Chapter 16
“You’ve worked your way through all four of those recs already?” Aidan looked at him in surprise, setting down his chicken wrap. “Seriously?”
“We’ve been going out a few times a week,” Dawson said, trying not to sound defensive. He’d wanted to ask Aidan quickly, before Cam showed up in the cafeteria. “Ordered in a few times.”
“Okay. I didn’t realize you were so serious about it,” Aidan said.
“Not serious,” Dawson said, definitely defensive this time and not sure he could help it. There was just something unsettling about the word serious that he didn’t want to look at too closely.
Aidan shot him a look. Dawson had known the guy for so long, but it had been awhile since they’d spent so much time together, and he was beginning to recognize some of his tics again. And that look? It never boded well.
“I meant, not that you were serious about the rec list,” Aidan said with exaggerated patience. “I meant, you’re clearly serious about the rookie.”
“What?” Dawson squawked. He was right—or wrong, actually, because this was even worse than he’d imagined. “I told you we’re friends. Hanging out. And sure, yeah, hooking up.”
“Daws, you held hands with him for the whole third period of the Leafs game.”
“That was . . .that didn’t mean anything.”
“No?” Aidan’s eyebrow skidded up.
“I was nervous about the game. We wanted the Leafs to win, and that was a stressful third period. Only a one-goal game.”
“I’ve never known you to give two shits about hockey or the Leafs,” Aidan countered. “You or him. What was the score on their game Friday night? Who are they playing tonight?”
Dawson had no fucking clue. “It’s different when you’re there, in the arena,” he claimed, even though he knew that was shit.
Why had he reached over and taken Cam’s hand?
Because he just wanted to, that was why.
Because Cam had been clenching it around his leg, worry etched over his face, and it had seemed like a comfort to both of them, when things had gotten nerve-wracking in the third.
“Didn’t see you reaching for my hand,” Aidan said.
“That’s ’cause Levi would have chopped it off.” Dawson could hear the fear in his voice. Not because Levi was absolutely possessive as shit, but because he’d just been doing, not thinking. Not about any of it.
But now he was recalling all the nights he and Cam had spent in each other’s beds—pretty much every night; not only when they had sex, but plenty of other times, too—all the breakfasts and dinners and carpooling.
They’d been basically inseparable. Dawson was six movies into their Fast and Furious binge, and maybe deeper into something else.
But no, they’d agreed it was just hooking up.
If that had changed, surely Cam would’ve said something.
If he didn’t like what they were doing, he would’ve said something.
Dawson believed that, no question. Instead, he was going around looking cute as fuck, all the goddamn time, huge smile on his face, his sweet, sure positivity transforming Dawson’s life.
“What about the fact that you stayed in his room when we were in Indy,” Aidan said.
“Oh, that’s just . . .you know. Hooking up,” Dawson said. “Sex. I shouldn’t have to explain that to you anymore.”
Aidan shot him a pitying look. “Do you remember when Levi and I started dating?”
“You mean, when you were hooking up and were sure that was all it was? But you were actually head over heels in love with each other?” Dawson couldn’t help but feel a little smug as he leaned back in his chair. See? He knew what the fuck he was talking about. He could still get one over on Aidan.
But Aidan’s expression morphed from pity to . . .worse? Nope, that was not supposed to be happening. “Oh, bud,” he said.
“What?” Dawson demanded.
“Pot, meet kettle.”
“What, no,” Dawson said. He wasn’t in love with Cam.
If he was, he’d . . .well, he couldn’t be.
That was all it was. Whenever he thought about the last time he was in love and how that had ended—in betrayal and ugly words and even uglier metaphorical wounds, and then the capper to the whole nightmare, the logistics of the divorce—he felt sick to his stomach. He wasn’t doing that again. Not ever.
What he and Cam had was great. No strings. No worries. No fights. Everything was golden.
“You’re going on all these dates. You’re staying over in each other’s places—”
Dawson opened his mouth to argue about that even though he knew it would be a lie.
But Aidan just kept going. “I know you are, so don’t even bother trying to tell me otherwise. You both keep slipping up. You spend a night apart since that first night? Have you?”
Dawson wasn’t counting. That was the whole point, fuck you very much.
“No idea,” Dawson said shortly.
“It’s not a bad thing. It’s a good thing. You’re happy. Way happier than you were when you showed up here this summer and it was like you had a little thundercloud hovering over you everywhere you went.”
“You’re one to talk,” Dawson grumbled.
