The Real(59)

I stared at him long and hard. Cameron wasn’t the type of man to harbor sick tendencies. But I’d thought the same thing of Luke.

Whatever it was he was trying to confess, I thought it was more major in his mind than it would be in mine. Then again, I was too much of a coward to find out.

He was everything I wanted. Honest to a fault, highly intelligent, self-reliant, successful, thoughtful, and highly sexual, which I didn’t know I needed until I found him.

If we could keep going a little longer without our scars weighing us down, I knew the strength of our relationship would grow. It had only been months. Mere months with him and my whole life had changed. I’d been flipped upside down, hit hard with a love I knew I would feel for a lifetime.

Still, I couldn’t help but type out the words.

Abbie’s Mac: Tell me.

I deleted each letter one by one and sent the coward’s response.

Abbie’s Mac: Not yet. Please.

His posture told me he was just as wary of the exchange, but he was calling it, and I still wasn’t ready to show my cards. I wasn’t ashamed of what happened. I wasn’t even afraid to talk about it, but I didn’t want to.

Our relationship was too perfect. Too right.

Fuck Luke. He had no place in our lives. We were happy. That was our present and future; the past could only disrupt it.

Abbie’s Mac: Not tonight.

Cameron’s Mac: Okay.

Abbie’s Mac: Okay?

He gave me a small smile, despite his worry etched features.

Cameron’s Mac: Love your cup.

I lifted the mug up that read You are the luckiest guy in the world. I would love to be dating me. and gave him a wistful grin.

Abbie’s Mac: Don’t blame me for all the bedding. You know I’ve never been this horny in my adult life. You’ve changed me.

Cameron’s Mac: I’m proud my new girlfriend is insatiable. Who knew you were such a pervert?

Abbie’s Mac: Your wicked tongue drew it out of me. I have to say I’m just as surprised as you are.

Cameron’s Mac: Spread your legs a little, baby.

My lips parted at his candor, but I didn’t hesitate to show him my lacy, bright pink panties.

Cameron’s Mac: Nice.

Abbie’s Mac: They’d look better on my floor.

Cameron scanned the café. We were mostly alone in our section. And those sitting in it had their heads buried in their devices.

Cameron’s Mac: Move them to the side.

Abbie’s Mac: What happened to getting back to the basics of us?

Cameron’s eyes stayed heated as he adjusted his cock and began to type.

My movement stopped as he kept his eyes glued to my hand that slipped beneath the table before I pushed my panties to the side.

Cameron’s Mac: Fuuuuuuck.

I was tempted to type with one hand.

Abbie’s Mac: Say the word and we can be at my place in minutes.

Cameron’s Mac: Abbie . . .

Abbie’s Mac: I keep thinking about the night in the back of the limo. I want a repeat.

I licked my lips to show which part of said indiscretion I was talking about.

Cameron’s Mac: Jesus. You will be my undoing. Behave yourself.

Abbie’s Mac: Too bad.

Since the winter formal, we’d done nothing but feast on the other, and even on Super Bowl Sunday—a day Cameron donned a holiday—it took a back seat to our thirst.

We’d managed to catch the end of the game at Pint—a local pub on Milwaukee Ave and Cameron’s favorite—with Bree and Anthony. But upon our disheveled arrival, they both knew what we’d been up to.

With my family, Super Bowl Sunday together was tradition due to my dad’s fandom, and my brother was more than peeved when I told him my whereabouts.

“All that guilt about keeping with the family and you ditch Gorman tradition to slum it where?”

“Pint, it’s a little pub in Wicker. Cameron’s favorite.”

“You are so on my shit list,” Oliver whined.

“Hey, for once I get to be the bad kid. I’m cool with that.”

“I heard that,” my mother yelled in the background.

“Have fun, kiddo,” my father yelled after. My dad was always the encouraging one.

“Get me off speaker phone, Dr. Dick.”

“Bring him here,” Oliver said with authority.

“Not yet. Soon.”

“Yeah, that’s what you said last time,” he warned.

“Don’t do that, Oliver. You need to trust me. I’ve had a hard enough time doing it myself.”

“Fine. Bree likes him?”

“Yes,” I said with a grin as I watched Bree and Cameron go back and forth as I stood in a quieter spot in the corner of the pub. I was dressed in the oversized jersey Cameron had gifted me hours earlier. Only, as I got dressed, he’d decided to peel it back off.

“Then I guess I’ll give you a pass. But, Abbie . . . just be careful.”

“He’s not Luke. Not by a longshot.”

“I believe you.”

“Good.”

“I’ll pick up your slack this time, but you owe me.”

“I owe you nothing, Oliver, and I’m all too happy to recount the days and dates of the reasons why.”

“Whatever,” he said with a chuckle.