1
Cameron
IT’S COLD OUTSIDE TODAY, which isn’t new for Port Orford, but doesn’t make me happy all the same. My teeth shatter, and I spend a solid minute rubbing my palms over the fabric of my worn jeans with a quickness, using the friction to warm my skin.
I’m waiting for my friends, some of whom I graduated from high school with two years ago, and some we’ve picked up along the way. Like Hailey, who is most definitely too mature to be spending time with us runts but loves us anyway.
Uncle Danny has hired me on at his auto shop, which means I can quit my gig at our local diner and therefore can stop smelling like patty melts every damn day. But I don’t start for another two days, which means we’re going to party.
Courtesy of Cassie, of course. I most definitely do not have the funds to supply alcohol, not with Mom snatching up most of my paychecks, and there’s the inconvenient fact that I’m not twenty-one yet and don’t have a fake ID.
But Cassie—one of those previously mentioned friends from high school—has two parents, both doing well by Port Orford standards, and has no issue using her beautiful face and full breasts to get what she wants.
I’ve got to love my best friend. She’s the only one who truly knows me, who truly knows what I deal with inside the tiny two-bedroom house my mother owns. The one I unfortunately haven’t had the gall to move out of.
So I stand outside of our favorite local coffee shop in town, Ground Central, and wait for her to arrive. Well, Cassie and everyone else.
I kick at the stray rock that happens to be sitting next to my dirty Vans, and right as I’m about to give up and just head inside—maybe grab us a table or something—a sleek black BMW pulls up and parks across the street.
It takes no effort to know who it is immediately. Very few people in Port Orford drive luxury cars, even if they can afford the monthly payment, and this luxury car is only seen a few times a month.
The Chastains hardly have a reason to leave their massive estate—not that any of us have ever been inside it. It’s just a known fact that they have everything they need and someone to cater to them constantly.
But one of the Chastains is an active reader, and I spot him at the bookstore across the street at least once a month. And by spot him, I mean that I ogle him.
For pointers on how to better myself, of course. Absolutely no other reason.
Definitely not because I think he’s the most ethereal being to ever exist, or because his strong, capable hands and lean but taut body could fix every problem that I have.
And definitely not because I think he’s not only smart enough but commanding enough to take control of every aspect of my life and rid me of the terror involved with making my own decisions.
Yeah. The ogling has nothing to do with any of that and everything to do with inspiring myself to be better. It would be weird to watch him since so young, eating up every little glimpse of him I can get, all because I’m infatuated with his face, his body, his dominating personality.
Anyway, Atticus Chastain gets out of his BMW in his black slacks and his pressed white button-up, his fingers immediately straightening his cuffs and his head held high. Even here, in the open, dreary street of our little port town, he is domineering and so obviously separate from the rest of us.
Just the way his father is. I’ve only seen the rest of the Chastains a few times; his mother is always very delicate and demure, and his younger brother—Atlas, I think—is taking after her very obviously. And his little sister, so cute and excitable as she trails after them, full of energy.
But Atticus, he’s just as strong and manly as his father is. Built to rule empires and crush hearts.
I watch as he enters the bookstore, seeing him observe one of the shelves by the front-facing glass window with purpose.
If I could, I would speak to him. If my own cowardice and feeling of inadequacy could take the back seat for a single moment, I would approach where he’s browsing and strike up a conversation.
But come on, this guy is intimidating. And insanely hot.
I mean different.
I’m startled from my thoughts as I hear a high-pitched shout. “Cam!”
Looking away from the bookstore and to the sidewalk to my right, I spot Cassie approaching, wrapped in a pink raincoat and grinning ear-to-ear.
“Hey, Cas,” I call back, taking her in my arms as she reaches me.
“I got so much booze. We are celebrating this new job like there is no tomorrow!” She’s warm against me, a familiar and safe presence as I breathe in her floral perfume.
“Fuck yeah,” I reply as she takes a step back.
“What were you staring at? You looked entranced.” She follows my previous line of sight, straight to where Atticus still stands in the window.
I flush, shrugging a little too quickly. “Nothing! Just… observing people, I guess.”
Cassie makes a low, whistling noise. “I’d observe him any day.”
“Who?” I play oblivious, my eyes immediately tracking the man in the bookstore once more.
“Who else? Did you not see Atticus Chastain go inside? Fuck, I wish he’d give us locals the time of day. I’d ride him like a horse—”
“Cas!” I shove her shoulder lightly, pulling a giggle from her in response.
“What? Just saying. If you were a girl, you’d be all over that,” she insists.
If I were a girl. Right. Because no one in this small, portside town full of mostly elderly folk and Christain’s would ever assume a man can be interested in another man.
Saying nothing, I continue to listen to her rant about how sexy Atticus is, how lucky some girl will be someday, and clench my fists where I’ve shoved them into my hoodie pocket.
Her rambling bothers me—not because I have some undying love for Cassie or anything, but because the only good thing about how separate Atticus keeps himself is that no one else around me gets him either.
Wait… not either. I was never an option.
“You know what?” Cassie says loudly. “Fuck it. I’m going to ask him.”
I kind of tuned out the last bit of her speech, so I’m a little lost. “Wait, what? Ask him…?”
Cassie rolls her eyes, reaching up to straighten her long brown hair. “To come to your party? God, you never listen.”
“No!” I shout, startling her. “Don’t… he won’t come anyway.”
“No shame in trying.” Cassie begins walking across the street without waiting for my response.
It’s not that I wouldn’t want the man there—of course I would. But inviting him means surrounding him with all the other young people of Port Orford and inspiring mingling.
