Chapter 6 #2
Dawson was sure Cam was hardly annoyed about it—he hadn’t seemed that way, anyway—but it still felt embarrassing to admit to the attraction. Especially like this. God, at one point, he’d had moves.
That day felt so far removed it was like it hadn’t ever existed at all.
“I’m divorced, not dead,” Dawson muttered. He waved his hand. “And you’re . . .well, you know.”
“No, I don’t, which is why I keep asking,” Cam said. He hadn’t moved his hand, and now his fingertips curled into the fabric of Dawson’s sweatshirt.
Like if Dawson tried to get away, Cam wasn’t going to let him.
“You’re hot, okay?” Dawson swallowed hard. He wasn’t going to add, and I’m attracted to you, because he thought that must be obvious enough and also because he wasn’t stupid enough to take this even further.
“Thanks.” It turned out Cam had an adorable divot of a dimple when he smiled that wide.
“You’re welcome.”
Neither of them moved, but Dawson knew he needed to, before he did something even dumber than admit to Cam’s face that he was hot.
“So you gonna tell me about this Aidan thing?” Cam asked.
Dawson made a face. “No?”
Cam had the nerve to laugh delightedly. “Yeah, I think you are, Daws. Come on. What does this have to do with Aidan?” His fingers dug more insistently into the thick fabric covering Dawson’s chest.
“Nothing, really—he’d just tell me it was a bad idea. And he would be right.”
“What would be a bad idea?” Cam gazed at him guilelessly. “You’re attractive, too.”
Dawson groaned under his breath.
“It would be better—easier—if you thought that about just about anyone else on the team.”
“Maybe not Aidan or Levi,” Cam said thoughtfully. “Or Wes.”
It was the worst thing Cam could’ve told him. Or maybe the best. Dawson was unclear. “Actually, Wes—”
Dawson wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed that Cam interrupted him before he got the whole thing out.
“Wes’s still hung up on his ex,” Cam said, and for the first time since he’d opened the door, there was a whisper of a frown on his face.
Dawson glanced away. “Yeah, he is.” And I’m still fucked up, a real hot garbage fire.
“This isn’t a big deal,” Cam said and patted Dawson’s pec reassuringly before he finally pulled his touch away.
It was actually the biggest deal. Dawson wanted to tell him that since his divorce over a year ago, he’d not looked at anyone and wanted them, not until Cam.
But they were playing with fire enough as it was.
Maybe Cam even knew it, because he turned and walked into the living room then, grabbing a sweatshirt on the couch and tugging it on.
Dawson watched the last of his bare skin disappearing and told himself that he wasn’t disappointed. That he didn’t enjoy every second of the still-tanned muscles of Cam’s back rippling as he covered up.
“So,” Cam said, that dimple returning, “what’s up?”
“Oh. Yeah.” He’d come down here for a reason. Not just to ogle the rookie in all his shirtless glory. “Um, I wanted to know if you wanted to go for a walk with me. I gotta get out of the house, and figured you might need that, too.”
“Got me all figured out?” Cam teased, but he was still grinning, like he’d just won the lottery.
“Not entirely, but—” It was all Dawson got out before Cam wrapped an arm around his waist and tugged him in close.
That two inches Cam had on him had never seemed like a thing, but it felt like a thing now.
Dawson froze.
“I know you said it was a bad idea,” Cam said. His mouth was hovering only an inch above Dawson’s. The arm around his waist wasn’t holding him tight enough that Dawson couldn’t get away if he wanted to.
The problem was that he didn’t want to, even if he needed to.
He pulled himself away. “Uh,” Dawson mumbled.
“I know, bad idea and all that, but could be fun,” Cam said, shrugging. Like it was no big deal that he’d almost kissed Dawson.
“Fun?” Dawson parroted back.
“Oh come on, you’re not too old that you’ve forgotten what fun is.”
Maybe he had. Because ten years ago, he’d have been enthusiastic about the prospect of kissing Cam, even if it was only fun.
But then ten years ago, he hadn’t seen the dissolution of a marriage and nearly the mirrored dissolution of a career he’d fought so hard for.
“Not that old, no,” Dawson agreed. He could tell Cam how tempted he’d been, but if he told him just how attracted he was, how much his hands were itching to bury themselves under Cam’s sweatshirt and find the bare skin underneath, he had a feeling pulling away wouldn’t be quite so easy the second time.
“Didn’t think so,” Cam said, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “But yeah, let’s go for a walk. I could get out, too.”
He grabbed one of those puffer vests and shrugged it over his sweatshirt and slid his keycard into a pocket of his sweatpants, along with his wallet.
They were in the elevator, when Cam turned to him again. “Sorry,” he said, that dimpled smile back in full effect, “but you sort of distracted me. Are you okay though?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Dawson shoved his hands into his pockets. They were cold, sure, but also maybe then he wouldn’t be thinking about touching Cam again.
