Chapter 3
Rafe
The stupid lace curtains flutter as I lean closer to the window and let out a long, loud exhale. From here, I have a perfect view down onto the front porch next door. Some days I wish I didn’t; maybe then I wouldn’t be standing here, again, obsessing.
The sun is already coming up, and normally Campbell has shown his latest conquest out by now.
I don’t know why it matters.
I don’t know why I can’t stop wondering what they’re doing in there.
I glare harder at the house next door, wishing the lies I keep telling myself would stick.
But like every time I hear a cab pull up late, see Cam stumbling out with a man in tow, basically pulling each other’s clothes off, I haven’t been able to sleep.
There’s a permanent lump in my throat.
The front door to Cam’s place clicks open.
He steps out shirtless, cap on backward, sweats slung low on his hips, and I imagine him mindlessly pulling them on as he climbed out of bed.
The man with him has rumpled hair that makes me sneer and is holding a jacket slung over his arm as he steps forward and presses a kiss to Cam’s lips.
It’s fast and sweet, nothing like the desperate lust-filled ones from last night.
An Uber pulls up quietly out the front, and Cam crosses his arms over the railing as he watches the man leave. His lazy wave goodbye gives me this little pang of familiarity, even all these years later.
Then Cam turns toward my house, this window, and blows a kiss before heading inside.
I jerk back.
Realistically, I know he didn’t see me. There’s no way. But my hands are getting clammy like I’ve been busted doing something wrong.
And what’s wrong with creeping on your neighbor, waiting for him to walk out the guy he’s been fucking all night?
Nope, not thinking about that.
“Are you at the window again?” Laura asks. From the groggy note to her voice, I can tell she’s just woken up.
I turn and make my way to the closet, trying to keep my response casual. “I heard something outside. Apparently, Cam had another visitor.”
My girlfriend gives a disinterested hum.
I want to say more, but I’m sure it would come out weird.
Laura and I don’t talk much these days. It hurts, because setting aside all our bullshit, we were actually good friends.
Yes, we fought a lot because we were both struggling to make something impossible work, but in the times between, we were each other’s biggest support.
Wanting to talk about Cam is eating at me though.
All these thoughts I’m keeping clamped up tight are starting to fill my brain.
I miss him. I miss the way I used to feel alive around him, the way I haven’t felt since, but the hurt from when he cut me out of his life still runs deep. I can’t deal with that again.
I need someone to talk to.
Too bad you burned all those bridges, Rafe, you moron.
I shove those thoughts away and pick out a navy suit and pink shirt, hoping a little color will boost my mood.
It doesn’t. It never does.
Because remembering the guy I was when I was younger, versus who I am now, always brings me down. The weight of everyone else’s expectations keeps increasing. I know people think it’s a matter of time before Laura and I announce our engagement, and the thought fills me with dread.
Laura is … incredible. She’s smart and kind, which is what drew me to her in the first place.
People love to view us like a fairy tale. The football player and the cheerleader. Each other’s firsts and onlys—which yes, they talk about and, yes, is exactly as creepy as it sounds.
The thing is, my sixteen-year-old, pimply self had no idea when he first agreed to go out with Laura that he was setting something in motion that would last almost a decade.
We clicked back then. Had some laughs. But then suddenly we were properly dating, and I didn’t have the words to express why it always felt a little off.
All this time I’d thought that was just how relationships were.
Yet in six months of giving myself some distance and thinking about what I want, I know it isn’t this.
But I’ve reached a point where it feels way too late to end it.
What I feel for Laura … I’m not sure it is love. Not back then, and not now. I like her a lot. I think she’s pretty. I’m in awe of her creativity.
But the whole butterflies thing is never something I’ve experienced with her. Where I picture love like a thousand-volt jolt to the system, Laura has always been a static hum.
More and more lately, I’m starting to think I’m the same for her.
Our affection is limited. We haven’t had sex in months, and the only reason we do end up there is because we both feel that invisible sense of responsibility to make it happen. I mean, fuck, the only reason I lost my virginity in the first place was because it was prom and it was expected.
I wish I could say things had improved there, but to me, sex is a chore.
I’d rather be jerking off.
I change and head to the kitchen to make a coffee before heading out. The low hum of the coffee machine waking up fills my head as I stare, eyes unfocused, out of the kitchen window.
Then my gaze lands on the lone garden gnome standing sentry in the middle of my lawn.
Fucking Campbell.
With a groan, I head outside and scoop the ugly thing up. I round the fence line and approach his front door, but before I can give him the heads-up on how annoyed I am by knocking loudly, the door swings open.
“Rafael, what an honor.” His voice is like honey. Smooth and syrupy. It reminds me of what liquid gold might sound like.
It doesn’t make my mouth dry.
He crosses his arms and leans against the doorjamb.
“Cut the shit, Cam. Stop putting this thing in my yard.”
When I hold the gnome out to him, he eyes it with amusement. “Never seen it before.”
“You literally put it there last week.”
“That one? That exact gnome? Are you sure?”
“We’re not doing this again.”
“Then stop trying to force your garden castoffs on me.”
My … for fuck’s sake. I ignore the slight curl to his lips and the way he’s watching me steadily. Like he’s waiting for me to snap.
I shove the gnome at his chest and hold it there until he grabs it.
The only problem is, he curls his hands over mine, holding it in place. “Always good to see you, Rafe.”
He stares at me like he has no shame, and I stare right back.
I don’t understand it.
This pull to him.
It’s familiarity and nostalgia and warmth all at once.
He finally lets me go, and I stumble back.
“Keep your gnome off my lawn.” I hate how husky my voice sounds.
“I feel like there’s innuendo in there somewhere.”
“Goodbye, Campbell.”
“You can put your gnome in my lawn.” He laughs, and I refuse to acknowledge the thoughts that brings to mind. “Yep,” he says. “There it is.”
“As long as you think you’re funny.”
“You want to know what I think is funny?”
I don’t want to know. I really, really don’t. “What?” I ask against all better judgment.
“Every time you find Casagnoma, you insist on coming over here and knocking on my door to return him.”
“Casagnoma? Really?”
“Changing the subject? Really?”
“What are you trying to say, Cam?”
He eyes me in that unnerving way of his, and I try to hold up against the scrutiny. One side of his lips starts to pull up in a sexy smile.
Ignore, ignore, ignore.
I know exactly what he’s trying to say. It’s the same question I constantly ask myself. Why am I here? There’s no reason at all I can’t dump that thing in the bushes beside his fence. It would save me the walk. This conversation.
“Nothing,” he says. “Just … interesting.”
“Stop putting him there.”
“Stop giving me a reason to.”
Stupid, smug asshole. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Keep telling yourself that. I’ll see you at the festival this weekend.”
“When I kick your ass at the fundraising.”
“I’m sure that’s not all you’d like to do to my ass.”
There’s no way I’m going to give him a response to something so stupid. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Is that why you like to watch me from your window? Because I’m unbelievable? Or is it morbid curiosity?”
My gaze immediately darts to my bedroom window to confirm you really can’t see through the curtains. Which you can’t. So … how does he know?
“Surprising you fit through the door with a head that big,” I say, avoiding looking at him.
“Impressed? You should see the other one.”
Well, I walked right into that. I’m already getting flustered, and I’ve barely been talking to him for five minutes. Cam has always had the ability to make me second-guess what I’m saying and how I’m acting. He’s a pathological flirt, and I don’t know how to handle that.
Things between us used to be so easy.
Some days I wish they still could be.