Stray for You (Rainbow Rescue Cat Café #3)

Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Julian

I SPEND TEN MINUTES pacing the streets of Seattle before I find the parking lot behind the bar. Cam bursts out of an emergency exit as I watch, rushing toward his car with his gear in tow. He throws his stuff in the trunk in a way that seems a bit rough, but what would I know about music? Maybe this is normal, though I suspect his careless hurry has more to do with me than with efficiency.

From the moment we locked eyes, I felt him wanting to run. I thought he might really do it before his band started playing. Then he … he shone . None of the lights in that bar were as bright as Cam when his fingers started moving along that guitar. The sound that erupted out of him swelled like hot air filling a balloon. It gave the music shape and form even as it occupied every corner of that bar.

I couldn’t look away.

I’m not sure I even breathed until his band finished their set and left the stage. I knew in that moment I couldn’t let this end with a quick glance across a bar. Cameron will hate me for this, more than he already hates me, but I had to find him; I couldn’t let him run away.

So I rushed from the bar without offering the other sales reps even the thinnest excuse and ran outside to find him. I was pretty sure he’d try to leave. He looked about to bolt as soon as the music ended. If he wasn’t escaping through the front door, he had only one choice: this parking lot around the back.

Sure enough, he’s here, his back hunched as he arranges things in his trunk. I approach slowly, as though the crunch of my footsteps might scare him away like a startled squirrel.

“Cam,” I say when I’m just out of arm’s reach.

He flinches, almost knocking his head against the trunk. Slowly, he closes the trunk and faces me, and the fury burning in those dark eyes nearly sends me running for the hills.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he says, voice low, like he had to force it out.

He clutches his keys in his hand like he might try to stab me with them. I know he finds me annoying, but what have I done to make this man murderous every time he sees me?

“Why were you at the show?” Cameron says. “Why are you following me around?”

I’m not sure how to answer that. I could explain that Henry told me about the show, but that will imply that I asked Henry for the information. I did, but that’s beside the point. I don’t want Cameron turning his rage on Henry as well. The guy did nothing but answer my questions. I’m the one who dug for information about Cameron instead of maintaining our silent truce.

The truth is … I wanted to find him. As soon as I knew work was sending me to Seattle, I wanted to find Cameron. I didn’t really care if it was at a café or during a show at a bar, I just wanted to see him. I guess I never really got over my first impression of him back in high school. He was a quiet, broody guy sitting alone in a corner, doodling in a notebook. Something drew me to him, something I couldn’t shake. Something still draws me to him today. But it’s not a feeling I have any name for. It’s more than a silly crush, or I might have gotten over it by now.

When we were kids, I fell back on doing what I always do when I’m unsure: teasing. Poking. It always got a reaction, and negative attention still counted as attention, so I kept on doing it. It became almost routine to poke at Cameron’s insecurities every time I saw him, but there was never any malice behind it. I simply wanted him to notice me.

It’s childish, I know, and I should probably apologize and beg for forgiveness, but being sincere with Cameron is far scarier than being punched. He’d never accept a schoolboy crush as an excuse, especially because we’re far from schoolboys. I should be upfront with the guy, repair whatever I can repair, try to earn his trust, but all of that sounds way less fun than pushing his buttons and watching those dark, piercing eyes laser focus on nothing in the world but me.

Perhaps that’s why I answer him the way I do.

“Can a guy want to reunite with his brother?” I say.

Rage darkens his face. For a second, it looks like he might actually lash out and hit me, but he just grinds his teeth and says, “Cut it out, Julian. I’m not in the mood tonight.”

“Come on, it’s just a joke. Shouldn’t you be with your band?”

“Shouldn’t you be with your conference or whatever?”

“The conference is during the day,” I say. “We do whatever we want at night. And I do mean whatever we want.”

He rolls his eyes at the implications dripping off my words, but it would have been more gratifying to find a flash of jealousy instead. A man can dream.

I step closer, and Cameron’s annoyance flickers into wariness. He can reach me now. He can punch me in the face if he really wants to. Yet he’s the one who seems cornered, his hips against his trunk like it’s a wall boxing him in.

“So, what, you guys sell shit all day then get shitty drunk all night?” Cameron says, clearly trying to sound pissed instead of anxious.

“That’s about the shape of it,” I say with a shrug.

“Thrilling.”

“It can be, if you’re getting drunk with the right people.” Again, I let the implications hang between us.

“Then why aren’t you inside getting drunk with the right people? Now’s your chance,” Cameron says.

“Ah, the vibe in there wasn’t it,” I say. “I thought I’d have more fun out here.”

