The Real(22)

Abbie’s Mac: Okay.

Cameron’s Mac: Show me the finger you’ll use.

I pressed my finger to my lips and sucked.

Cameron’s Mac: Fuck. I need to go. Abbie, I have to go.

Abbie’s Mac: Don’t go.

Cameron’s Mac: I can’t stay a fucking minute longer and respect the rules.

He glanced over at me, his eyes pulling me under. I was sure I was in need of a panty change. And even more so, I was frustrated I couldn’t bring myself to close my Mac and put us both out of our misery.

Cameron’s Mac: I can’t stay. But I’ll keep waiting, Abbie. I promise. Meet me here tomorrow?

Abbie’s Mac: Yes.

My shoulders slumped as he packed his bag. Pushing out my lips, I protested, but he shook his head adamantly. Were we really going to leave each other to touch ourselves in bed?

We were in a silent standoff. It was either pull the trigger and give into the physical or wait it out a little longer. Most of me told me to trust my gut, to try to trust him, but my head wasn’t ready. I sighed and grabbed my purse and my Mac. Cameron stood stoically, patiently waiting for me to leave.

It was cruel to both of us, but we were still safe. All our good intentions toward the other kept intact. Our situation remained respectable, albeit the perverts that existed just under the surface were going to win the war that day.

I hauled ass home, my limbs burning with ache, my skin on fire, and heart pounding at the fact he knew I was racing home to come with his name on my lips. And he was going to do the same.





Abbie’s Mac: Hi. Sorry I’m late.

Cameron’s Mac: You’re still late. I can’t see you.

Abbie’s Mac: I’m here, but please don’t look for me!

Cameron’s Mac: What?

Abbie’s Mac: Stay where you are. I’m here. Just don’t come looking for me.

Cameron’s Mac: Why?

Out of breath, I began frantically typing.

Abbie’s Mac: I’m having an off day and I didn’t have your number to let you know I couldn’t make it. I didn’t want to cancel.

Before I could hit send, his message came through.

Cameron’s Mac: You’re the most beautiful chipmunk I’ve ever seen.

Tears of pain and humiliation filled my eyes. I lowered my head, pulling my beanie down as he stood in all his man-splendor, peering down at me, dimples blazing. He placed his Create, Hustle, Repeat cup next to mine then opened his Mac on my table before taking the seat opposite me. I’d been hiding in the ivy plant section among the older, less used cups. He extended a soft pink buttercup toward me, and I took the flower. I moved to type a thank you, but he stilled my hands.

“Tank you, uh, Denbist,” I pushed out between the bloody cotton.

“Dentist? Wisdom teeth?” he whispered, his voice full of concern.

Hastily, I nodded and typed in an attempt to silence him.

Abbie’s Mac: I forgot I had an appointment. But we don’t need to break our routine. Please. Things are going so well.

“Abbie,” he pleaded, commanding my eyes before he slowly reached across the table, tugging my hand away from the keyboard. I closed my eyes as he laced our fingers, his touch jarring me. I knew I looked like death—pale, jaw pounding, and mouth overstuffed with bloody gauze. Chin wobbling, I was visibly shaking from the pain because the Novocain was wearing off by the second.

“You’re hurting. Did you take anything for the pain?” I shook my head and tried to pull my hand away from the comfort of his so I could explain.

“No,” he said, condemning me while stroking my skin with his fingers. “Not today. Give me your phone,” he commanded. I pulled it out of my purse as he grabbed a napkin from the dispenser on the table next to us and wiped some drool from my mouth. I felt helpless against the pain-induced tear that trickled down my cheek.

“I dibn’t have time to geb my perscibion filbed. I nind’t wan to not show up and you tink de worst.” I shook my head in frustration at my inability to finally talk to him. “Thib is cruel. Let’s twype.”

He chuckled as he gently wiped at the corners of my mouth.

“Abbie, there’s the chink in our armor, okay? We need to loosen up the rules a bit.” He grabbed my phone, held it out for me to unlock it, and when I did, he typed in his info. When he gave it back, I did my best to hide my grimace.

“Okay?”

“Otay,” I said around a mouthful of disadvantage.

He reached for both hands and slid his fingers slowly through mine. My heart seized from his touch alone, but the look in his eyes was enough to have mine watering again, but for a different reason.

It was all there. I was his girl and I was hurting, and it hurt him to see me that way. That’s what I saw, felt, and knew.

“Can I take you home?” he asked as he slid the pads of his thumbs over the top of my hands.

I shook my head. “I don’t live faw. Bree is combing.”

“I’ll wait with you.”

Minutes later, and driven by a need to get closer, I was comfortably resting in Cameron’s arms in the booth surrounded by trickling ivy. It was a different world from the one we’d both grown comfortable in. His clean-scented cologne surrounded me as I sat nestled against his tall frame. I fit perfectly in his strong arms, with one hand resting on his chest, his head tilted down as he spoke softly to me.