Into You Series: The Complete Collection

8. Cameron

CHAPTER 8

CAMERON

“ T his is it?”

“This is it.”

“A beanbag chair is your couch?”

“A beanbag chair is my couch.”

Ian eyes my new, nearly bare, apartment with his arms crossed and a look of disgust—or maybe pity—across his face.

“Well, you are definitely living the bachelor life,” he says, shrugging.

I want to think he’s just being a jerk, but when I look around the apartment, it is sort of sad.

In the middle of the floor are three boxes—one filled with various technology like remotes, a Kindle, and my trusty old Gameboy. Another box holds important work gear: art supplies and the like. The last one is random stuff I felt the need to pile in at the last minute when I stormed out of my townhome with Abby. I think there might be a Terminator DVD in there, but who knows. At the time I remember thinking, “Wow, even the Terminator gave a thumbs up while drowning in lava.”

If that’s not inspiring, I don’t know what is.

My mattress is leaning against the wall in the main bedroom and there’s another box in the middle of the floor overflowing with mismatching sets of sheets and blankets. In the corner is Buddy’s dog bed—that looks fancier than all of my junk combined.

The only stuff I’ve fully unpacked is in the area surrounding my drafting desk. It’s a couple rulers and pencils, as well as the side project of hotel blueprints I’ve been working on. Other than the fact that the apartment was the only place immediately available so close to work and at such short notice, the patio was the selling point. It gives me a clear view of the cityscape, which is a perfect place for brainstorming new buildings. I need all the motivation I can get nowadays.

Buddy walks to Ian and drops a stick at his feet. His tongue hangs out. He’s about five years old, but still acts like a puppy. His logic is that if someone isn’t playing with him, then why are they even here?

“Okay, it’s official,” Ian says. “You live in the slums. I mean, where the heck did Buddy find a stick inside your apartment? Seriously.”

“Nah, finding sticks is just a weird talent Buddy has. Isn’t that right boy?” I bend down with open arms, and my beautiful, wonderful golden boy gallops into my arms and licks my face. His entire body sways from the force of his wagging tail and sheer happiness. Moving might have been uncomfortable for me, but he’s been fine throughout the entire process.

“Who needs a girlfriend when you have a dog?” I grab him in my arms and give him a noogie repeating, “Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy? You are!”

Buddy twirls in a circle. He is in disbelief that such wonderful compliments could be given to him.

We really don’t deserve dogs.

Ian’s black eyebrows furrow in the middle as he shakes his head. “Yep. Bachelor life it is, for now. In two weeks, you’ll decide you need a wingman.”

“You’re just jealous of Buddy,” I say.

“A dog doesn’t match up to a one-night stand, my friend.”

Sex. What even is that anymore? Some mythical, unattainable source of pure bliss; something I haven’t experienced in about six months. Six months and two days. Six months, two days, and eight hours. But who’s counting?

Ian drops onto the beanbag chair. The only part of Ian that fits is his butt and half his torso. The rest of him is sprawled out. With his long limbs, he looks like a spider settling into its web for the day.

“Hey at least you’re only fifteen minutes from work now,” he says, looking around as if trying to justify anything he’s seeing that doesn’t quite meet his standards. The dude owns a sports car. What did I expect? “Could do worse.”

“Oh, stop. You’re making me blush.”

“So, are you buying me dinner for helping you move or what?” Ian asks, stretching his long arms out.

“I can’t even enjoy the bean bag for five seconds?”

“Nope. And bring your credit card. I’m maxing you out today, Kaufman.”