Cameron narrows his eyes as I inch a bit closer. His gaze flickers up and down me, so quick I’m not sure he even realizes he does it. He’s probably busy telling himself he didn’t look, but I’m under no such illusions. Whatever else has happened between us, I’ve always found him attractive, and I have no qualms about that. He’s slightly taller than me, his dark hair messy in a way that’s begging for fingers curling through it and tugging. And those eyes. When they blaze with anger as they do now, they’re hot enough to scorch. I can only imagine what they’d look like boiling with passion. I’ve always wanted him, and I’ve always gone about it in the worst way possible. Just as I am tonight.

“There’s nothing out here,” Cameron says to rebuff me. “Nothing fun. You should go back inside.” His protests grow weaker with every word.

“I don’t know,” I say easily. “You’re out here, aren’t you?”

“I’m not fun.”

I smirk up at him. “You’re selling yourself short, Cam. I bet you’re all kinds of fun when you let yourself be.”

He puts his hands on my shoulders, but doesn’t actually push me away. Something shifts between us, the thin pretext of this conversation dissolving in the warmth of his hands on me. He’s touched me plenty of times, usually to push me away or elbow me or shove me off of him, but this time is different. There’s more time behind us now. There’s more space between us. I shouldn’t be here, and I’m going to disappear again in a week when I return to the East Coast. Our moms aren’t dating. No one knows we’re behind this bar. The conditions are right to tear down the wall of resentment we’ve erected between us over the years.

“Go home,” Cameron says. “All the way home. Don’t come back here.”

The words should sting, but he’s speaking more quietly, the edge in his voice cooling.

“It’s only a week,” I say, quieting my voice as well. “Just one little week. Then I’ll disappear for good. How much harm can I do in a week?”

His eyes narrow a twitch, a gesture I only catch because I’m so close.

“I hate you,” he says. “I’ve hated you since the day we met.”

“I’m aware.” I glance at his hand on my shoulder. “But you aren’t pushing me away.”

“Shut up,” he says between his teeth.

Working in sales has honed my instincts when it comes to people. I’ve learned to sniff out the tipping point, the moment when they break, when they give in to something they might have been unsure about before. They might not even realize they’re going to give me what I want, but I know. Pouncing on those opportunities has gotten me far in my career.

And tonight, it’s going to get me Cameron.

He puts up no resistance when I close the scant space between us. His fingers tighten subtly on my shoulders as my hands go to his waist and tug him toward me. Our similar heights make it effortless to reach up and kiss him, his lips unsure but yielding all the same.

It starts soft and hesitant, a brush of lips, but when I breathe against him, he shudders in my grip. I turn my head and go in deeper, pressing our mouths more firmly together. Cameron’s is every bit as warm as I always imagined. His kiss is firm and definitive; I’d expect nothing less. He could open me up with his tongue, but he doesn’t, holding at least that much back as our mouths explore.

My head is light. I cling to him for balance as much as to touch him. How long have I wondered about this kiss, and here it is outside some bar in Seattle? It’s the time, the distance, the strangeness of the circumstances. I know even as I kiss him that I could never have this outside of this bizarre setting, but I don’t care. He tastes like that music that exploded out of him, shocking and overwhelming and stunningly beautiful. I could delve into him for the rest of the night learning every corner of him, discovering every piece of him, and suddenly I’m desperate to do just that. This is a fantasy I’ve carried since I was a stupid teenager, and now here it is in my hands, impossibly tangible.

I try to lean toward him, grabbing him harder, pressing not just our mouths but our bodies together. His chest is against mine; his hips meet mine. And I want even more. I want all of it. A kiss isn’t going to be enough, not when I’ve felt the potential lurking behind his lips. We could be something explosive, something incredible, if I can only get him to my hotel tonight.

That’s when Cameron shoves me away.

I stumble back, nearly tripping over my feet in my shock. Cameron wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand like he can scrub away that long, lingering kiss. It brightens his blushing lips, leaving them swollen. God, how I want to kiss him again.

“What the fuck, man?” he says. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

As though he didn’t participate in that. As though he didn’t kiss me back. As though this game we’ve been playing since high school hasn’t always gone both ways.

When I don’t respond, Cameron shakes his head at himself. “Not you. No way. Anyone but you.”

The sting of his words is still stabbing through my chest when he turns for his driver-side door.

“I’ll be here all week,” I call after him as he slides into his car and slams the door shut.

Because the one constant in me and Cameron’s lives has always been me opening my big, stupid mouth when I should keep it shut.

He responds by starting the engine and narrowly missing me when he pulls out of the parking lot. I watch him go, touching the spot on my lips where the memory of his kiss lingers.