Scratch The Surface - Mary Calmes Page 0,45

the talking-on-the-phone stage. That’s it.”

“What does he do?” my mother asked, her eyes narrowing.

I cleared my throat. “He’s an assistant manager at a restaurant, and he’s going to school to get his master’s in social work. He also counsels teens at a youth center.”

“And does he spend his free time deworming puppies?” Courtney groused, rolling her eyes.

“No, he pulls kittens from trees so the firemen don’t have to do it,” Cody added with a smirk. “Gimme a break, Cam.”

“Never mind them,” my mother directed, meeting my gaze. “Putting oneself through school to help others is quite admirable.”

I smiled at her. “I agree.”

She tipped her head as she regarded me. “He’s impressed you.”

Jeremiah Wolfe had more than impressed me. After hearing about his mother leaving when he was young, the fact that he’d been working to take care of himself, making something of himself, I was in awe. I realized the importance of letting him know I knew about his mother abandoning him. If he found out later I’d known almost from the start, it might become an issue. Transparency was always the best answer.

Excusing myself, I got up and left the hospital room, walking down the corridor to a small, but thankfully empty, waiting room. I got him on the third ring.

“Hey,” he answered, and he sounded exhausted, which was odd since it was only a bit after nine.

“I’m sorry, are you working?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Then did I wake you?”

No answer.

I cleared my throat, realizing I’d made a mistake. “Hey, I’ll let you go. I’ll call back in the morning.” I tried hard to sound upbeat, even though I felt utterly dejected. My heart hurt, and it was stupid. I didn’t expect him to be happy to hear from me every time I called. That wasn’t what I––

The FaceTime call interrupted me second-guessing myself. I answered and saw a man who looked like hell. I was surprised at my own reaction, my stomach knotting tight, the catch of my breath and the twinge in my heart.

“I’m so glad you called. I wanted to talk to you,” he told me, “but I’m kinda scared you’re gonna tell me to get lost after what I have to say, or even in the middle of it, because you’re going to realize I’m more trouble than I’m worth.”

And suddenly I could breathe again. “No, sir. I knew you were going to be trouble the moment I laid eyes on you, and that didn’t deter me in the least.”

“That’s ’cause ya wanted to get laid” came the matter-of-fact reply.

“True,” I agreed, smiling at him. “But guess what? I seem to be just as interested in you as I am in your cock.”

His snort of laughter made me gasp over the words that had tumbled out of my mouth. God, who was I?

“Well, that is really good news,” he assured me, still chuckling. “Because I definitely wanna be more than just a guy you enjoy fucking.”

“Yes, but see, it was more to me than just fucking.”

“No, I know,” he rasped, taking a strained breath. “Same here.”

“Really?” I almost gasped.

“Yes, really. You think I can’t feel the same way, why? Because I’m a whore?”

“You’re not a whore; stop pretending you are.”

“Listen, I––”

“The Bowens told us yesterday at Kingman’s that your mother left you when you were fourteen.”

His groan was long and pained. “That’s just fuckin’ great.”

“I think it’s amazing you took care of yourself all alone.”

“Yeah, but I had to sell my body to eat, Cameron, and you know it because that’s what I was doing when I met you.”

“Not true. When I met you, you were helping a very drunk and unconscious stranger get safely to his room. What brought you to the hotel in the first place was nothing more than a means to an end. It’s not who you are.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I beg to differ.”

“You can say whatever you want; it doesn’t make it true.”

“Except I know you.”

“You can’t.” He exhaled, sounding terribly dejected.

I shrugged.

“As people, we’re defined by what we do.”

“That’s deep.”

His glare was fast. “Don’t patronize me. I’ve whored myself, and that defines me.”

“I disagree.”

“You can disagree all you want, but that doesn’t change the reality of it.”

“I don’t care.”

“That’s bullshit. You care.”

“Only insomuch as I wish you didn’t have to anymore.”

“I don’t,” he muttered angrily. “I mean, it’s been—God, I don’t know when the last time was before the other night.”

I pounced on his words. It happened before I was even aware I was speaking. “What do you mean?”

“I

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