Chapter 23
‘Left or right?’ Cam asked as we were getting ready for bed after he’d returned from his swim. Fucking hell! I could not believe the words ‘Cam’ and ‘bed’ even existed in the same thought.
‘Left.’
He smiled. ‘Ah, closest to the door. In case you need to make a quick escape in the middle of the night.’
‘Yup!’ I agreed, and walked off in the direction of the bathroom. I needed to brush my teeth; I had this terrible taste in my mouth, probably from Cam. But as I was brushing, I couldn’t help but notice that he’d locked eyes with me in the bathroom mirror.
‘What?’ I said, mouth full of foam.
‘I don’t have a toothbrush.’
‘Well, you’re not using mine.’
‘Why? Our tongues have been inside each other’s mouths.’
‘Cam! For fuck’s sake!’ I threw my arms in the air. ‘Firstly . . .’ The foam got in the way of the word, so I spat it into the sink. ‘Firstly, I do not ever want to speak about that night; and secondly, gross.’
‘Strange, I thought there was nothing in the world that could possibly gross out the great Lizzy Brown.’
‘I would rather crawl through a sewer – which, for the record, I’ve done multiple times – than share my toothbrush, or a tongue, with you.’
‘You have such a way with words, it’s surprising you didn’t become a writer.’
‘My gift is more of a verbal one.’
Cam walked to the sink and reached for the toothpaste. ‘Would it be okay if we shared this?’ His voice dripped with sarcasm, and it even looked like he was trying to make some kind of a sad puppy-dog face.
I wasn’t going to make it easy for him and certainly didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of giving in too easily. ‘Fine. Don’t use too much.’
‘Never,’ he said as I walked off towards the bed. ‘No skincare routine?’ he called after me.
‘Do you have a skincare routine?’ I asked.
‘As a matter of fact, I do.’
I folded my arms, an invitation for him to tell me what it was, to which he would receive a very unenthusiastic response.
‘My ex-girlfriend got me into it. I cleanse, sometimes exfoliate, and use a night cream with retinol.’
‘Retinol?’
‘It’s great for fine lines and pigmentation.’ He shot me a smile as he squeezed toothpaste onto his finger.
‘Well, I’m afraid you won’t find any retinol here. The most I can offer you is suncream.’
‘You don’t need it, though; you haven’t aged at all.’
‘You can stop with the compliments, they’re not winning me over.’
‘Really?’
‘Nope.’
‘So if I told you that you’re still my hottest ex, that would do nothing for you?’
‘I’m not your ex, Cam. We were never together.’
‘That’s not true, technically we were together for about . . .’ he made a show of counting on his fingers, ‘six hours.’
‘Six hours is not a relationship, thus I am not your ex.’
‘You’re my ex, Lizzy. Whether you want to admit it or not.’
‘I think we should stop talking about this.’
‘We’ve never talked about it, though.’ He started walking towards me. ‘And maybe we need to.’
‘What I need is sleep.’ I turned and stared down at the bed, uncomfortably aware that Cam was now standing next to me and studying it too.
‘Well,’ I said finally, breaking the silence. ‘I don’t think we’re going to get in by just looking at it.’
‘You sure? I was about to beam into it like they do in Star Trek.’
I shot him a sideways glance. ‘Do not bring my favourite TV programme into this. Leave Star Trek alone. And leave that night alone too,’ I added, knowing full well he’d referenced Star Trek on purpose.
I needed to put an end to this ridiculous situation, so I walked over to my side and climbed in.
It felt awkward, like I was starring in a play.
I was centre-stage and the audience of one was watching me intently.
‘Are you going to sleep in your clothes?’ The audience finally spoke.
‘Well, I’m not taking them off.’ I flashed him a warning look.
‘I wasn’t implying that you should sleep naked or anything, but you’re welcome to change. I think I’m more than capable of not looking at you.’
I adjusted myself on the bed, making a little nest with the pillows, like I always did. ‘I’m fine, thanks.’
‘Suit yourself.’ Cam climbed in, and soon – and most regrettably – we were lying in bed together, back-to-back. I could hear his breathing, and I was sure he could hear mine too. Fucking hell! I could not believe this was happening.
‘Cam,’ I said, and turned around.
‘Yes?’ He also turned to face me.
I lifted my finger and then very pointedly drew a long line on the bed. ‘Your side, my side. Do not cross it.’ I tapped the line firmly so there was zero chance of confusion.
‘Got it!’ He smiled, though, which led me to believe he was not taking this as seriously as I wanted him to.
