Chapter 5 #3
He reached out and ran his thumb over my lower lip. The touch sent a jolt of electricity straight to my core.
"And if my methods are... unconventional," he whispered, "well, the results speak for themselves."
He dropped his hand and stepped back.
"Pack your bag," he said, checking his watch. "We have lunch with the Dean at noon. Wear the blue dress. It makes you look innocent."
"I am innocent," I lied.
"Not anymore," he murmured.
He walked toward the door, grabbing his gym bag.
"Be ready in ten," he called over his shoulder.
I watched him go. I watched the confident set of his shoulders, the way he moved with that predatory grace.
I realized something then. Something terrifying.
I wasn't just fake dating Cameron Vance. I wasn't just sleeping in his guest room.
I was falling in love with him.
And I was pretty sure that wasn't in the contract.
The Ice Rink: Lunch Hour
The "Lunch with the Dean" was a performance art piece titled Look How Wholesome We Are.
We sat in the Dean’s private box overlooking the practice rink. Dean Reynolds was a portly man who loved two things: endowments and winning seasons. Cameron provided the winning seasons. My father provided the endowments (usually).
"So," Dean Reynolds beamed, cutting into his steak. "I must say, I was surprised when I heard the news. The Captain and the... well, the Sterling girl. An unlikely pair."
"Opposites attract, sir," Cameron said smoothly. His hand was resting on my thigh under the table. His thumb was drawing slow, distracting circles on my knee.
"Indeed, indeed," the Dean chuckled. "And Camila, I hear you've been putting in extra hours at the library? Professor Halloway mentioned your essay on the Renaissance was... inspired."
I choked on my water.
Cameron thumped me on the back, a little too hard.
"She's very passionate about the subject," Cameron said, his voice deadpan. "Very hands-on."
I kicked him under the table. He didn't flinch.
"Well, it's good to see," the Dean nodded. "Stability. That's what the scouts want to see, Cameron. A man who has his life in order. A steady girlfriend shows maturity."
"She keeps me grounded," Cameron said. He turned to look at me. The look in his eyes wasn't fake. It was the same look he’d had last night. Intense. Hungry. "I don't know what I'd do without her."
For a second, the world stopped.
"And she," I said, my voice soft, "would be lost without him. He... helps me focus."
The Dean beamed. "Wonderful! Simply wonderful. Now, Cameron, about the Boston game..."
They launched into hockey talk. I sat there, sipping my water, trying to calm my racing heart.
Cameron’s hand never left my thigh.
He squeezed, just once. A silent message.
You're mine.
I looked out at the ice below. The Zamboni was doing its rounds, resurfacing the ice. Making it smooth. Perfect.
But I knew the truth. Under that smooth surface, there were deep, jagged cuts from a thousand skates.
We were playing a dangerous game. We were skating on thin ice. And sooner or later, we were going to fall through.
But looking at Cameron’s profile as he nodded at the Dean—stern, handsome, and secretly filthy—I realized something else.
I didn't care if the ice broke. I just wanted to be in the water with him.
The Locker Room Hallway
After lunch, Cameron had to go to video review. I walked him down to the locker room.
The hallway was empty. It smelled of rubber mats and sweat.
"I have to go," he said, stopping at the door that said PLAYERS ONLY. "I'll see you at home. 6:00 PM. Don't be late. We have chapter three to cover."
"Chapter three," I repeated. "Baroque."
"Lots of drama," he reminded me. "Lots of... emotion."
He stepped closer. He looked around to make sure the coast was clear.
Then he pinned me against the concrete block wall.
He kissed me.
It wasn't a show for the Dean. It wasn't a lesson. It was a claim.
He kissed me until my knees buckled and I was clinging to his lapels to stay upright. He kissed me until I forgot my own name.
He pulled back, breathless.
"Study," he commanded. "I expect you to know the material when I get home."
"Yes, Sir," I whispered.
The honorific slipped out.
Cameron’s eyes flared. He looked like he wanted to drag me into the locker room and finish what we started on the kitchen island.
But he had discipline. He was the Wall.
He stepped back. "Go."
I turned and walked away, my legs shaking.
I could feel his eyes on me every step of the way.
I walked out into the cold winter air, my face burning.
I pulled out my phone. I had a text from Sloane.
Sloane: Hey! Heard you and Vance are getting serious. Are you okay? You know he's... intense.
I typed back, my fingers flying across the screen.
Me: Intense is an understatement.
I deleted it.
Me: I'm fine. He's actually... really good at math.
Sent.
I laughed, a breathless, hysterical sound that was snatched away by the wind.
Good at math. And anatomy. And driving me absolutely, completely insane.
I walked toward the library. I had studying to do. Because tonight, I wasn't just trying to pass a class.
I was trying to earn a reward. And I was going to be the best damn student he had ever seen.