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“That’s the second time I’ve left you speechless, lass. Imagine what would happen if I dropped the towel. I’d probably have to call you an ambulance.”
The internet is bursting with examples of the power of mind over matter in achieving your goals, and who am I to question the word of someone named SkinnyGirl69 who claims to have lost half her body weight in a month from following a simple diet of eating nothing but air?
“The heart wants what it wants,” Cam says, watching me steadily. “But sometimes what you think is love is just a beautiful form of self-destruction. The worst thing in life is to give yourself away in exchange for nothing.”
“Stop pretending you’re a mouse, dragon lady, and go after what you want. In fifty years, we’ll all be dead. Carpe diem.”
“I don’t ever wanna hear you put yourself down again, Joellen. Don’t do it out loud, and don’t do it in your head, either. Show yourself some damn respect, woman, or no one else will.”
“You’re not weird. You’re unique. There’s a difference.”
My stomach drops. I’ve made a colossal, unintentional, but nonetheless unforgivable error. My boss thinks I’ve just propositioned him. I’m going to be fired for sexual harassment. My career is over. I might as well go visit the animal shelter now and adopt the rest of my cats.
Cam’s eyes drift open. “Easy, lass,” he says softly, pulling me back to him. “We’re not done yet.” Before I can decide if I want to keep going, he decides for us both by taking my mouth again and easing his tongue between my lips.
My God. No wonder the man is so popular with women. He should be starring in his own reality show about the life of a colossally well-endowed bachelor.
“Ah, lassie. If it were anyone else but family who made you cry like this, they’d already be in an ambulance.”
Some women can cry prettily, with dainty little feminine tears and elegant noises of distress, but I am not one of those women. I cry the same way I eat: messily, loudly, and with total abandon.
“Good. It’s sorted. You’re not jealous, I’m not your type, and you don’t have eyes for anyone but pretty boy Michael. Now quit yammerin’, woman, because I’ve got other plans for that mouth.”
I could pick Cameron McGregor’s knock out of a police lineup of knocks.
“It’s a lie of omission. It is lyin’.” “God, it’s like you’re looking for an excuse to spank me!” “I’d like an excuse to do a lot of bad things to you, darlin’. You have no idea.”
“Love is war, darlin’. Only thing in life worth sheddin’ blood over.”
I stare at Cam as if he’s insane. “How is treating a man like he’s annoying in any way attractive to said man?” “It doesn’t work with all men. But on lads like him—rich and pretty, used to havin’ women fall at his feet—it works like a charm. Because you’re a challenge, you see? You’re different. He has to chase you, which is fun but also establishes that you have value. You won’t just hand yourself over. When a man has to work hard for somethin’ he wants, he values it twice as much when he finally gets it. Then you’re a prize that he earned, not a gift he was given.”
Who’re the flowers for?” He looks left, right, then behind him. “Is there someone else who lives in this apartment?”
“How come you never smile in photographs?”
His laugh dies, his smile fades, and his eyes take on a strange hardness. I sense I’ve stepped into a minefield, but I’m already here. Might as well jump right in. “I mean, I see you smiling and laughing all the time, like you are right now, but in pictures you always look kind of . . . miserable.” Silent, Cam looks at me for what feels like a long time. Then he says, “You can’t really be that naïve.” His gruff tone surprises me, as do his words. “What do you mean?” “I mean spend a little time thinkin’ about what you just asked me, woman, and you’ll find your goddamn answer.”
“And you can’t see past the end of your nose, but here we are anyway.”
“You’re calling me a prude?” Mischief glints in his eyes. “No man who’s ever kissed you would call you a prude, darlin’.
“Don’t break your brain overanalyzin’ that, Joellen,” says Cam drily. “I can’t help it. My brain is set to think things to death.”
“All right. Here’s what I think about you ditchin’ your glasses.” I open my eyes and wait for him to continue, chewing my thumbnail in nervousness. “I don’t think you should do it.” Am I relieved? Or disappointed? Annoyed? Lord, the man twists me up like a pretzel. “I have contact lenses, but I never wear them because they make my eyes red.” “Thank you for sharin’,” he drawls. “Ask me why I don’t think you should get rid of your glasses.” “Why don’t you think I should get rid of my glasses?” “Because they make you look smart, and sexy, and like you don’t give a fuck, which is also sexy.”
“I wasn’t finished.” That sounds fairly ominous, so I start to chew my thumbnail with renewed vigor. “The main reason I don’t think you should get rid of them is because you prefer them. If you didn’t, you’d wear your contacts or get laser surgery. But you like your glasses, so that’s what you should wear.”
“The number of fucks you should give about what men think of how you look is zero, lass. Every choice you make about your appearance should be about what makes you feel good, not what makes some random lad—or your mother—think you’re cute. Don’t set aside your preferences for anyone.”
Oh boy! 🤤 What's sexier than a man that wants you to be yourself no matter what!
“And another thing. Learn to stop saying ‘Sorry,’ and say ‘Don’t interrupt me.’ Learn to say ‘No’ and ‘None of your business.’ Learn to be unapologetic for who you are and what you like and the opinions you hold. I know you think that if other people considered you beautiful, all your problems would be solved, but you’d just have different problems. And they’d all still revolve around the fact that deep down, you don’t think you’re good enough. That’s a lie you learned, and you can unlearn it, but it has to start with you. You have to decide to accept yourself. It’s cliché, but you really do
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Don't interrupt me and none of your business!