What if he finds himself interested in one of my friends? What if he doesn’t like me?
Why do I care?!
Jesus, it’s obvious why I care: I want Atticus to like me, and I don’t want him to like anyone else. At all. Why? I refuse to delve into that, to psychoanalyze a part of myself I’m intentionally repressing.
But I find my feet following Cassie anyway, my cheeks flushing the moment we escape the cold and enter the heat of the bookstore.
Cassie is not slowing down. Instead, she barges right up to Atticus, her hands behind her back to emphasize those breasts that get her whatever she wants. I stay a few steps behind her, too intimidated to directly approach.
When she stands next to him, it takes Atticus a solid thirty seconds before he looks up from the book he’s holding, a single brow raised.
“Uh, yes?” he prompts, and the timbre of his voice shoots straight down my spine and into the pit of my stomach, making me flush even further.
His soft brown hair is slicked back, but a singular piece has broken free from the wind, falling onto his forehead. He’s taller than either of us, his shoulders squared as he stares down at Cassie.
“Hi! My name is Cassie; I’ve seen you around town for a while now,” my best friend starts, and though I can’t see her face, I know she’s batting her lashes and grinning.
Atticus, thankfully unimpressed, blinks once. Then twice.
“Alright?” he murmurs.
“I just wanted to come say hi and to see if you’re busy tonight?”
It appears Atticus doesn’t get approached often. Not that I’m surprised; he really does give off don’t fucking talk to me energy. But he’s staring at Cassie like she’s an alien as he slowly sets the book he was looking at back onto the shelf next to him.
“If I’m… Sorry, what?” He stands taller, his face still incredibly uninterested as he stares at her.
“Busy?” Cassie presses, clearly unable to read his mood. “I’m throwing a party for my friend here and wanted to invite you.”
When she waves vaguely behind herself, Atticus finally takes notice of me. His bright hazel eyes snap up over Cassie’s head and connect with mine, his features shifting into something unreadable.
“For what?” he asks, still staring into my fucking soul.
I shiver.
“Huh?” Cassie replies.
“What are you celebrating?” Atticus clarifies, his tone growing impatient.
Fuck, I want this whole encounter to be over. I want to escape his intense gaze and stop fucking blushing. I’ve seen enough—I can spend the rest of my life thinking of this moment and never need another, thank you.
“Oh!” Cassie says, laughing quietly. “Cameron got a new job, so we’re celebrating before he starts. It’s a mechanic gig.”
I want to slap my palm over my best friend’s mouth so badly that the urge momentarily distracts me from Atticus’s piercing gaze.
She’s revealing too much. Now the guy I’ve been secretly watching since before I hit double digits is going to know I’m a lowly mechanic. Though that is an upgrade from being a lowly cook.
“Congratulations,” Atticus says blandly, and after a moment, I realize he’s speaking to me.
Holy shit, he’s speaking to me!
“Thanks,” I mumble, dropping my gaze from his to hopefully hide my worsening blush.
“I normally don’t attend parties,” Atticus continues, his eyes flickering back to Cassie.
“Oh, well, there’s a first for everything,” she says sweetly, turning her charm up as she leans in subtly.
Atticus seems unaffected, but I dislike it nonetheless.
“Come on, Cas,” I interject, taking her arm in my hand as I try to pull her back. “Our friends are waiting, and he clearly—”
“But,” Atticus interrupts, his eyes finding mine once more. Then, unbelievably, a hint of a smile appears on his lips. “This one could be entertaining.”
My jaw practically drops open as Cassie squeals. He’s going to come? To my party?! Well, the party paid for and hosted by Cas, but still. Why?
“There’s really no need,” I say, shaking my head lightly. “It’s clearly not your thing, and there’ll only be a few people there anyway. It’s not a big party.”
“Even better.” Atticus actually grins. “What do I bring? What time should I arrive?”
“We haven’t figured out all of the details yet, but we’re meeting up now to decide. Here, take my number so I can let you know.” Cassie is smooth with it; I’ll give her that.
Atticus shrugs, pulling out his smartphone and passing it to her. After she punches in her number and hands it back, he doesn’t place the device back in his pocket.
No, the man holds it out to me.
“Uh… what?” I mumble.
Am I in an alternate reality? Because the man I’ve been ogling for years is suddenly, seemingly, asking me for my phone number, and that’s doing something to the side of me I’ve been ignoring for my entire life.
“Your number?” Atticus presses, and his tone tells me that he believes I’m an idiot.
And I might very well be one with how my hands are shaking and the fact that I’m just staring, unmoving.
“Cam,” Cassie whispers, nudging me with her elbow.
“Oh.” I extend my hand, careful not to let our fingers brush as he passes me his phone. Once my number is safely entered, I pass it back, still shell-shocked.
“Let me know a time and a place,” is all Atticus says, turning his attention back to the shelf next to us and effectively dismissing Cassie and me.
As Cassie drags me out of the bookstore, she sighs dreamily.
“I cannot believe I convinced him to come. Think he’ll get drunk enough that I can steal a kiss?” She giggles, linking our arms as we cross the street toward Ground Central.
“Not sure,” I whisper, resisting the urge to turn and look over my shoulder.
It’s as if I can feel his gaze on my back, his eyes drilling holes into the back of my head.
But surely I’m imagining it. Atticus Chastain is only attending my party because a hot girl invited him, not because of me.
So why is my heart pounding? Why am I equal parts terrified and overwhelmingly excited?
The only thing I know for sure is that tonight is going to be far more interesting than I originally thought, and I’m unsure if his attending is making me happy or panicky.
I guess there’s only one way to find out.