Chapter 24 Noelle
24 Noelle
When we return to the taproom, Justin winks at Cam. He knows exactly what we were up to, and if he’d remember tomorrow, the embarrassment might cause me to flee.
“Corktown?” Cam asks when he’s behind the bar.
He’s fully clothed and not touching me, which is unfortunate, but for another eleven or twelve hours, he won’t forget who I am and what we’ve done, and that’s a beautiful thing.
Yeah, I can deal with Justin knowing, in exchange for that.
Cam serves me a pint, and I check the time on my phone.
“You’ve got three minutes,” I say, “until your next customers arrive.”
“Who are they?”
“Couple in their forties wearing Blue Jays jerseys.” I tell him which beers they order.
“Wanna bet on that?” he asks, and we share a laugh. He really has accepted my strange reality so easily.
The next hour passes similarly to how it has in the past, but whenever Cam smiles in my direction, I remember that mouth on mine—and between my legs. At one point, he winks at me, and I almost fall off my stool.
Just before five, Avery walks in and sits beside me.
“Hey,” I say.
She gives me a look. “You two did it, didn’t you?”
Is my post-sex glow that obvious? I hope she’s the only one who can tell.
“Shh,” I hiss. “Not so loud.”
“I’m whispering.”
“Not quietly enough.”
She chuckles and pats me on the back. “I’m happy for you. What if sex gets you out of the loop?”
I look at her, wide-eyed. “You think sex —”
“The old woman said the dumplings would give you what you needed most, right? It had been a while for you, so what if…?” Her eyes dance.
“No,” I say decisively.
But as appalled as I am by her words, I’m glad she’s teasing me. It seems like a sign she’s doing better than she was in some of our previous iterations of June 20.
When Cam and I leave the taproom to go to the night market, Avery is flirting with the same man as last time. I tell her to text me his info if she ends up going home with him. She promises me that either way, she won’t come to my apartment tonight—she’ll stay at her place if she needs to. Despite my protests, she insists.
I’ve never traveled with Cam to the night market before; we always meet there. Upon our arrival, I wander on my own for fifteen minutes, giving him time to talk to his food truck contact. As always, I walk past the place where the dumpling stand should be, but nothing’s there.
Cam orders the bulgogi poutine, and I order the samosa chaat, since I want the same food that I got on our first first date. Maybe sex has me feeling strangely sentimental, I don’t know.
We’re here a little earlier than usual, and so we sit at a different bench than usual, his thigh pressed against mine. When he sets down his tray afterward, his arm slides along the bench behind me, and I rest my head on his shoulder.
“What do we…” His voice trails off as a new song starts playing over the speakers, which are quite close to this particular bench. “You want to dance?” He holds out a hand.
I shake my head. “Absolutely not.”
Dancing isn’t something I do, in part because I have no sense of rhythm. I slow danced with Dave at weddings a few times, but that was it. If I’d lived in Regency England, I would have been a wallflower.
I definitely won’t dance to “Gangnam Style.”
Cam stands up by himself. He does the dance that I vaguely remember from the video, which I haven’t seen in years, and he looks like he’s having fun, whereas my expression would be closer to one of terror. I never expected to find someone dancing to this song quite so sexy, but I do.
He gestures to me again, and I shake my head.
He comes closer and bends down. “No one will remember, right? Not even me.”
True, but dancing isn’t something I’ve ever enjoyed, even if people won’t remember me making an ass of myself.
But… what the hell.
I stand up, and when someone whoops, I almost sit right back down.
I don’t, though. Instead, I try to copy Cam’s movements. I still don’t like being the center of attention, but I enjoy laughing with him, being in his orbit.
When I take a seat, he accepts that I’ve done my dancing for the day. I just enjoy watching him have fun, and once the song is over, he joins me on the bench again, his arm draped over the back.
“Want to get out of here?” I ask.
Back in my apartment, we lose most of our clothes before we get to the bedroom, but we make it to bed before he slips his hand between my legs. I gasp.
“God, I love the sounds you make,” he says in wonder. “How did I find you?”
How did I find you ? Why do I see you in multiple places on June 20? Why does your subconscious remember me? What does it mean?
But I’ve asked myself those questions many times before, and I’m able to shove them aside and live in the moment.
I wrap my hand around the hot length of him. When I take him into my mouth, he groans. I crawl up his body and kiss him on the lips. The thought that we don’t have much time—we don’t have enough time—keeps reverberating through me.
“Cam…” I say urgently.
He reaches for a condom, flips me onto my back, and slides into me.
Just like earlier, he’s smiling, like being with me is the most delightful thing. He lowers his chest to mine, and I arch against him, bare skin on bare skin. I kiss him with everything I have before turning us over so I’m on top. I look down at him, his dark hair against my white pillowcase.
Now I’m the center of attention—but only his attention, and I glory in it. I adjust the angle to get more friction in just the right place, and… there. It won’t be long.
I bend down to kiss him as we climax together.
“Do you want me to stay over?” Cam asks as it approaches midnight.
“Yes” I say. “Even if…” Even if you won’t be here in the morning.
He smiles, but this time, it doesn’t reach his eyes. They don’t crinkle; there’s no dimple.
“Tomorrow,” he says, “whatever that means—come find me.”
“I will,” I promise.
He wraps his arms around me and falls asleep, and I stay awake, eyes open in the darkness, the song he sang earlier running through my head.
“I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing.”
A few minutes before three o’clock, I can’t help pulling Cam into my arms. Maybe if I’m physically holding on to him, it’ll make a difference. Doubtful, but I do it anyway. He mumbles something unintelligible and burrows close to me.
I stare at the glowing red numbers on my alarm clock. At 2:59 a.m., I tighten my hold on him, and my pulse speeds up. It’s almost time.
The next thing I know, I’m waking up to my alarm.
There’s no warm body next to me.
Despite it being exactly what I expected, it feels horribly wrong. I roll to the other side of the bed and try to smell Cam on the sheets, but there’s no evidence that he was ever here, and I’m overcome by the loss. The bed feels unbearably empty without him, and I clutch the pillow that he slept on. It’s a poor substitute for his embrace.
I wonder if some tiny part of him misses me too.