Bringing Home Mr. Wrong (Bringing Home Trouble)

Chapter 2

Chapter

Two

Camila

I stare at my phone, John's number glowing on the screen. My thumb hovers over the text button, heart pounding.

It's been two weeks since I returned to college, but I can't stop thinking about him—those piercing blue eyes, the way his strong hands felt on my cheek.

I take a deep breath and start typing.

Hey John, I was wondering if I could get your advice on something? I'm trying to decide what internships to apply for this summer and thought you might have some good insight, with all your experience. No pressure though! Hope you're doing well.

My finger shakes as I hit send. I feel a thrill and a pang of guilt all at once. Texting him like this, is it crossing a line? He's my dad's best friend...but there was a undeniable spark between us at Dad’s birthday party. I can't just ignore it anymore.

Three dots appear. My heart races. Then his reply pops up:

Hi Camila, great to hear from you. I'd be happy to look over some options with you and share my thoughts. Why don't you send me a list of the ones you're considering? Hope your semester is off to a good start.

I grin, a flutter in my chest. His message is casual but warm. It's a start.

***

Over the next few days, we message back and forth about internships, but our texts gradually shift into more personal territory—updates on his latest projects, my classes and roommate dramas, jokes and memes. I find myself checking my phone obsessively, disappointed when there's no new notification from him.

One night, feeling bold from a little too much wine, I send a winking face emoji after a flirty quip. Heart pounding, I wait for his response.

The grey dots linger, disappear, then finally his reply:

Shouldn't you be focused on your studies instead of texting a boring old architect all night? ;)

Boring and old? Yeah right. I think of all the times I've caught him straight out of a run, t-shirt clinging to his toned chest. The way I’ve caught him looking at me over dinner when Dad wasn't paying attention...

Oh please, you're hardly boring OR old. But you're right, I should get some beauty rest. Sweet dreams John. Talk to you tomorrow :)

I put down the phone with a smile, mind racing with possibilities. I know I'm playing with, fire but I can't seem to stop myself.

Rules are meant to be broken, right?

***

John

I frown at my phone, Camila's latest message lighting up the screen. That goodnight text with the little smile...she's flirting with me. Blatantly. And I'm flirting back like some lovesick teenager, when I should know better.

I run a hand over my face and sigh. This is Camila—Frank's daughter, the sweet little girl who used to sit on my shoulders and beg for piggyback rides.

But she's not a little girl anymore, is she? She's a beautiful, vivacious young woman. Full of passion and dreams and a light that draws me to her like a moth to a flame.

She's forbidden fruit. The age gap, my relationship with her father...I can list a million reasons why pursuing this is a terrible idea.

And yet, when she texts me, I can't help but respond.

I read over her message again, considering my reply. Keep it light, John. Don't encourage her.

But my fingers seem to move of their own accord as I type back:

Trust me, I think you're getting plenty of beauty rest. You look gorgeous as always. But I won't keep you up. Talk to you tomorrow, sweet dreams.

I hit send before I can second guess myself. Christ, I'm in trouble. This flirtation is dangerous and I know it. If Frank ever found out...I can't even imagine.

I should put a stop to this right now.

But when my phone pings with her response a minute later—a blushing smile and a heart—I feel a thrill shudder through me, and I know I won't.

I can't .

The temptation is simply too strong to resist.

I want her, consequences be damned.

I'm playing with fire too...and I have a feeling we're both about to get burned. Do I care?

I look at Camila's name on my screen and I know the answer is no. She's worth the risk.

***

One weekend, Camila convinces me to meet her for coffee when she's home on break from college. I walk into the cozy little shop, the scent of fresh brewed coffee and warm pastries greeting me as I enter. I spot her right away, her chestnut hair cascading over her shoulders like a silken curtain, drawing my gaze to her full lips, and I have to force myself not to stare. We exchange hellos, butterflies already taking flight in my stomach.

We take a seat in a quiet corner booth, our knees occasionally brushing under the table as we talk. Our conversation is light at first, but as the minutes tick by, it takes a decidedly flirtatious turn. I can't remember the last time I've felt this alive...this... consumed .

The air between us crackles with a palpable tension, so thick I could practically reach out and touch it. I'm acutely aware of every breath she takes, every flicker of those expressive hazel eyes that seem to hold a thousand secrets—secrets I'm desperate to unravel.

Camila's hand brushes against mine, sending a jolt of electricity straight to my core. She doesn't pull away. Instead, she laces our fingers together, her gaze questioning, a delicate blush creeping up her porcelain cheeks.

For a moment, sanity threatens to return, reminding me of the consequences we could face if anyone were to find out about this.

But I don’t care and neither does she.

We continue to talk, and then we leave the coffee shop and walk through the park, both of us hesitant for this forbidden meeting to end.

When we finally come to a stop, I stare at her, and she stares back at me. Her lips part, as if they’re inviting me in.

And God help me, but I can’t say no.

I lean in, my heart pounding in my chest like a drummer on a feverish beat, and brush my lips against hers. Soft as a whisper, her lips part further, her tongue snaking out to meet mine, and I'm lost.

Our kiss deepens, my hand curling around her neck, angling her face upwards to deepen our connection. Her tongue dances with mine, as if she's been waiting for this moment as much as I have.

Finally, we both pull back, panting, our breaths mingling in the chill winter air. Our eyes meet, and I see the same heady mix of desire and trepidation mirrored in hers. We've crossed a line, and there's no going back now.

"We...we should probably...talk," she stutters, her voice thick with emotion.

I nod, my own voice unsteady. "S-sure."

We both know what we're about to embark on is nothing short of insanity. But as I stare into Camila's smoldering eyes, I know I'd walk through the fiery pits of hell and back for her.

And as we turn back to our respective cars, I vow to myself, I'll do everything in my power to keep this secret.

Our secret.

Forever.