Teagan
A picnic blanket in the back of a classic pickup called Walt. A picturesque pond. Tacos. What more could a girl ask for?
Cam took a swig of his horchata and eyed the empty taco wrappers between them. “Sooo… What do you think?”
“A solid B-plus,” she pronounced, cackling when he grabbed his heart like she’d just stabbed him.
“B-plus?”
“It’s a great grade,” she protested. “Way above average for East Coast Mexican food. Sorry, bud. I’m from LA. I have loyalties.” She flashed him the Westside hand sign.
He snorted. “I’m not cool enough to know if there’s one for the East Coast.”
“You and me both,” she laughed. She twisted the lid of her strawberry soda and yelped. Shouldn’t have done that.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” She shook her hand, hoping it would ease the pain. “Snagged a blister from my last erg session.”
He winced, then showed her his hands.
“Wow. Those babies have seen some action.” She pointed at the one fresh blister standing out from his rough, calloused hands.
“That one is not messing around. I need to sort mine out, but I can’t lance it using my left hand.
The plight of the right-handed rower.” She stuck out her lower lip in a playful pout.
“You’re like me. You know you shouldn’t pop it because—”
“Infections,” they said in unison.
“But I can’t row with them.” He took her hand in his and inspected it. It felt nice. Him holding her hand. Playing team medic. His hands felt capable, strong. Like part of Cam’s life story was embedded in them.
“I can take care of it for you if you want?”
“Really?”
“Absolutely. Would you be so kind as to come into the first aid room?” He pointed at the cab of his truck. Goofball. Cute. But a goofball.
Tacos in the truck had been a good call.
They stuffed the stray chili packets and napkins into the taco bag, finished their drinks, then got in the cab. Cam pulled a first aid kit out of the footwell behind him.
Once Cam had sterilized a needle, she held her hand by the wrist, braced for the pain. “Not quite how I expected this date to go down, but…”
Cam took her hand, flicked his eyes up to hers. He had really long eyelashes. Inky enough to give his brown eyes a bit of a smolder. And they were staring at her disgusting blister again. “Ready?”
“Yeah. Do it.”
The sharp stab of a needle she was used to receiving when her mom did it didn’t come. In. Out. Job done. To be fair, her mom hated needles. And gross stuff. She took a look at Cam’s handiwork. “Wow. You’ve clearly done this before.”
“Yup.” He gently pressed a tissue onto the lanced blister. They watched as a bunch of disgusting goo soaked through it.
“This is soooo attractive.”
Cam shrugged, unbothered. “It’s the life of a rower.”
She leaned back in the seat, watching him as he tidied up the first aid kit. “My mom always asks why I’m obsessed with crew. Why I put myself through all of this. I never know how to explain it. It’s not an obsession… It’s just… who I am.”
He nodded, like he got it, and held up a Band-Aid. She gave the blister a final wipe with the tissue so he could put it on.
He gently smoothed the edges of the bandage.
“Same. Out on the water is where I feel most… like me.” He sat back, half turned to her like she was to him.
“I know it sounds crazy, but when I watch the Olympics, I think, I can do that. That’s where I’m supposed to be, even if I’m just some guy from Eagle’s Cove. I just need people to believe in me.”
She did. The guys, too. Why couldn’t he see what she did?
That they razzed him because they admired him.
Cam was talented. If the Regises weren’t dominating their boat, he could easily row stroke, or any other position he wanted.
He was that good. But teenage guys weren’t exactly known for acknowledging another guy’s merits.
Especially when they were consumed with convincing the world they had something worth believing in, too. “They do, Cam. People believe in you.”
He didn’t take the compliment. “Not really. No one sees me in stroke.” He chewed his lip, lost in thought, shook it off. “You managed to get the team onside. Won their respect, got them to listen to you.” He laughed. “You even got a ‘yes, ma’am’!”
“Is that what you want?” she teased. “A ‘yes, ma’am’?”
“Who doesn’t want a ‘yes, ma’am’?”
She pulled a face at him. Like she’d said.
Goofball. “They don’t follow your lead because they don’t really know who you are.
You always have your guard up. You’re a mystery to them, so they slap the ‘FAID’ label on you because that’s all they know.
And to make themselves feel better about themselves. ”
“Right.” He wasn’t so sure.
“You need to let them in. Hang out with them. And pranking people with Quaid doesn’t count. Show them the real Cam.” She thought a minute. “You could go to the Fall Formal?”
His eyes sparked bright. “Is that a proposal?”
“What? You couldn’t tell by the romantic taco takeout with a side of blisters?”
He laughed, the gentle one that gave her butterflies. “It’s perfect.”
So was this. Sitting here with him in his truck, talking openly and honestly. Until it turned awkward.
“I’d need a suit. Where am I going to get a suit?”
Now, this she could handle. “Well… I do know a guy…”