Into You Series: The Complete Collection

29. Cameron

CHAPTER 29

CAMERON

“ C ome to my sister’s house!” Ian told me. “She’s making Cajun chicken! It’ll be great!”

Ian lied.

I’m aware that Grace is Ian’s sister’s best friend. They’ve apparently been almost inseparable since elementary school. But the last thing I expected was to see her stumbling into his sister’s house, tongue hanging out of her mouth and a look of pure anguish over her face. The look of surprise that followed when she spotted me was worse.

“What.”

Well at least she got a word out. All I can think to do is leave the room in silence.

Fantastic manners, Cam ol’ boy. Good job making her instantly feel horrible.

I find my way into the kitchen, and Ian’s sister Ramona follows behind me, arm-in-arm with the woman who’s making my appetite for Cajun chicken disappear.

“Have you met Grace?” Ramona asks.

My hair stands on end just looking at her. She won’t meet my eyes.

“Yeah,” I say. “We know each other.”

She unhooks her arm and raises an eyebrow. “Odd. How do you guys know each other?”

Grace takes a deep breath and hops up on the countertop but doesn’t answer. She’s beautiful today. She is every day, but even exasperated Grace with her furrowed brow and crinkled nose still strikes me as angelic.

And this is exactly why we haven’t talked.

“Cameron is her boss,” Ian says as he pops a cube of cheese in his mouth. He’d been lingering near the cheese tray since we got here, and I’m fairly sure that he’s single-handedly wiped out the cheddar and pepper jack.

Ramona stops mid-whisk and looks over to me. It’s like she is having some epiphany. As if my job is some piece of information she’s been looking for her entire life.

“Oh really?” she asks, shooting a quick look over to Grace before going back to the mix, which I’m pretty sure she’s tossing around more feverishly than the recipe calls for. “Sorry for bringing work to the party.” She seems more irritated than apologetic.

I shouldn’t be surprised that Ian’s sister is just as turbulent in personality as he is.

“Cam doesn’t deign to be among the commoners anymore.” Ian’s mouth is full, but he pops another cube in with a wide smirk. “I’m sure this is a lovely reunion.”

Sure. Absolutely lovely.

I laugh to try and ease the tension. For a second, I look over to Grace, but she watches Ramona sprinkle the mix onto the prepped chicken. I wish I could see her blue eyes for even a moment.

“I’m just working a lot lately,” I say.

“Nia says she’s gotten three complaints about you not being present anymore,” Ian says, transferring a cube from one hand to the other before tossing it up in the air and catching it in his mouth.

“Ian James, I swear if you eat one more cheese cube, I’m going to throw it all in your face.” Ramona tosses a small pinch of Cajun mix at him.

Her husband, Wes, comes around the corner and grabs a handful of cheese. He looks at Ian. “I’m hoarding my share. I wouldn’t test her.”

Grace lets out her first laugh of the night and it’s like Christmas bells. My chest twinges. I’d missed that sound.

Dinner is served an hour later, and the entire house smells like spices. It’s thankfully drowning out Grace’s flowery scent, which has been driving me insane since she came in.

We sit at the oval table in their dining room. Ian is beside me on one side with Ramona across from him and Wes at the head of the table, leaving Grace the only seat across from me. She’s doing everything in her power to avoid my gaze and I’m doing everything in my power to meet hers.

I settle into my seat and take my first bite. I expect something deliciously spicy and juicy, but instead I’m greeted with something very, very dry.

“Just like Mimi made it, but a tad bit worse,” Ian says, flashing a grin at Ramona who already looks like she’s ready to rip his head off.

“Yes!” Wes says. “I couldn’t put my finger on why it was a bit off, but it reminds me of your Mimi’s chicken. That’s so good.”

Ramona’s eyes bore into him, and I swear she could scare the tattoos right off his arms. “Mind repeating that?” she spits.

