Into You Series: The Complete Collection

19. Grace

CHAPTER 19

GRACE

O n most weekends, Hank and I go for long walks in the evening once the day has cooled off and the sun has gone down. But on this Saturday, I take a walk a bit earlier in the day. I need a break from work, anyway.

I’ve been focusing on the notes Mr. Feldman sent us last week. He said he was impressed by what the team produced, but it just didn’t hit the mark. Cameron said indecision is normal with clients, but I’m determined to destroy any semblance of doubt in Mr. Feldman’s mind. I’m confident the team knows what he wants. I’m so sure of this idea I spent all morning Saturday scribbling on my tablet with Hank patiently hoping for a walk.

But dog bladders are only so patient.

I gather up his leash and look out the blinds. I’ve gotten in the habit of staking out the parking lot for Cameron. He still doesn’t know we live in the same complex, and I have no intention of him finding out. Does peeking out the blinds to ensure he’s not there make me seem crazy? Yes.

I do not need judgments on it, thank you very much.

Cameron and I are friends, and I like that. I want to remain friends. I mean, sure, I’d love to see his body without the work shirt. I can only imagine what he’d look like in nothing but those cute corgi-patterned socks, but that’s beside the point. The knowledge that we live just one parking lot away is tempting enough.

I gather Hank’s leash along with my keys and head outside. The coast is clear and all I have to do is bolt out of the complex and everything is smooth sailing from there. I lock the door behind me, and Hank leads the way, trotting down the stairs onto the sidewalk.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out, looking down at the text notification and stopping in my tracks.

Joe: Can we please talk?

I’m so done with him. I don’t need any more of his?—

Joe: I’m engaged.

My heart stumbles and shatters.

I don’t want him.

But … it still hurts. It hurts bad.

My thumbs hover over the screen for a moment as I think about what to respond. Hank circles back to me and nudges my hip to signal that he’s ready to keep walking and that my text is clearly the least of his issues. And maybe he’s right. This text is the least of both of our issues. I don’t need to text back—especially right after he texts me. He doesn’t deserve that courtesy.

I huff out a breath of resolve and pocket my phone once more.

I need to repeat the same mantras in my head: I am more than this. I am ready to take on life in front of me. I am good enough to love. I am— oh my god .

On the path in front of us is no other than my current worst nightmare. It’s shirtless— holy abs —Cameron.

Did I not complete my stake out well enough?

I’m disappointed in myself more than I am disappointed to see him jogging toward me. Whether he sees me yet or not, I’m not sure. But, breaking my eyes away from his body at this moment would be a sin.

Sweat runs down his broad shoulders. His abs constrict and release with each movement of his body and, good lord, is he glistening in the sun straight-up new age vampire style? His gym shorts rest loosely on his hips, directly above where the Adonis “V” of his hip bones curve in. His thick arms pump forward and back, a leash in hand, the unmistakable figure of his golden retriever, Buddy, running beside him at its end.

I want to curse Joe for texting me and distracting me just enough so that I run into Cameron, but then again, maybe I should thank him. Without that text, I would have continued in the opposite direction, and I might not have been blessed by this sight.

I tilt my head to the side.

I’m worthy of love still, right?

Could a man like that ever fall for me? Joe couldn’t. Who says anyone else would?

While I’m buried deep in self-loathing, Cameron’s eyes catch mine and I know I must look like a deer in the headlights by the way I’m staring. He slows from a jog to a light trot and waves over to me.

Crap. Crap crap crap.

He’s walking closer.

Don’t check him out. Don’t check him out.

Cameron is slightly out of breath when he reaches me, but Buddy lays down on the cool concrete shaded by the balcony in the apartment above. Hank goes over to him and sniffs with curiosity.

“I didn’t know you lived here,” Cameron says, letting out steady, exhausted breaths and letting his headphones hang over his shoulders. I stare at his glistening neck for probably a moment too long then look up at him once more.

“I don’t,” I lie, giving a shrug and pointing down to Hank. “Old Hank here likes the shade of this apartment complex, so we come in here for a detour.”

“Oh, Hank, I don’t think we’ve met,” Cameron bends down and holds out his hand in a greeting to Hank, letting him sniff before he pets him.

“We should walk our dogs together sometime,” he says.

“So now we’re weekend friends?” I tease.

“I don’t see an office space anywhere, do you?” he says, grinning.

I notice how long his facial hair has gotten. It’s less like stubble and more of a well-groomed beard now. I wonder if his ex-girlfriend made him keep it trimmed short. I bet this is an act of defiance—a bachelor’s beard. He looks at me, and even though I can barely see his dimples through the beard now, I know they’re there.

My heart is beating so hard it’s a wonder he can’t see it. I’m like that cartoon wolf with my heart literally pounding out of my chest.

A-woo-ga!

“So, how long have you had this guy?” Cameron asks, turning his attention back to Hank.

Buddy gets a bit jealous. He also sits up and walks to Cameron, nudging his hands and begging for attention.

