The Real(33)

“That was an accident,” Max retorted.

“I rest my case,” Cameron said with a laugh.

They sparred like Bree and I did, and I felt comforted that Cameron had his own version of her.

Cameron leaned in and exchanged hushed words with him. Though I felt like I was intruding, he refused to let go of my hand. Max nodded and eyed me before he clapped Cameron on the shoulder. “Relax, man, it’s a party. I’ll get you two a drink. What are you supposed to be anyway?”

“A warlock,” Cameron said as if it were obvious—which it was anything but.

“You look like Professor Hinkle,” Max said as Cameron flipped him the bird.

“We both had Hinkle our first year at UChicago,” Max explained. “Hinkle had a rare form of narcolepsy. Rumor had it, whenever he laughed too hard, he knocked out. I spent my whole first year trying to make it happen.”

“You’re such an asshole. That’s probably why he failed you,” Cameron mused.

“He didn’t fail me. I got a better grade than you.”

“Calm down, I believe you.”

“You should, you were drunk that whole first year,” Max said.

Cameron looked my way with an explanation. “I was homesick. I was coping.”

“Yeah, coping. You coped all right,” Max said, chuckling. “Living in a sea of shredded co-ed thongs.”

With that, Cameron’s grin was wiped from his face, yet my smile emerged.

“Really?” I arched a brow as Cameron glared at Max, who cleared his throat.

“Yep, this guy was a momma’s boy through and through. I thought he was going to cry when she left him at the dorm our first day.” He put his hand on Cameron’s shoulder. “But I loved that woman. Emma was one of a kind.”

Unspoken words passed between them, and I knew then Max was my new favorite person. Anyone could read between the lines that underneath the jokes and playful ridicule lay respect and genuine affection.

“I thought you were going to get us drinks,” Cameron said.

“I’m on it.” Max wandered off through the crowd while Cameron managed to grab us an empty two-seater booth at the corner of the dance floor. He sat down and tugged me into his lap.

“So,” he said, tracing the hem of my neckline with his finger before flicking his eyes to mine. Do you have a curfew tonight?”

“Nope.” Leaning in, I took a whiff of his cologne, which was incredible, a mix of all things man.

“Good to know,” he said as he circled my wrist with his fingers. A low pulse began to beat as I leaned into him. His eyes zeroed in on my cleavage. “This dress is cruel,” he murmured. “Would it be totally inappropriate if I motorboated you?”

“Yes,” I said, running my hands through the hair at the back of his neck. “I like Max,” I said, nodding my head toward him just as he looked our way and grinned. “What does he do for the government?”

“He’s a contractor, like you.”

“He’s probably having more fun than I am at the moment. I can’t wait to start my new job. The one I have now is becoming a pain in the ass, and I have a love/hate relationship with the staff I’m working with.”

“It’s a good thing you’re moving on then.”

“My eyes are up here, Coach.”

Cameron leaned in, attempting to make good on his motorboat threat, and I pushed his face away.

“What is it about boobs?”

“Do you want an intelligent Freud type of answer or the truth as I know it?”

“Is there an intelligent response, Professor Hinkle?”

He gave me a side eye. “I knew it was trouble putting you two together.”

I glanced at Max. “I told you I’d get the dirt. Player, huh?”

Cameron winced.

“I plead the fifth,” he said, looking up at me through thick black lashes. “Those are the rules.”

I wrinkled my four-inch nose, and he pulled me closer. “Is it bothering you?”

“No. Of course not. I always assumed it, honestly.”

He frowned. “And why is that?”

“The way you look. And a man doesn’t get as confident as you are by not having a collection of sexcapades.”

He flashed me his pearly whites. “Sexcapades?”

“Were you the frat guy?”

“Maybe,” he said as he turned us around and leaned in. “Abbie, it was a long time ago.”

“I know. I’m cool with it. Just curious.”

He tried to read me for jealousy that wasn’t there, but I told him anyway.

“I’m not really the jealous type. I had a moment or two when I was younger, but I grew out of it. I think once you reach a certain age, you realize how pointless it is.”

“Well, if it helps my case, I stopped thinking with my dick a long, long time ago.”

“I’m sure. But I’m guessing when you were a player, you were still a gentleman.”

“I was,” he said with the twitch of his lips.

“Let me guess, you mopped up their tears with their ripped thongs after the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech before you made them breakfast.”

“I make good waffles,” he assured with a wry grin.