Aidan leaned forward. “Exactly. Exactly. I’ve been there. I was fucking right there, with you, at one point, so I can see it. Way more clearly than you, anyway.”
“What does it matter what it is if we’re both enjoying it?” In the back of his mind, Dawson knew why it mattered, but if he believed it, then it would mean that it would have to end, because he couldn’t go there—not yet and maybe not ever—and he was definitely not ready to have it end.
“That’s a question between you and Cameron,” Aidan said sympathetically.
“I came to you for restaurant recs, not a dissection of my personal life.” Dawson was annoyed.
“We’re all seeing it.”
“So what, you’re doing to us what you said you’d do for Nate and Ramsey? We don’t need any help. We’re not stupid; we’re fine.”
“I think that’s probably up for debate,” Aidan said, and Dawson growled under his breath.
“Just saying,” Aidan said, grinning. “Kind of stupid.”
“Are you gonna send me more restaurant recs or am I gonna have to go ask someone else?”
Aidan picked up his phone. Typed a few things. Dawson felt his own phone vibrate in his pocket. “There you go, I’d say be safe with them, but . . .”
“But what, now lecturing me and the rook about safe sex is too much?” Dawson snorted. “It’s ironic, that’s what it is.”
But the way Aidan looked at him, like he could see right into Dawson’s mind and knew everything Dawson was not thinking about, was galling.
“Ugh, you’re the worst,” Dawson complained as he pulled his phone out. Checked the list. And yep, despite his general obnoxiousness as a friend, he could count on Aidan for the best spots to visit in the city.
“You’re welcome,” Aidan said, and he actually had the nerve to laugh about it.
Cam chose that moment to come over to the table, sandwich in one hand and two bottles of Gatorade in the other. He set one of them—Dawson’s favorite flavor, blue—in front of him and settled down next to Dawson, hand on his knee as he unwrapped his sandwich with the other.
Aidan just raised an eyebrow pointedly. “Daws was just grabbing some more dinner recommendations for you two,” he said.
Dawson was afraid for a split second that Aidan might say more.
Might divulge everything he’d just been lecturing Dawson about, therefore not just opening Dawson’s third eye, but Cam’s as well.
But Aidan didn’t say anything, thank God.
He’d known he didn’t want anything to change, but even imagining the possibility of it made him squirm in his seat.
“How do you feel about Lebanese?” Dawson said.
“Oh!” Cam exclaimed between bites of sandwich. “I don’t know. Not yet anyway. But I’m excited to find out.”
“Good,” Dawson said smugly. “We’ll go there tonight.”
Cam smiled at him, slow and intimate and the warmth that bloomed in Dawson’s stomach made it surprisingly easy to push away everything Aidan had just been saying.
What did he know anyway? This was a guy who’d never really dated anyone—who’d barely even hooked up with anyone—until he was in his thirties.
He was clueless. Dawson and Cam were fine. Better than fine.
Turned out that Cam was a huge fan of Lebanese.
He devoured the first set of kabobs the waiter brought and it hadn’t even been a question for Dawson to order more as he tangled his feet under the table with Cam’s.
“This is fucking delicious,” Cam said, shoveling another bite of saffron rice and chicken into his mouth.
“Good,” Dawson said.
Cam glanced up at him. “You’re not really eating.”
“I am,” Dawson said, but he wasn’t really. He was too busy thinking. Too busy watching Cam when he didn’t think he was being observed.
Tilting his head, Cam examined his face, an intent expression that shouldn’t have made Dawson nervous, but did, anyway.
“You wanna talk about it?”
“Talk about what?”
Cam set down his fork, which really said a lot. “Come on, Daws,” he entreated. “You’ve been distracted all dinner. The food’s good and I like to think the company’s up to par—”
“It is,” Dawson reassured him immediately.
He wasn’t thinking about what Aidan had said earlier.
Well, he was deliberately not thinking about it.
But he’d gone out of his way to do something else, right before they left the practice facility, and it was making him additionally nervy.
He’d considered putting it off after the conversation with Aidan, but he’d put it off long enough, and he couldn’t do it anymore.
It hadn’t been hard to find the name of the prosecutor on the paperwork. Or very hard to dial up the office and let his name do all the talking.
The person he’d talked to had reassured him that he’d hear from the prosecutor.
Now all he had to do was wait.
Which . . .turned out that was the hard part.
“Then what’s up?” Cam asked, crease appearing between his brows. And that wasn’t allowed. Dawson would confess to just about anything just to take that look off Cam’s face.