We all get quiet until Grace lets out a bark of a laugh. “Ramona, it’s wonderful.” She says it through a muffled voice. She’s storing the chicken in her mouth like a hamster with sunflower seeds.

“Yes, please, finish your food first,” Ian goads with a smirk.

“Hey, wait, weren’t you the one struggling with her spaghetti last week?” Wes leans forward on the table, shoulders hunched and pointing his accusing fork directly at Grace, who copies his movement in defiance.

“Stop putting me in the doghouse, Wesley.” Grace’s words are muffled through the chicken in her mouth.

“You know what would never happen at Mimi’s?” Ian says matter-of-factly. “Fighting.”

I can practically see the steam leaving Ramona’s ears.

“Well, I think it’s great.” I say, taking a swig of my water to wash down the chicken. It goes down with a fight, but I’m sure as hell not saying that.

“Suck up,” Grace mumbles, but when I look at her, she’s finally looking back at me and there’s the smallest hint of a smile tugging at the side of her lips. It’s like my muscles tense up, then a wave of relaxation begins to pool across my body. I desperately need her to smile again.

“Spaghetti,” I shoot back.

“No, no, no, you are not in this argument!” Grace laughs. Her eyes crinkle while her cheeks flush a very soft pink.

“He’s learning,” Wes says, moving his eyes over to Ramona, who discreetly passes a wink to her.

I wonder how long they’ve been married. I don’t have any married friends. And, as a child of divorce, it’s odd to see people happy in their relationship.

“I can ask you to leave at any time, new guy,” Ramona sneers.

“He’s shaking in his boots,” Ian says.

I tap my shoes together and wiggle my shoulders in response, causing Grace to laugh.

God she’s stunning. I want her smile, her laugh, everything.

“You know, when we were in middle school, Grace was the girl you had to watch out for—not me.” Ramona says.

I look between Ramona and Grace. I can’t help but let out a chuckle. It comes out of me without willing it, like I’m more excited to hear about Grace’s past than even I know.

“Oh really?” I ask. I can only imagine younger Grace with a much more feisty, preteen sense of purpose.

“Absolutely not!” Grace drops her fork and slams her hand on the table. “I was super kind!”

“You would ride your bike down the road like some rebel without a cause,” Ramona said matter-of-factly. “Fire on wheels!”

“Were you a bully?” I jest.

“No!” she says and there’s a hint of adolescent resistance in her tone.

“… Were you?” I repeat with mock trepidation.

“Yes, she was,” Ramona presses on. “She totally called people out on their bullshit.”

“That did not go away,” Wes interjects. “The first time I met her in college she said that my tattoos were a clear indication that I was not good enough for Ray.”

“Hah, well yeah. ‘Cause you weren’t,” Ian says. “We pretty much tag-teamed giving you hell. High five, Grace!”

They air five and I’m suddenly a little jealous. All these people have memories that I’ll never get with her. We stopped before we could even begin.

“And last time I checked, your intentions weren’t very gentlemanly,” Grace says. “So, we were right!”

“What happened to your bad boy image, Wes?” Ian asks. “You’re a total pushover now.”

Ramona laughs. “Yeah, what happened to my rebel punk hunk?”

“Excuse you, we are married. I don’t deserve this type of shit talk from any of you three anymore.” Wes crosses his arms and looks between the three of them in silence.

“Well, I’m new, so can I shit talk?” I mumble.

Everyone busts out laughing.

Dinner talk ranges from stories about how Ian was uncharacteristically more responsible in law school, how Wes’s contrasting rebellious days resulted in sleeves of tattoos and a motorbike, and how Grace was always a little firecracker.

I soak in the talk, letting every bit of their nostalgia paint a more vivid picture of Grace in my mind. None of it is surprising, but that’s the charm. And the more she talks, the more I respond, and soon we’re riffing off each other’s sentences just like we did before. I’m dying to hear her take another stab at me just so I can throw it back.

