The Real(35)

“Har har,” I said as he stood with me still in his hold.

“Dance with me, witchy woman,” he said as he led me to the floor.

We barely fit in the small space. Cameron subtly moved his hips and I followed along.

After a few minutes of silence, he pulled me close and whispered in my ear. “You might not be the jealous type, but I hate the fucking thought of anyone else touching you.”




A few hours later, my body was buzzing along with the music. Despite Cameron’s protest, I drank two pints of the Kitchen Sink and was feeling no pain. I kept my wits about me as the party cranked up, and so did the heat from the number of bodies in the pub. Cameron stayed glued to my side, ever attentive, making sure I was happy and comfortable. He even waited outside the bathroom for me like a true gentleman.

By the end of the night, Max and I were chummy, and Cameron and I were worked up for each other from hours of grinding our bodies on the dance floor. I wasn’t much of a dancer, but I could fake my way through it. The man loved to dance. Not only that, he had rhythm—a hell of a lot of it. He wasn’t a show-off, but he was good at it.

I caught a few more women eyeing him, which made my chest swell with pride, but he kept his eyes trained on my hideous nose. After working up a sweat, I was finally able to get the latex off and it sat at one of the empty pint glasses at our table.

The bar was sweltering when I exited the bathroom after thoroughly washing my face. My hair was slightly tangled, and I’d done my best to comb through it with my hands. I looked a wreck, but my date didn’t seem to give a damn as he greeted me.

“There’s my girl,” he whispered, cupping my chin before he placed a kiss on my nose. “You ready to go?”

“Sure.”

“Hungry?”

“Starving, actually.”

“Let’s go.” Cameron led us through the bar as we searched for Max to say goodbye. He was in a deep conversation with a little devil and gave us a half wave.

“I guess we’ll meet her some other time,” Cameron said with a look over his shoulder.

“You think he’s okay?” I asked, looking Rachel over before he pulled me out the door. She was beautiful, and from what I could tell, she appeared upset. Max looked like he was on the verge of tears.

“That didn’t look good. I hope everything’s okay.”

“I’ll check on him later.” And I knew he would. Cameron was the type.

“Maybe we should go back.” I stopped my feet, haunted by the amount of pain in Max’s eyes when he had been all smiles moments earlier.

“You can’t fix that. They have to work it out, Abbie.”

“I know, it’s just . . . he told me more about them when you were getting our drinks. She has a son, and Max loves him. I just wish we could help.”

Cameron’s eyes glittered over me.

“What?”

“I love the way you care about people. It’s such a good thing. It’s like your heart is too big for you.”

“So, I’m not a witchy woman?”

“Of course you are,” he said with a smirk. “You ripped my head off when I woke you up Saturday.”

“It was early.”

“It was noon, you big poser. When we first met, you were all dolled up early for our coffee dates,” he said with a laugh as we walked outside to discover it was sleeting. The brisk air hit us, and we both sighed in welcome.

“Wait here, I’ll get us a cab.”

“Okay, good, because I’m melting, melting!” Cameron rolled his eyes and jogged to the street, successfully flagging down a taxi. Once he gave me the signal, I burst into a sprint to meet him there.

Cameron grinned as I met him at the door. “That was cute.”

“What was cute?” I asked as I slid into the seat to make room for him.

“That little dance you just did.”

I bit my lip as he shut the door, his hair covered in glistening water.

“Oh.”

“Oh?” he said, confused. He spoke to the driver, “Hollywood Grill.”

We took off like a shot away from the curb as I spoke under my breath. “I wasn’t dancing.”

“What?” Cameron asked. “What were you doing?”

Meh. Next subject.

“I love Hollywood Grill. They have good chicken fried steak, though Bree said it’s shit, but that’s like the state dinner of Georgia I think.” I snorted at my own joke.

“Don’t change the subject. What was that back there?”

I grimaced. Damn Kitchen Sink punch. “I was running.”

“You were what?”

“I was running.”

Despite my warning look, his laughter didn’t stop until we got to the diner.




Hollywood Grill was a ’50s style eatery and the best place to soak up a night of drinks in Wicker Park. When Bree and I moved to the neighborhood, we used to frequent the diner often after our late nights. It had been years since I’d been there. I missed my good-time girl and shot off a text to her telling her so as I sat with my good-time guy, who was still grinning at me.

“So that was running?”

“Would you drop it?” I scorned. “I think we’ve had enough fun tonight at my expense.”