My feet press off the ground, my legs burn, my lungs strain.
I go all out. As if I'm chasing the ball. As if winning is the only thing I want.
I catch him.
Gain.
Race past the virtual finish line.
There. I let my bottle drop on the grass. Raise my arms in victory. Double over with a cramp.
A heavy breath breaks up Cam's laugh. It's a strange sound. Sweet and sexy at the same time.
"Come here." He offers his hand.
"Here?"
"I'll help you."
"Help me?" I don't need his help, but I'm not turning down this kind of proximity.
"Yes." He moves into my space.
God, he's so close, so handsome, so sweaty.
I struggle through my next breath. Brush a stray hair behind my ear.
It sticks to my forehead. I'm sweaty too.
It's a hot day. And he's so, so close.
He leans down to meet me. Brings his hand to my wrist. Peels my fingers off the bottle.
Oh.
He steals the water. Sucks liquid from the mouth. Offers it to me.
I swallow with greedy sips. "You owe me coffee."
He nods I know. "Now or after you dress?"
"I'm dressed."
He motions to the quiet street. "Pick your poison."
Hmm. Where did I go last weekend? The place with homemade syrups. Yes. That's it. I name the store and head toward it. "I'm not sure they have pour overs."
"They'll make one."
"People do whatever you ask?"
"You doubt it?"
No, actually. "You're not wearing your suit."
"So?"
"You may have less sway in a jersey."
"You really think so?"
"Maybe." No. Not at all. He may not look quite as debonair in his soccer jersey, but he looks just as sexy and powerful.
"You don't."
I nod I don't. "Did you let me win?"
"Never," he says.
"You swear?"
"On my honor."
"You don't have any honor," I say.
He chuckles. "On my right hand then."
My eyes flit to said hand. "Is that the one you use?"
"Why else would I offer to swear on it?"
I try to play cool, but my cheeks flush. I'm usually the one teasing about sex. But Cam… he makes me nervous. "I warned you last night."
"I warned you too, Sienna." His voice drops to something equal parts dirty and teasing. "No one will ever compare."
"I survived kissing you."
"Have you kissed anyone else since?"
After too much cheap vodka, and a dare from Katie, I kissed Tony. That didn't compare, but how could it? "Have you?"
"You know I can't tell you that. If I did, you'll be sick with jealousy. If I didn't, it's all you'll think about."
He's right.
It steals my thoughts.
For the entire walk, the question is the only thing on my mind: Is it really possible Cam went two months without kissing someone else?
Is it possible he wants me that badly?
Chapter Seven
Sienna
The coffee shop is huge by Manhattan standards. A counter at the window, the register on the left, two small booths on the right.
And, in the back, a quiet bathroom with plenty of privacy.
Not that Cam would ever consider sneaking into said bathroom and ordering me to come on his hand.
He has that Hunt presence. He knows how to take control of the room. How to read my body and find exactly the spot I need.
Or maybe it's my overactive imagination. This is my outlet. I'm creative—math is more creative than people think—but I'm not artistic. I can't draw, I can't carry a tune, I don't appreciate fine cinema.
But sex?
My brain buzzes with beautiful images. Flashes of things I've seen in movies or heard from friends.
After all, I don't know. I've never trusted anyone enough.
I've hooked up with guys, sure, but it's never gone much further than fumbling over belt buckles.
Over winter break, at my lab partner's Christmas Eve party, I drank too much Three Buck Chuck and snuck to the roof with the cutest guy on our school's soccer team. It was freezing, even under the blanket, and we were both drunk enough we were sloppy, but it felt good.
Then we were interrupted, and I wanted the warmth of the party inside more than I wanted him.
Was it a lack of trust? My sister's voice in my head, reminding me to use a condom? (Obviously I'm going to use a condom. I'm not an idiot).
Or was it the memory of her crushed after her fling with Ty ended three years ago? (It's a long story).
Maybe that was it. Maybe, deep down, I knew sex would change things.
No matter how much I want to believe I'm able to separate sex and love the way men do, I'm not.
And after Cam kissed me…
No one compares.
"Sienna." Cam presses his hand into my low back, nudging me toward the register.
The barista behind the counter, a cute blonde in a tight pink crop top, shoots him an I want to fuck you smile. "Can I help you?" She bats her eyelashes.
It's far too friendly for a New Yorker.
Which can only mean she wants to fuck him. Why else would a New York service professional be nice? We're not nice. We're to the point.
"Yes, thank you." Cam shoots her a dazzling smile.
She nearly topples over from the full force of his charm. "What would you like?"
"Something sweet," he says.
"Sweeter than your smile?" She thrusts her chest in his general direction.
My cheeks flame.
Cam chuckles. "If you have anything that sweet."
"I'm not sure we do," she says. "But I can try."
"You know I'm right here," I say.
Her brow scrunches. "Of course. What would you like, miss?" She doesn't even look at me. She gives Cam a long once-over, not at all shy about staring at his shoulders, chest, hips.
He's hot. I want to look too. But really?
"Seriously?" My temper flares. "I'm right here and you're flirting with him."
"No. I… Uh… I just… want to take his order," she says.
Yeah, I bet.
"What would you like, sir?" Her voice stays breathy. Her gaze stays on his bare shoulders.
"He could be my boyfriend, you know," I say.
"He could be?" she asks. "So he isn't?"
Cam chuckles. "No. It's strictly sexual, right, sweetness?"
Mmm… Cam… using… pet name.
Must bitchslap giggly barista.
Must jump Cam.
Must get ahold of self.
"Sienna," he continues. "What would you like? You need your energy for later."
The barista blushes. "Sorry, I didn't realize… we, uh, we have a large pour over."
"Perfect." He requests a dark roast. Turns to me. "Something sweet for you?"
Him. Touching me. Everywhere. "The spiced mocha, thanks. And the banana toast."
"Make it two," he says.