When we clean up after dinner, I take over washing dishes. As a guest, it’s the least I can do. Grace clears the table of plates and brings them to me.

“You’re missing spots.” She passes a grin my way every time she drops something off and a part of me wonders if she’s taking extra trips just to come back and tease me again on my washing technique.

We sit down for the movie—why The Little Mermaid? —with Ramona and Wes cuddling in a recliner, Ian stretched out to fill half the couch with a glass of wine in hand, and somehow Grace and I on the other side with only a couple inches between us. A singing mermaid is the least of my concerns as I try to maintain a decent distance between Grace and I, but it’s difficult when we’re constantly exchanging whispered commentary for the movie.

“Why doesn’t she just flop around when she hits the surface?” Grace asks. “Isn’t she part fish?”

“Do you think the prince guy would really want a flopping fish?” I ask.

“Hey, I don’t know what he’s into.”

My head is dunked into a sea of possibilities about what Grace’s preferences are. I want to discover them all. I want to see her lying on my bed, hands above her head, nipples exposed, begging me to be inside her. I cross my ankle over my knee and place my arms into my lap. I can feel my heart pounding, and I know exactly where all that blood is pumping to. With every whisper she makes, my hair stands on end, and I’m lulled into a rosy haze surrounded by her red hair and flowery perfume.

“I wonder what a shock it would be if she saw a penis for the first time,” she says, causing my head to swim once more. “Do mermen have penises like human men?”

“Wouldn’t you want to know?” I say, nudging her. My cheeks are starting to hurt from smiling so much.

I try to stay quiet, but every time she leans over to talk to me, we scoot closer and closer together on the couch. I don’t know what she wants from me. We agreed to not pursue anything, yet her thigh is caressing mine and she’s talking about mermen genitalia. I want this. I want her. But I know we can’t.

The movie ends with applause from the room, but mostly from Ian who has downed five too many glasses of red wine and is whistling and yelling, “Yeah! You get your man, mermaid!”

Wes, whose hands are not-so-discreetly creeping along the hem of his wife’s shirt, sighs and asks, “Ian, are you staying the night?”

“Can Ariel talk?” Ian slurs, winking to him. I’ve been around Ian for years and he never drinks, so it’s unsurprising he’s as smashed as he is after only a few glasses.

Wes kisses Ramona’s neck with regret before directing her out of his lap.

“I’ll prep the guest bed,” he says.

Ian is totally oblivious to being a total cock block for his brother-in-law. Although, knowing Ian, he might actually be very aware of it.

“Do either of you need to stay, too?” Wes asks us, and both Grace and I shake our heads simultaneously. She seems almost eager, and it makes my chest beat in anticipation. I want to talk to her without the company of her friends. I don’t know what I would say, and my best bet is that we’ll simply say goodnight and part ways. But why do I feel like my blood pressure has been escalating this entire night for something? Why has she been flirting for the past three hours? Has it been flirting? Do I just want it to be?

I gather my wallet and keys, leashing Buddy with a pat on the head, and Grace grabs Hank’s leash, clipping it on his collar. We wave and close the door behind us. The humid night air washes over me and it’s suddenly dead quiet.

I walk her to her car, even though it’s only a few feet ahead in the driveway. It feels like the gentlemanly thing to do.

“I parked on the road,” I explain, and she nods, a smile beaming on her face though I really didn’t say anything funny. It’s contagious, so I can’t help but grin back.

We stare at each other for probably a moment too long, causing her to laugh.

“What?” I ask, laughing back.

“Do you think she ever regretted not keeping her mermaid tail?” she asks.

“I don’t know. I think she honestly lived with no regrets.”

“I live with no regrets,” she says, sparking a second of something else in the air. It’s like we’re opposite ends of a magnet and I’m doing everything in my power to resist the pull.

Her chest rises and falls quickly, betraying her attempt at concealing her nerves. I can feel them, mixed in with whatever otherworldly power that’s drawing her closer to me.