“Promise me something,” he whispers into my hair. “What?” “No matter what happens with Michael, we’ll still be friends.” “I thought you didn’t want to be friends.” His sigh is a big gust of air. “God, you’re an idiot.” “That’s probably not something you should say to someone with low self-esteem,” I tease. He rests his temple against mine and sighs again, but this time it sounds impossibly sad. “Aye, but you know I say it with love, lass. Always with love.”
Go look up the word unrequited in the dictionary. You might be surprised to see a picture of me beside the definition.
I tried to take a few more “risqué” shots, but the front-facing camera on an iPhone is designed to kill a person’s soul.
If that's what an iPhone front camera is designed for I don't want to think what for were designed that front cameras of other phones
“You told me before you told your mum?” I stop jumping up and down and make a face at him. “Why do I feel like that’s going to be followed with a lecture about how much I’m in love with you, but I just don’t realize it yet?” “Because you are, and you don’t.”
“Your body isn’t a thing to be looked at and judged against some standard of perfection that doesn’t even really exist. It’s the vessel that takes you through life, allowin’ you to experience all the beautiful things life has to offer. Food. Sex. Sunsets. Music. Hugs. Laughter. A healthy body is a gift. Don’t take it for granted. Don’t treat it like some cheap one-night stand. Treat it like the love of your life. Treat it with respect and tenderness, but most of all, gratitude. “And a healthy dose of awe, too. Your body is made of remnants of stars and massive explosions in the galaxies. Every
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“You know what? A wise woman once said, ‘Fuck this shit’ and lived happily ever after.”
I let Cam stare until I can’t take it anymore. “Well?” His voice low and husky, he says, “Let’s just say I’m glad I’m already sittin’ down.”
Pleased, I look down at myself. “I’m taking that as a compliment.” “Aye. It’s a compliment. But if you knew what I was really thinkin’, lass, you’d run back into that bedroom and bolt the door behind you.”
“Is that bad?” He draws a breath through his nose, a long one, like he’s biting his tongue or trying to cool his temper. Then he stands, leaving his empty beer bottle on the coffee table. He crosses to me and takes my face in his hands. “No,” he says softly, looking into my eyes. “It’s not bad. You want to please your man—I get it. Just don’t forget who you are. Don’t forget what you are, Joellen. Not for anyone.” My heartbeat is now the wild, thundering gallop of a pack of stallions flying over the open plains. “What am I?” I whisper, terrified of the answer. “Perfect.”
All I see is Cam’s face. All I hear is his voice telling me I’m perfect. Well, I also hear the critical voice that’s always with me telling me that Cam has obviously ingested a lot of drugs if he thinks I’m anywhere close to perfect, but I force that voice to a dark corner of my mind and allow myself to accept that maybe I don’t have to be perfect. Maybe having one person who thinks I am is enough.
Me, standing alone at the door, wearing a drop-dead gorgeous red dress that cost half a month’s pay, a pair of glittery sky-high heels that make my legs look fantastic, and my cheap everyday glasses with the black plastic frames. Because I’m fucking perfect, that’s why.
“Have you already forgotten what I told you before you left?” “No, but you’re biased because you’re in love with me.” Cam stops breathing. The air goes electric. I was teasing, the way he always teases me about being in love with him, but the look on his face . . . oh God. How many times I wished Michael would stare at me with such reckless desire. Entire cities are burning to the ground behind Cam’s eyes.
“I’m gonna get you naked. Then I’m gonna make love to you. Then you’re gonna tell me if you want it sweet and tender again, or if you want it dirty and hard.”
I suck in a surprised breath. My hands curl to fists in the blankets. His warm breath feathering over my skin, Cam rasps, “Wanted to do that since the second I laid eyes on you, standin’ at my door in that ugly green sweater, tellin’ me to turn the music down, all curves and sass.”
He cuts off with a groan as I come, everything inside me clenching and unclenching in fast, furious waves. It’s good, so good, oh God, so good. I don’t realize I’ve said that aloud until Cam agrees with me. “I knew we’d be perfect together.”
He’s so beautiful it’s like I’m having sex with a piece of art.
It’s late—or early. I don’t know which. I’m snug in bed in the circle of Cam’s arms, tracing my fingers over all the tattoos on his chest because I want to remember every detail about him after he’s gone. I’ll need something to sustain me through the next fifty celibate years.
He’s all that he is, and he loves books. Why, universe? Why give me this with someone who has a life on the other side of the world?
After a long, tense moment, Cam says, “Wow. That was bloody depressin’. Try again. And this time keep it short and just say yes.”
He puts his lips against my ear and speaks softly and slowly, like you would to a scared wild animal. Or someone really stupid. “Number one, I don’t give a fuck about our age difference. Neither should you. Number two, my house is always filled with people because I’m lonely, not because I love parties. Two B, my life isn’t glamorous. Before I met you, it was a car goin’ a hundred kilometers an hour straight toward a cliff. Number three, the only thing I’ll ever resent about you is your relentless commitment to put yourself down. I don’t have an answer to the possibility that you might get
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“Tell me I’m wrong and you didn’t sneak out without saying good-bye after we had sex four times and some intense, soul-baring afterglow. Tell me you just came over to feed the cat and were on your way back when I knocked.”
He spins around and stalks back to his apartment, slamming the door just so I know that even though he’s inviting me to come over whenever I want for more mind-blowing sex, he’s still mad.
I’m shit with good-byes and we’re not talking anyway, so I’m skipping that part and staying at a hotel tonight. My offer was serious. It still is. My door will always be open for you. Yours until the sun flames out and all life on earth is extinguished, Prancer
“Why have you always been such a bitch to me?” She wasn’t expecting that. I can tell because she says, “I wasn’t expecting that.”
