‘Out for the count.’
‘You had dinner?’
‘Pizza at Jamie’s.’
‘I left you a Pop-Tart if you’re still hungry.’
‘Cheers.’
‘You going to bed soon?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Promise?’
Another big sigh. ‘Promise.’
I nodded, trusting him. He had a small group of friends he played video games with and didn’t get into trouble with; he was studious, and helpful around the house on occasion. As a little boy he’d been the sweetest thing to ever come into my life. He’d been my shadow. As a teenager things like being openly affectionate with your big sister were uncool. I was learning to adjust to the transition. I refused, however, to ever let a day pass without him knowing how loved he was. Growing up, I’d never had that in my life and I was going to make damn sure that Cole did. No matter how goofy he thought I was. ‘I love you, baby boy. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
I hung up before he could grunt at me again and spun around, only to inhale sharply.
Cam stood before me. He looked at me as he pulled Becca’s phone out of her coat, which was hanging on the rail. His gaze skimmed down my figure again before coming to rest on the floor as he said, ‘You don’t have to ask about the job for me.’
I narrowed my eyes at him, my hackles rising. What was with this guy? What was with my reaction to him? Like I gave a crap what he thought about me. ‘You need the job, right?’
Those deep blue eyes of his met mine again. I watched the muscle in his jaw flex along with his biceps as he crossed his arms over his chest.
I had a feeling it was just pure muscle underneath his shirt.
He gave me no verbal answer, but with body language like that I didn’t need one.
‘Then I’ll ask.’
Without a word of gratitude – not even a nod – Cam turned away and I felt the tension begin to drain out of me. Then, as he stopped and slowly turned back, the tension built up again, as though someone had stuck a plug in my sink.
Although Cam’s lips weren’t full, the upper lip had a soft, expressive curve to it, giving him this perpetually sexy curl. That expressiveness seemed to vanish whenever he directed dialogue my way. His lips thinned. ‘Malcolm is a good guy.’
My pulse picked up speed, having had enough experience of people’s perception of me to know where this was going. I just didn’t want it to be going there with this guy. ‘Aye, he is.’
‘Does he know you’re seeing someone behind his back?’
Okay … I hadn’t expected it to be going there. I found myself mirroring him, my arms crossing over my chest defensively. ‘Excuse me?’
He smirked, his eyes running the length of me for the fifteenth time. I saw a flicker of interest he couldn’t quite hide, but I guessed his disgust for me overruled any masculine appreciation for my body. His eyes were hard when they met mine. ‘Look, I know your type well. I grew up watching a parade of gorgeous bimbos walk in and out of my uncle’s life. They took what they could and then f**ked around on him behind his back. He didn’t deserve that, and Malcolm doesn’t deserve some empty-headed footballer’s-wife-wannabe who thinks that texting on her phone during an adult conversation is socially acceptable or that planning to meet up with another man tomorrow while her boyfriend is standing across the room isn’t morally and emotionally bankrupt.’
I tried to ignore the twist in my gut at his unwarranted assault. For some reason this a**hole’s words penetrated. However, instead of waking up the shame that only I knew existed within me, his words ignited my outrage. Usually, I swallowed my irritation and anger at people, but for some reason my voice wouldn’t listen to my brain. It wanted to spit his words right back at him. I was determined, however, not to approach him in the ‘empty-headed’ manner he expected.
I frowned at him instead. ‘What happened to your uncle?’
At the darkening of Cam’s face, I braced myself for more insult. ‘Married a version of you. She took him for everything. He’s now divorced and in debt up to his eyeballs.’
‘So that would explain why you think it’s okay to judge me? A person you don’t even know.’
‘I don’t need to know you, sweetheart. You’re a walking cliché.’
Feeling the anger boil, I reined it in and turned it down so it simmered carefully, taking a step toward him as I laughed softly, humourlessly. As our bodies closed in on each other, I tried and failed to ignore the crackling of electricity between us. I felt my ni**les harden unexpectedly and was glad for the placement of my arms over my chest so he wouldn’t see. He inhaled sharply at my closeness, his look searing, and I felt it like pressure between my legs.
Ignoring the absurd sexual attraction between us, I glowered. ‘Well, I guess that makes us a pair. I’m a brainless, morally corrupt, money-grabbing bimbo and you’re a jumped-up, pretentious, artsy-fartsy know-it-all dickhead.’ Fighting to cover the trembling coursing through me – a reaction to the adrenaline spiked by my actually standing up for myself for once – I took a step back, satisfied at the flare of surprise in his eyes. ‘See, I can judge a book by its cover too.’