They’d fit together, better even than the late-night images his uncooperative imagination had supplied.
“I don’t know, you looked upset when I opened the door. And not just ’cause I was shirtless. And you said you had to get out. So I wondered.”
Dawson sighed. He supposed that he’d already been too honest today. Why not push it a little further? “My lawyer called. It’s funny. I was thinking how, even once in a while, when he does, it should be a good thing, right? And it never fucking is.”
Cam looked surprised. “Never?”
“Sometimes it feels like the only one who wants my father-in-law to pay for this shit is me.”
“That can’t be true,” Cam soothed. “He’s on trial, right?”
He pushed the door open to the late afternoon. It was blustery today, only a bit of weak sunshine showing through the clouds. Dawson didn’t have a destination in mind, but picked one direction and Cam just followed along, like where they were going didn’t really matter.
“Well, sort of.” Dawson barked out a bitter laugh. “They did arrest him. But then they released him, until the trial. And now it looks like that’s not even going to happen.”
“What?” Cameron’s incredulity felt good. Right. Like finally, someone’s mirrored Dawson’s own.
“I know, right? It freaking sucks.” The tall buildings were shadowing the sidewalks and Dawson shivered, wishing that he’d grabbed something more than just a sweatshirt.
“I can’t believe they wouldn’t even go to trial.”
“They keep telling me it’s just a white-collar crime. Like because nobody got hurt, it doesn’t really matter. They’re going to let him plea out, keep him on house arrest, which isn’t really even a punishment. Not when my money bought that house he’s going to be living in, all cushy and easy.”
“Shit.” Cam paused. “Someone did get hurt. You got hurt, Daws.”
Maybe that was the biggest evidence of the ten years between them. Because Dawson felt the discomfort of that accusation crawling up his spine, but Cam said it like it was nothing, like it was perfectly okay for Dawson to admit to it.
The world hadn’t told him yet, over and over again, that it wasn’t okay to be vulnerable. Had never punished him for admitting to it.
“And it’s even worse than that. I think my lawyer and my agent want this plea deal to go through. They’re both so afraid I’m going to fuck up again I feel like no matter how I fight it, it’s inevitable that I will.”
Suck on that, world.
Cam stopped abruptly, jaw dropping open in shock. People on the sidewalk wove around them like they weren’t even there. And maybe, Dawson thought, they weren’t. Maybe this was a hallucination or a dream. Maybe he’d wake up any moment now.
“Daws, no,” Cam said fiercely. “No.”
He shrugged uncomfortably. “It’s just how it feels. Like they’re so sure it’ll happen. Maybe it will. No matter how much I don’t want it to. No matter what I do to prevent it.”
“See, I know that’s bullshit. And you should know it, too.” Cam took a deep breath and finally started walking again, knocking his shoulder against Dawson’s. “You’re lights-out. You’ve always been lights-out.”
“Not always,” Dawson muttered.
“I know Duke was joking about this, but like, do you know the stats? I do. Do you know how many kicks you missed last season versus your norm?”
Dawson was sure at one point his agent had given him a rundown of the numbers, but he’d blocked it out. It hadn’t mattered to the team, so why should it matter to him?
He shrugged.
“Four field goals. You missed four more field goals than your normal, and they fired you. That’s . . .that’s fucked up.” Cam actually sounded really pissed in a way Dawson had never heard before.
“Huh.” Dawson hadn’t realized it was that few. He’d seen the percentages, of course, though he’d tried not to think about what they represented. Now that he did, it was hard not to be even more pissed.
“It’s fucked up,” Cam repeated firmly.
“You’re good for my ego, that’s for sure,” Dawson joked weakly. “Got any more of this presentation you want to share with me?”
Cam stopped on a corner, waiting for the light to change. “Couple of YouTube montages I could send over,” he said thoughtfully.
“Uh, no, no. I’m good.” When Dawson looked over at him, Cam’s eyes were twinkling mischievously, and he had a feeling he’d be seeing those videos at some point.
“You sure?”
“Pretty sure.” Dawson rolled his eyes, but he felt warm inside in a way he hadn’t in a while.
“I could also tell you how hot you are,” Cam said.
Dawson’s heart raced in triple time, but before he could remind himself—or Cameron—how bad of an idea it was, even if it was just “fun,” he only laughed and added, “Don’t worry, I won’t. But it’s true, anyway.”
“Alright.” Dawson’s mouth was dry. “Guess you won’t.”
Cam shot him a look. Warm and questioning. “Nope. It’s a bad idea, right?”
Even though Dawson knew it, sure as anything, deep down in his bones, he still felt a pulse of disappointment. Too much reality intruding into a moment that could’ve lived forever in his fantasies.
“Want to grab something hot to drink?” he asked, gesturing towards a cafe, lights shining out of the window.
Cam nodded and they went inside, Dawson holding the door for him.