A shirtless man surrounded by dogs. I could faint right here and now. With him running his hands over both of their backs, I wish I could cry out, Me next, me next!

“I’ve had him going on eleven years,” I say, looking down at Hank. He’s still got the golden fur of a classic retriever, but his face is almost completely white. “He’s a tough old bird.”

“You should bring him in,” Cameron says, ruffling both dogs’ fur.

“Like, after work?” I ask with a laugh. “You may not have a fear of getting fired, but I’m not risking that.”

“Nah, they won’t fire us,” he says, shrugging it off.

I read those manuals on day one. Nia sat there while I signed each acknowledgement, and I can guarantee you “no animals in office” was written on page forty-two in bright red ink.

“This seems like bad management to me,” I say. “Aren’t I supposed to be policing that for you?”

“I bring Buddy, you bring Hank,” he offers. “It’ll be a party.”

It’s the combination of his sexy smile, his shirtless body, and the fact that he’s great with animals that I just blurt out, “Sure, why not?”

“Great!” he says. “I’ll see you again on Monday, big guy,” he coos, patting Hank on the head one last time before looping Buddy’s leash around his wrist. “See you on Monday, Holmes.”

He holds eye contact for a second, maybe a minute, maybe an hour—I have no idea. All I can do is take in his smile, his eyes, and his floppy, sweaty hair. He is dripping sex, and I’m left feeling like I definitely need a cold shower.

“The fact that we’re talking about your boss for the third or fourth time is alarming,” Ramona says. “But God, please tell me more.”

My first action back inside the apartment was to call Ramona, babbling like an insane person until she pieced together what I was saying.

I’ve somehow paced my way into the kitchen so I lay on the cold tile as my growing anxiety washes over me.

“He’s gorgeous,” I exhale.

Ramona pauses for a moment then says, “Do you want to touch his dick?”

“Ramona!” She is clearly not grasping the severity of my emotions.

I should have called my mom. I need a stern talking to. I need someone to tell me it’s wrong to imagine all the horrible … vile … wonderful things I want to do with Cameron Kaufman. But all I’m getting is encouragement.

The last thing I need is encouragement to lick to my boss’s very hard abs.

“I don’t see the problem if you’re not acting on it,” Ramona says. “Imagine to your heart’s content.”

I think I hear her husband’s laughter in the background. It would be no surprise to find I’m on speakerphone and Wes has been listening in the whole time.

“Hey Wes, you have any insight?” I ask.

Ramona laughs, “You’re not on?—”

“Hey, Grace. Yeah, so listen …” Wes gets closer to the phone, and Ramona lets out an exasperated sigh in the background. “Everyone has office romance fantasies. Not a big deal. You admire from afar and move on.”

“You have office fantasies?” Ramona asks.

“Of course I don’t, dearest,” Wes coos. Ugh, they’re so cute it’s disgusting and yet also wonderful. “But I wouldn’t worry about it, Grace.”

“I’m worrying,” I groan.

Wes laughs. “Look, he’s not going to tell anyone you looked at him with his shirt off and drooled all over the place. Why would he want to lose his job, too?”

All three of us are silent, letting the realization of losing a job wash over us.

“Do you think I could lose my job?” I mumble.

Thankfully for my nerves, Ramona scoffs.

“Don’t be silly,” she says, “Repeat after me: Nothing. Happened. Plus, he probably didn’t even think about the fact that he was shirtless.”

“Actually—I’m gonna stop you there, Ray,” Wes interjects with a sense of immediate urgency. “He was definitely thinking about it.”

My heart collapses in my chest. The idea that Cameron knew he was getting me flustered drives me up the wall. I was wearing clothes, but clearly sweating through them with the heat of my unadulterated lust, and he just kept talking like he wasn’t some type of a Greek god standing in front of me.

I’m putting my job at risk—a job with a fantastic company. I don’t want to go back to being some collections agent at a call center. I want to keep designing. And I can tell you right now that writing “my boss snuck me into the IT closet and screwed my brains out against the server wall” on my resume won’t help me find another design job in the future.

However, that thought is really intriguing.

“Nothing is going to happen,” I say.

“You’re still worrying though, aren’t you?” Ramona asks.

“Nooo,” I lie.

“Hey, you should just come over this week,” Wes says. “We’ll get some wine, you guys can put on some romcom like The Notebook , and I’ll make snarky jokes the whole time. How’s that sound?”

“Okay, but Wes,” Ramona interrupts, “I swear, if you say one single thing about Noah and Allie …”

“I know, I know! The Notebook is a gift to the world. No bad words about it,” he says, then quickly mumbles, “… but the dude should have just given up?—”

“Out! Out, out, out!” Ramona yells, and I can hear his laugh fading away as he walks off.

We decide on Thursday and Ramona promises to make her homemade mac and cheese.

Some comfort time with the dynamic duo (and cheesy macaroni goodness) will be exactly what I need.

And no more thoughts about my shirtless boss with the cute dog.