Page 31 of Promise To Marry You
She might not want to be in a relationship, but our years of friendship have allowed for plenty of opportunities for me to be tortured by watching Cam flirt, and more, with other guys.
Truly, the only good part about her decision to move back to Cliveden and be with her grandfather was that the distance between us allowed me to not have a ringside seat to Cam’s social life.
Along with containing my feelings for her in a tiny box in the back of my mind, I could lie to myself and say she lived a solitary, celibate life.
Granted, after I accepted that she would only ever want to be friends with me, I tried to go out with other women in hopes of finding someone who sparked something. But every date, every woman, never felt right, no matter how hard I tried to make it work.
The only one that lasted more than a month was an older woman I dated two years after graduating from university. I thought she could be the one, or at least someone to make me feel worthy of a relationship, but all she did was help me uncover my true desires in the bedroom. Then she left me for someone else.
It was inevitable I would hit the point of believing that maybe it wasn’t the women that were the problem, maybe it was me. Maybe I wasn’t good enough in some way and that’s why every single attempt at a relationship failed.
Pulling into my driveway, I cut the engine but sit there frozen. The morbid voice inside my head tells me I’ll never find anyone who makes me feel like they’re my missing piece the way Cam does. That same voice tells me I’ll never have her because I’ll never be enough to break down the walls around her heart. That she’ll never change, she’ll never let go of whatever it is that holds her back from being open to love and being loved.
The greatest gift you’ll ever learn is to love and be loved in return.
It’s a line from a Nat King Cole song that made it into the movie adaptation ofMoulin Rouge. Cam was obsessed with it, even when we met, years after its release.
A line that I shouted at her in my head every time we watched that movie, wanting her to see it as the truth it is. Wanting her to believe it.
She would sing that song, every word of it. And I would try not to reach over and shake her, wanting her to open her goddamn eyes andsee me.
The sound of someone knocking on the window startles me out of my downward spiral. I hadn’t even noticed Cam get out of the car, but she’s standing outside my door, looking in at me sitting here like a chump.
“Are you planning on staying out here all night? Because I’m tired, and I gotta pee, and I left my house key here when I went to Manitoba. So if I can have yours, that would be great.”
She takes a step back as I open my door. “Sorry,” I mutter, dropping the keys into her outstretched hand. I turn to the back of my car and pull out her suitcases. By the time I get everything up to the house, she’s coming out of the bathroom.
“Shit, you didn’t have to bring them all in.”
I cut her a glare. “I wasn’t gonna just leave them out there, Cam.”
Folding her arms across her chest, she tilts her head to the side. “What changed in the last five minutes? Where’s my Beckett? I want him back, not this cranky version.”
I’m not your Beckett,is what I want to say. But I don’t, I just shrug. “Nothing. Sorry. Guess I’m tired, too.”
She stands firm, blocking my access to the hall for a few seconds before shifting to the side. “Right. Okay. Well, thanks for picking me up at the airport.”
I heave out a sigh, fighting to bury the dregs of my shit mood from a few minutes earlier. It’s not fair for me to project my insecurities and worries onto her.
“It’s no trouble. But if you’re good, I’m gonna go to bed.” I give her a smile that hopefully proves to her I’m moving past what was messing with me earlier.
“I’m good. I’ll just shower off the plane, then go to bed myself.”
I give a brief nod of acknowledgment, then after checking the front door is locked, I head down the hall to my room.
Soon I’m lying in bed, listening to the shower run and trying not to picture Cam naked with water running down her body.
“Fucking hell,” I swear under my breath as my dick hardens in my pajama pants. Then I hear the water shut off, and now my goddamn mind is imagining her stepping out of the steam, wrapping a towel around her body, tucking the knot between her breasts.
I know if I were to step into the hall, the scent of her bodywash would hit me. Lavender and sage. Earthy, yet feminine and sexy as fuck. My hand slides under the waistband of my pants. Wrapping my fingers around my cock, I give it a tug, stifling a groan.
I stroke up and down twice, then still as the door to the bathroom opens. Holding my breath, I wait until I hear her bedroom door close. Covering my face with my other hand, I resume my strokes. My hand fists my cock. I bite back the curses and moans that want to break free.
My orgasm is hurtling toward me, and the last thing I want to do is make a mess on my sheets. Normally, I’d do this in the shower, but I have no way of knowing if Cam’s done in the bathroom.
Thinking through the haze of lust I’m under, I rip off the pillowcase from one of my spare pillows just in time to catch the jets of fluid that shoot out of me.
I get myself cleaned up, toss the pillowcase into my hamper before getting a new one on the pillow, and collapse back into bed. Having Cam in my house is torture in some ways and heaven in others.
