Page 13 of A Matter of Time
In a way, that summarized the whole reason we broke up: my inability to refuse someone in need and her tendency to jump to the wildest conclusions. Those natural instincts just made us incompatible, it seemed, which was a damn shame when we were so good together in so many other ways.
“Did Bradyn actually try anything?” I wondered out loud, looking around as if he might be somewhere nearby, listening in. “Or did I really just waste my whole night for nothing?”
“Oh, you definitely wasted your night,” she told me, not even bothering to hide her smile. “He made a play and I said: no, thanks. End of story. Shockingly, I know how to turn a man down all by myself.”
I groaned into my beer at her teasing tone. “You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”
“Not a chance,” she replied with a smirk. “I could have the whole of Sandy Creek talking about it by noon tomorrow.”
“You wouldn’t.”
She laughed out loud, that same familiar laugh I’d heard all over the office that week. “Oh, Cam, we both know that’s not true. I absolutely would.”
Once again, she was absolutely right. “What’s it going to cost me to keep your mouth shut? Blueberry muffins in the office every morning next week?”
Her eyes widened in surprise, the hanging lights above us reflecting in them as she stared up at me. “You remember my favourite muffin?”
I remembered a hell of a lot more than that, but I tried to shrug it off. “Some things just stick with you. Like how I can’t remember what I’m meant to pick up at the store tomorrow, but I still remember which girl sat behind me in second grade.”
“Jenny Palmer,” we both said in unison before we both laughed.
Shoot, it felt good to laugh with her. It had been far too long.
“Muffins aren’t necessary,” she told me, returning to my offer. “I have a better idea. You beat me in a game of straight face, and I’ll keep it a secret.”
“You can’t be serious.”
‘Straight face’ was a drinking game we used to play as teenagers, sometimes in our group of friends and sometimes alone. I hadn’t played it in years and Tonia had always been excellent at it, like she was at most games. It came with the territory of her being stubborn as all hell and willing to win at all costs.
“You already know you’re going to lose, huh?” she teased, taking another drink. “You didn’t used to be such a defeatist.”
“I’m not being defeatist. I’m just pointing out that we’re now 24 years old and in a kinda classy place and maybe we shouldn’t be playing the same kind of games we used to play in my parent’s basement.”
An unexpected emotion flashed in her eyes at the mention of that basement, something that looked dangerously close to desire, and it sent a rush of electricity through me too. That basement had been where we made love for the first time, and the last time. I would have bet any money those memories crossed her mind at that moment, just like they did for me.
“It sounds to me like you’re just afraid to lose,” she said, regaining her composure and refusing to back down. “So maybe I should just text Laura right now and tell her what happened…”
As she pulled out her phone again, I reached over and placed my hand over the screen. “Alright, you win. One round; winner takes all.”
Giving me a satisfied smile, she set the phone down on the bar. “You’re on.”
~Tonia~
I called the bartender over so I could order some shots while Cam excused himself to go to the restroom. “I just drove here from Houston,” he reminded me. “If we’re going to be drinking much more, I’ve got to pee first.”
“You’ll only be drinking if you lose,” I reminded him, but waved my hand to tell him to go at the same time. As he walked away, I couldn’t help glancing at his ass in the jeans he must have put on after work, since all week long at the office, he’d been wearing a suit. Personally, I preferred the jeans. He had definitely filled out since high school, and he hadn’t been half bad then.
It was actually kind of sweet, in a completely over-the-top way, that he had come all this way just to make sure I was alright. From some guys, I would have thought they had some kind of ulterior motive, but Cam had always been that way. He’d be the guy who would give you the shirt off his back if you needed it, or the guy who would step in to be a groomsman at my brother’s wedding. He could never say no if he thought someone needed help.
Did it annoy me that he thought I might not be able to handle myself with Bradyn? Maybe a little, but the prospect of being able to hold it over him more than made up for it. He’d admitted that he’d been wrong, and he knew I wouldn’t let him forget it.
I’d already begun composing my first messages by the time he got back to the bar, just in time for the bartender to lay five shots out in front of each of us. The clear liquid looked deceptively innocent, the miniature glasses shining beneath the hanging light above us.
“You know the rules,” I told him, pretty sure that he still would even though it had been years since we’d done this. “Whatever I text you, you have to read out with a straight face. Any laugh, any wince, any kind of face at all, and you have to drink.”
“I remember.” The stillness of his voice contrasting with the intensity of those deep brown eyes was enough to send me straight back to the basement he’d referenced earlier, to my first kiss and so many other firsts we’d shared there together. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach at the memory, the way they used to at the sight of him.
Those days were long gone, though, and that train of thought wouldn’t help me to keep my composure. I had to focus on the game. “Do you want to go first, or me?”
