of green and gold. Beautiful fucking eyes.
Was this because they’d ended up at the swimming pool the other night? No, because he’d been too distracted that night, both by his own fucking distress and his realization that Cam was struggling, too. Then there’d been the dream.
But those had just been stray thoughts, coalescing into nonsense scenarios.
It didn’t feel like nonsense, now.
“Daws,” Cam said, “it wasn’t your fault, either.”
“I know,” Dawson said quickly. Too quickly. Another mistake. They were piling up now and at some point they’d stack up too high, wobbling uncertainly, and Dawson was afraid of what might happen if they all came falling down.
A honk forcibly yanked him out of his spiral, and Dawson realized a second later that the car was here, and the driver had been probably been sitting there for at least a minute, watching them stand too close together.
Watching Dawson gazing into the rookie’s eyes like he might find not just the secrets of the universe in them, but the magic answer to all the bullshit cluttering up his brain.
They climbed into the back seat, Cam sliding over on the bench, Dawson offering an apologetic glance to the driver as he pulled the door closed behind him.
“It’s not far,” Dawson said to Cam.
Cam glanced over, and Dawson was relieved to see that his smile was as bright as it had been before. This was okay, then. He didn’t want to jar Cam too forcefully out of his comfort zone.
“You always crash Aidan’s offensive-line dinners?” Cam asked.
“Actually, never,” Dawson admitted. “At least not at Michigan and not here, either, but he’s being his normal nosy self. He’d have invited me earlier, I think, but Levi had him pretty well distracted.”
“He doesn’t seem that different to me?” Cam observed.
Dawson laughed. “You didn’t know him before. In his pre-Levi heyday, he made a triple espresso look chill.”
“Only by reputation, yeah,” Cam admitted.
“Oh that’s right.” Dawson shot Cam a knowing look, then deliberately ignored how the fire flicked to light in the base of his stomach as they shared it. “You thought Aidan was hot.”
Kept the inevitable question to himself. Do you still think Aidan’s hot?
Cam groaned. “Don’t remind me. And for God’s sake, don’t tell him, okay?”
“Don’t worry. I’m not about to boost his ego like that,” Dawson said. Not about to fuck my own, either, even though that would probably be better for everyone.
A minute later, they pulled up in front of the restaurant and slid out of the car. The hostess clocked them when they walked in and immediately led them back to a private room situated at the back of the restaurant.
“Hey, glad you two made it,” Aidan said, greeting them. He tugged Dawson into a bro hug and then did the same with Cam.
“You mean, you’re happy we crashed?” Dawson joked.
Aidan shot him a look. “Please. If it gets you out of that sad, pathetic apartment, you can crash every single goddamn week.”
“Shit, if you’re telling me I’m pathetic, then I must be pretty bad off,” Dawson said, scrubbing a hand over the scruff covering his jaw. Maybe he should’ve shaved. Cam had, and he looked fresh, clean, jawline so sharp it could cut glass.
“You’re not,” Cam retorted loyally. “Not even close. You’re Dawson Hall. Like a fucking legend.”
Aidan tilted his head, staring right at Dawson.
He didn’t need to hear Aidan say it to know what Aidan was thinking.
Watch it with the rookie.
But Aidan’s warnings were unnecessary. Dawson had invented them first.
“Dude, you came.” Dawson thought he recognized the voice, and his first guess was confirmed when Dawson saw that Duke was behind Aidan, white teeth flashing bright against his light brown skin, as he greeted Cam.
Like he’d been hoping Cam would show up.
Damn, what had happened to Cam being his rookie?