“So, you’re a mermaid?” I ask and the sentence runs through my head again and again in the span of one second because I can feel the mood break slightly.

“Wouldn’t that make you one, too?”

“I like to think I’m a manly mermaid—merman.”

She laughs.

We stand there just looking at each other. I’ve missed those blues, the freckles scattered across her nose, her cheeks, her ears, the fullness of her lips tinted with a slightly deeper shade of red lipstick.

We both agreed this wasn’t possible, but I feel something more—some sign that maybe we can forget work, responsibility, and give in to what we’ve been resisting for months. But I don’t want to be the one to make the call. I can’t be.

Her eyes move between mine. She takes a step forward.

I inhale sharply at how close she is, at how her chest lands against mine. Her hand raises up, trailing a line along the fabric of my shirt.

“Grace …” I say through strangled breath. She’s intoxicating.

Her hands move to my neck, running fingers across my jaw.

“Cameron.”

She rises onto her toes, ghosting her lips over mine. I close my eyes, letting everything in this moment wash over me, my heart pounding.

And then she kisses me.

Soft, at first, with our lips moving in tandem. I can feel her smiling against me. Her enjoyment drives me wild. I take the opportunity to slide my tongue over her lips. She does the same between our kisses, teasing me.

She breathes into me right as she runs a hand through my hair and deepens the kiss.

Then it’s faster. Feverish. Desperate. Our kiss is like flames licking across my chest, fury in the soul of me that hates we waited this long. It’s chaos in my head urging me to possess her more.

I take a step closer, pressing her back against the car, letting her arch into me. I can feel her chest heave against mine. Her hands dive through my hair, mussing it up, and tugging to bring me closer.

My free hand roams her back, finding its way up to caress just below her the curve of her breast—the feel of her thin shirt being the only barrier between my skin and hers.

But then she pulls away.

I’m left with no soft skin in my grasp and only craving more of her taste.

My stomach drops and I’m waiting for it—the expression that says ‘this isn’t right.’ But all I see is her smile and that devil of an eyebrow raised as if challenging me.

I growl and take a step toward her once more, but her hand goes to my chest, stopping me.

“I should take Hank home,” she says.

I feel a head bump my thigh and am brought back to this moment: The driveway, her yellow car, the two dogs demanding more attention. I reach down to pat Buddy’s head, but my eyes refuse to part from hers.

“I’m going to my apartment,” she continues. “Where I’ll be for the rest of the night.”

I blink a few times.

Wait. What.

“Oh,” I say, stammering out the words. “Oh. Okay.”

Things were going so well and then …

“Well, have a good night?” I say.

I take a couple steps backward as she’s already got her keys out, dangling over her shoulder as if teasing my resolve. Confused, I turn on my heel and start walking back to my car. I’m trying my best to remain cool, but my hard cock is tugging at my pants. I don’t know what just happened.

I hear Grace’s car start and back out of the driveway. She stops when she reaches the end where I’m walking onto the street. She rolls down her window.

I stop to a slow stroll.

“I just want clarification here,” she says. “You are coming back to my place, correct?”

Oh.

OH.

A grin explodes onto my face.

“That’s what I was implying,” she corrects, smiling back at me. “In case you didn’t know. You do … want to, right?”

I throw my hands into my pockets and lean back a little, letting her see the curve in my pants. I want her to see how hard I am—just how bad I want her.

Her eyes flick down and back up.

Her tongue rolls out to lick her bottom lip.

Christ.

“Yes ma’am, I’ll be there,” I say.

“And you’re going to fuck me until I can’t stand anymore?”

I grin, barely able to contain myself. What a fox.

I lean into her open window.

“I’m going to fuck you until you tell me to stop.”

Her eyebrow rises once more and her bottom lips barely slides in, biting it—teasing me with just a look.

“Good luck getting me to say that.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ll get you to say a lot of things, Grace.”