‘It’s not a joke. There will be serious consequences for crossing that line.’
‘Oh yeah, what consequences?’ He was challenging me now.
‘Cross it and you’ll find out.’
He raised his brows and then started to stretch his hand out.
‘Seriously? That is so childish.’
His hand stopped, mere centimetres from the line, and we both looked down at it.
‘You’re pushing your luck,’ I warned him.
He sighed – deep, dramatic, long-suffering – and rolled back over.
I rolled too, and we both lay there, stiff and uncomfortable, drenched in what could only be described as a bone-crushingly awkward silence.
It stretched on for what felt like hours.
Then, as if we had invisible earpieces coordinating us, we both let out a long, exasperated sigh and flopped onto our backs at the exact same moment.
The shock of it made us both turn our heads and stare at each other. Cam’s lips twitched into a smile.
‘We’re still so in tune,’ he said.
‘I wouldn’t say that.’
‘Remember when we used to do drills together and we could almost read each other’s minds?’
‘That’s an exaggeration,’ I said. I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and quickly looked down. Cam’s hand had officially crossed the line, so I brought mine down on top of it. Hard. The sound of the slap was followed by another one of his chuckles.
‘So that’s the big punishment for crossing the line, a literal slap on the wrist?’
‘The slap is just a warning.’
‘And what comes after the slap?’ he asked.
‘Well, it depends on how far over the line you go, and with what body part.’
‘What body part?’ He repeated it playfully, seductively almost.
‘Get your head out of the gutter, Cam. That’s not what I meant, and also, for the record, you’re not that big.’
‘That’s not what you said last time you saw it.’
‘Cam!’ I grabbed the pillow behind me and swung it, smacking him in the chest.
Without missing a beat, he somehow managed to grab the pillow and swing it right back. I intercepted it before it hit me and tossed it on the floor. Cam sat up and looked down at it.
‘So violent,’ he said, before flopping back down.
‘What can I say? You really bring it out in me.’
‘I’m sure you’re like that with everyone.’
‘You know, it’s funny, I’m not. Out of all the people in my life – not that you’re in my life – you are the only one I fantasise about inflicting grievous bodily harm upon.’
He let out another of those big hearty laughs, which felt like they were becoming way too commonplace, not to mention irritating.
‘Like right now, for instance.’ I turned and glared at him.
‘Fantasising about fighting me?’ He turned his head, locking eyes with me.
I shrugged casually. ‘Well, that is the sum total of our interactions. And we’re pretty good at it.’
‘That’s not really the sum total, is it?’ His tone had totally changed now, and I didn’t like it.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, fighting wasn’t all we did, and certainly not all we were good at.’
‘You . . . ass!’ I swung my arm and punched him on the arm.
‘Ow! What the hell was that for?’ He was rubbing it now, which I took some satisfaction from.
‘For bringing that up again!’ I turned my entire body away from him now. ‘Besides, I don’t even remember the details of that night, so I wouldn’t really know.’
‘You’ve forgotten about that?’
‘Yup. Basically,’ I said, forcing as much nonchalance into my voice as possible and pulling the covers over me.
‘I find that very, very hard to believe.’
‘Believe it!’ I punched my remaining pillow a few times, fluffing it into the perfect shape. ‘I’m going to sleep,’ I announced loudly, in the hope of putting an end to this conversation, because of course I remembered it, I remembered all of it . . .
I remembered despite a deep and desperate desire to forget.
‘And I’ve had bigger, by the way!’ I added, deciding I wanted to have the last word.
My last word was met with a last chuckle, though. ‘See, you do remember.’
Six years ago
2.25 a.m.
Hour 1
I kissed him. It was explosive, like all the pent-up feelings – the want, the longing, even the fury – just came out of me.
Cam’s hands gripped my ass and he lifted me effortlessly.
I wrapped my legs around his waist as I kissed him with total abandon.
I didn’t care that sometimes our teeth knocked together or that the sounds we made were far from sexy.
It was frantic and unrelenting, as though we were devouring each other.
Piece by tiny piece. Starter, main course and dessert.
He tightened his grip on me, the pressure so strong it bordered on pain, but in the best way possible. He walked us backwards until my body collided with the wall and pinned me there. He wasted no time in ripping my clothes off, yanking my shirt over my head and tossing it without a second thought.
His mouth moved down to my neck, his teeth, his tongue. His kisses travelled lower, collarbones, lower still, trailing across the tops of my breasts.