Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
TALLY
But shit—it's Cam. Cameron fucking Kensington.
The man I've been trying not to fall for.
Him moving in? My stomach knots. We'd be like some married couple, sharing a bathroom, seeing each other's morning breath, living in each other's space day after day.
The walls of my house suddenly feel like they're closing in. If he moves in here, I'm trapped.
Only one way this can work.
I take a deep breath. "All right. You can move in here to help with Brinley.
" The words come out in a rush. "Look, I need help most at 3 AM when she's screaming her head off, and I can't exactly have you driving back and forth at all hours while I'm trying to get enough sleep to function at work.
That's just... ridiculous." I glance around my cramped apartment.
"But you've got that gorgeous place of yours.
Are you sure you want to squeeze in here? There's barely room to breathe."
He starts to say something, but I interrupt.
I clear my throat. "Look, I need to set some ground rules. If you're moving in, we're strictly roommates. No benefits. No...entanglements. It'll mess with my head." I force myself to meet his eyes. "Just friends raising our kid together. And we both need to be free to date other people."
His expression shifts from confusion to something harder to read. "I understand," he says quietly. "Platonic co-parents only."
"Exactly. It's not like we had anything serious before anyway.
Just great sex and..." My voice trails off.
I'm such a liar. I remember how he'd snort-laugh at the most ridiculous parts of What We Do In the Shadows, how he'd quote It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia at random moments, matching my twisted sense of humor beat for beat.
It was those nights on my rusty fire escape, stars above us, city below, talking until our voices went hoarse.
Him actually listening when I rambled about my childhood.
Me hanging on every word about his travels.
How sometimes our hands would find each other's in the dark without either of us acknowledging it.
How I'd catch myself wondering what it might be like to wake up to that face every morning, not just after hookups.
He nods. "I get it. If there's sex, there's…"
"Strings," I say. "At least in my head. And we've already got enough strings between us to make a damn symphony orchestra.
" I fidget with the sleeve of my tattoo, tracing the outline of a swallow.
"Before, when we hooked up, I knew you had a plane ticket with your name on it.
An exit strategy. I could enjoy the ride knowing it had a final stop.
" I look up at him. "Great sex. Great laughs. But temporary. The way I like it."
"Because when people leave," Cameron finishes for me, "you can finally exhale."
Damn him for knowing me so well.
I fidget with my sleeve, tugging at the ink-stained cuff.
"Look, I need the help—like, desperately need it.
But fair warning: you'd be bunking in the attic.
Total Jane Eyre vibes, minus the whole setting-things-on-fire part.
" I wave my hand upward. "It's actually pretty sweet up there.
High ceilings, decent floors, windows that actually open.
Was saving it for Brinley's playroom someday, but.
.." I catch myself rambling and smile. "Celeste told me about your Brentwood house. How you’re basically neighbors with Spielberg and Reese Witherspoon. Trading celebrity neighbors and a mansion for my Echo Park shoebox is a serious downgrade. But I can't move in with you in Brentwood—it’s an hour in traffic and I’d lose my mind sitting in traffic for hours every day. "
He inhales slowly. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"Yeah. I'll move in. Roommates who raise a kid together."
"Oh, thank God." My arms twitch with the urge to throw them around his neck, but I plant my feet firmly on the floor.
One brush of skin and these pregnancy hormones would short-circuit my common sense.
The air between us practically crackles, same as always.
One touch and we'd be tearing each other's clothes off before the ink even dried on our little roommate agreement.
Holy shit, I have actual help now! My shoulders drop three inches as I exhale. Cameron's going to be amazing with Brinley, and maybe I'll finally get more than four consecutive hours of sleep.
But him living here? Recipe for disaster.
Every time he walks by smelling like sandalwood and clean laundry, my hormones will do the cha-cha.
And I basically told him to date whoever he wants because we're "just roommates.
" If he brings home some perky nurse, I'll smile and nod while mentally setting fire to her scrubs.
This arrangement has "terrible idea" written all over it. Whatever.
Brinley has someone else to rock her at 3 AM, and right now, that's all I give a damn about.