Fauxmance (Showmance #2)(34)
“Sure, go ahead,” I replied.
As soon as he left the room, I turned to Rainbow and Skittles and rolled my eyes. They’d met Cameron before, so they knew the drill. My brother was only thirty-two, but he had the personality and tolerance of somebody much older. He was like a cranky old grandad in a young man’s body. He had a way of dragging down your mood. Perhaps that was why Nick was so happy and cheerful. He needed to counteract Cameron’s gloominess.
I went about putting together a meal, since I knew he’d be hungry and would complain if there wasn’t anything to eat. He’d call my dad to gripe about what a terrible host I was.
No wonder he was still single.
Cameron wasn’t a bad looking guy. In fact, some might even consider him handsome, before he opened his mouth. Any girlfriends he’s had have eventually gotten tired of his ways and left him. You’d think he’d take the hint and try to lighten up a little, but no, that never happened.
As I put together a cheese and ham omelette, my mind wandered to Julian. His revelation last night still had me reeling. I felt this pang in my chest for him and I didn’t know why. I was glad he found fulfilment in what he did, but to me, there was just something terribly empty about having sex with woman after woman after woman.
Of course, that was my own sheltered experience of life colouring my judgement. I’d only had sex with one person, and that barely even counted. I’d been eighteen and steaming drunk. I lost my virginity to John Simpson, one of Nick’s close friends, something he still didn’t know about to this day. It had been messy and fumbling and my memories of the night were vague. I drank an entire bottle of wine and came onto him during Nick’s twentieth birthday party at our house. I had a crush on him for years, but I was pretty sure John barely noticed me up until that night.
So yeah, when it came to sex, I knew very little. All the love scenes in my books were ‘closed door’. People enjoyed the stories because they were fun and entertaining. Sasha lived a fast-paced life, had great banter and was always on the hunt for a new article. I could write scenes of flirting and sexual tension for days, but when it came to actual sex, I left that to the reader’s imagination. Mainly because my own imagination didn’t have any real-life experience to draw from.
I was mostly okay with it. Sure, deep in my heart I yearned for a partner, someone to spend my life with. It had just always been so hard for me to put myself out there. When I considered going out and trying to meet people, it was like there was this invisible forcefield preventing me. One time, I’d decided to go for a drink at a pub down the road. For a full twenty minutes I stood outside, willing myself to open the door, sounds of chatter and joviality coming from within. When a man approached, about to go into the pub, and asked if I’d like to join him for a drink, I’d mumbled some incoherent excuse and ran home.
Cameron walked into the kitchen, his hair damp and wearing a T-shirt and lounge pants.
Normally, we didn’t talk about personal stuff, but I was feeling raw and he was the only one around. That might’ve been why I blurted, “Cam, do you think there’s something wrong with me?”
He didn’t miss a beat as he took the omelette I’d just plated up and carried it over to the table without so much as a thank you. “You’ve always been in your own little world,” he said past a bite.
“I’m not in my own little world. I’m very much in touch with reality. I suffer from social phobia. There’s a difference. I was just wondering if you have any theories on why I’m like this?”
He blinked, shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “You’re not on your period, are you?”
Ugh, he was horrible. “No, I’m not on my period. And just as a piece of advice, please don’t ever ask any woman that question again. I just want to know your opinion. You’ve known me my whole life. Do you think there’s something that’s made me this way, or do you think I was born like this?”
Cameron shrugged and continued chewing. He was silent a long while, looking tense and vaguely irritated before he said, “When you were little you didn’t talk to anyone expect me, Dad and Nick.”
“Yes, I had selective mutism.”
“Sounds like something you’d be born with.”
“What about Mum dying? Maybe that affected me somehow.”
He frowned hard, his jaw working. “You were only two years old. It hardly affected you.”
“Even babies are affected by their circumstances. Like, if they’re not held enough and stuff, it can affect them later in life.”
Cameron scoffed. “Who told you that?”
“I read it in a book.”
“Babies are a lot more resilient than people think. Most likely, losing mum didn’t affect you.”
“So, you think I was born this way?”
“Maybe.” He was quiet a moment, then said, “Everyone in our family is a little weird.”
I placed a hand on my hip. “Okay, explain.”
Cameron exhaled an annoyed breath, like he’d much rather sit in silence than be having this conversation. “Nick’s a perennial teenager. It’s like he’s stuck at nineteen, working in that café, dating women far too young for him. Dad’s obviously going through some sort of mid-life crisis with Shayla, and I’m…” he trailed off, grimaced, then didn’t continue.