Chapter 6 #2
It’s not a bid to get him to reveal the dirty deets—although I wouldn’t say no to that—but an attempt to get him to leave it be. If he’s going to push me on a sensitive topic, then I’ll push right back.
He sets his cutlery down and leans back in his seat. “She cheated on me with a former teammate.”
A brussels sprout falls out of my mouth and onto the pristine white tablecloth, marring it with crispy brown crumbles. Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit. He answered a question, and I didn’t even have to threaten bodily harm.
His lips twitch into a small smile at my reaction, but otherwise he’s silent.
I bite my tongue so the millions of things I want to ask bubbling up inside me don’t spill out.
I’ve never been good at censoring my thoughts, but I don’t think he’ll take too kindly to most of them, and with that steak knife so close to his left hand, it’s not worth the risk.
“Are you okay?” he asks, elbows resting on the table. “Because you’re holding your breath and your face is turning red.”
Air rushes out of my lungs. “I’m trying not to bombard you with the ninety-seven things I want answers to,” I admit, the words spilling out of me so quickly they blend together.
He rolls his eyes like it pains him and waves. “I’d rather you not pass out, so ask away.”
He clearly doesn’t know the kind of trouble he’s getting himself into with a carte blanche direction like “ask away.” His problem, not mine.
I take a deep breath and launch into my questions like a daytime reporter breaking news: “How did you find out? Did she admit it right away or did you have to drag it out of her? Did you go all Carrie Underwood and slash her car tires with your keys? Do your friends know what happened or did you say it ended because of irreconcilable differences? I know that’s a divorce term but—”
“Kennedy.” He holds up a hand, the hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. I can’t tell if he’s entertained or exasperated. “One question at a time.”
I flip through them all, considering which answer I’m most eager for. I’d like a response to all of them, but this is a touchy subject, and I don’t want to appear insensitive or nosy. Well, I don’t really care about coming across as nosy, but the insensitive part is true.
I take a deep breath and ask, “Are you okay?”
He picks up his water glass but sets it back down without drinking. “I wasn’t for a while, but I am now. And before you ask, no, I don’t miss her. I’m not heartbroken. I’m just—” He stops, his lips pressed together, his eyes drifting to one side. “Done. I’m just done with people.”
I study him across the table. I was a mess when my ex and I broke up, and I was the one who ended it, so I can’t imagine what that kind of betrayal would do to a person.
Pursing my lips, I nod. “Okay, well, she’s the worst person I’ve never met, and I now hate her on your behalf.”
“What?” He blinks at me like my suggestion is completely unreasonable. “Why?”
“Solidarity,” I explain, though my answer should be obvious. “I’m big on forgiving but never forgetting. You fuck me over? You best believe I’ll hold on to that memory until I’m six feet under.”
Cameron’s brows climb toward his hairline. “You don’t even know her.”
“Don’t need to.” I huff, straightening. “She cheated on you, ergo, she’s dead to me. That’s how this works.”
“That’s not how anything works.”
“It’s how I work.” I shrug without shame. “I hold grudges like some people collect stamps. It’s a hobby at this point.”
He studies me, his brow creased and his head canted slightly, like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. “You’re serious.”
“Deadly.” I lean forward conspiratorially.
“There was a girl during my freshman year of college who borrowed my favorite sweater and returned it with a stain. I still think about it. Her name comes up in conversation, and I’m like, ‘Oh yeah, Emily. The Sweater Ruiner.’ And don’t even get me started on Alec the Ungrateful Bastard from high school.
I was a nice neighbor and drove him to school, and he had the nerve to call my parents and tell them I should have my license revoked. ”
Cameron lets a low chuckle loose. “That seems exhausting.”
“It’s very freeing. I know exactly where I stand with everyone.” I spear another brussels sprout. “So yeah, your ex? Officially on my shit list. She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s there.”
“I don’t know whether I should thank you or tell you how completely unreasonable and unnecessary that is,” he mutters, shaking his head.
“There’s no changing my mind. Cheaters are the absolute worst kind of people.
If you’re not happy, just leave, you know?
Use your words like a goddamn adult. And then when they get caught, because they always get caught, it’s all ‘it just happened’ or ‘you weren’t giving me what I needed.
’ Like that’s supposed to make it okay? No. Absolutely not.”
It isn’t until I’m done ranting that I realize I’m gesturing wildly with my fork and bring it back down to the table.
Cameron is staring at me wearing an expression between amusement and alarm, the low lighting casting shadows over his face.
“Sorry,” I mutter, patting the fork where it rests on the table. “Cheaters piss me off. Maya’s ex cheated on her. Said it happened by accident. I’m sorry, but what? How does your dick accidentally slither out of your pants and into someone’s va—”
“Everything to your liking?” our server interrupts, face bright red.
I shoot him an enthusiastic thumbs-up, then turn to Cam, waiting for his seal of approval, too.
He wipes the corner of his mouth with the satin napkin, an extremely demure move for someone the size of a bear, then dips his chin. “Great. Thanks.”
As the server walks away, Cameron restarts the conversation. “You don’t embarrass easily, do you?”
“If there’s something to be embarrassed about.” I tuck a stray piece of hair behind my ear. “But a comment about a rogue dick is pretty low on the list of things people have overheard coming from my mouth.”
He shakes his head in stunned wonderment, then squares his shoulders, like he’s prepping for a fight. “Now tell me why you dropped out of law school.”
It’s not a question, but a demand. And while my Elle Woods days aren’t my favorite dinner conversation topic, fair is fair.
“I hated it,” I admit, voice tauter than a bowstring. “Genuinely hated every second of it. Woke up in the morning with this pit in my stomach, went to class, took notes, came home and felt… empty.”
Cameron stays quiet, his expression so neutral it’s impossible to get a read on him. He’s probably thinking that I should have just stuck it out. Who makes it through three years of law school and then quits?
“I’m not even sure why I went in the first place.” I laugh, the sound hollow. “But it’s what you do when you’re accepted and your whole family’s waiting for you to do something important with your life.”
“What changed?”
“I started stress-baking.” I smile at the memory. “Like, full breakdowns at two in the morning, flour everywhere, making elaborate cakes I had no business attempting. My roommate thought I’d lost it, but for the first time, I felt like me. Like I wasn’t performing for anyone.”
His usually intense expression softens. “And you just knew?”
“Not right away. Took me almost two years to admit to myself that I was miserable. Another semester to work up the nerve to tell my parents.” I drag my fork through the balsamic glaze on my plate.
“But I realized I couldn’t keep pretending to be someone I wasn’t just to make others happy. Life’s too short.”
I force myself to meet his eye. He’s watching me carefully, and something passes between us—an understanding, maybe.
His smile is soft, a sharp contrast to the cut of his jaw. “Yeah. It is. But at least you’re doing what you love now.”