Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
The country music went silent.
I couldn’t help but chuckle. I was really here.
“Madonn’,” I muttered, opening the fridge. August and Camden would probably not like the sight of my fridge at home. Theirs was fully stocked with a sampling of virtually everything you could find at the store. I had beer, Styrofoam containers, and condiments in mine.
“Hi.”
I whipped my head to the left and spotted Camden, and I nearly swallowed my tongue. He stood there, hesitating by the den, and grinned shyly. Dressed in only a pair of sweatpants drawn up to his knees.
Could he even buy his own beer? No, really. His entire appearance was a complete mindfuck. Boyish looks combined with the average height of a middle schooler made me wanna ask if he wanted a juice box. But the young man also had ink covering his calves, and he had piercings in both nipples and his right eyebrow.
Not a single mark on his upper body, though. Just pale, soft-looking skin.
I swallowed hard.
Camden Adair wasn’t my usual type, but there was something intoxicating about that boy. It was the mixture of sweet innocence and attitude. I saw it in his eyes every damn week.
And I was staring.
I cleared my throat and closed the fridge again.
But before I could say something, King was back. He opened the door and strode in with two large bags that he set on the kitchen island.
“There you are, darlin’. Did you get to introduce yourself to your latest favorite New Yorker?”
Camden laughed and walked toward me. “I was just about to. Hi, Mr. Fender. I’m Camden.” He stuck out his hand.
I managed to snap out of my state, and I grasped his hand. “It’s Anthony. Nice to meet you in person.”
“You too!”
Just as I was about to break the handshake, I dropped my gaze to his hand and instinctively tightened my grip. You gotta be fucking kidding me. I clenched my jaw. There was a tattoo of a small snake slithering up his thumb.
I released his hand quickly and took a couple steps back. He was peering up at me with curiosity and…something else.
Was it him?
“Did you find anythin’ to drink, Anthony?” King asked.
I ignored how my heart was suddenly pounding furiously, and I forced myself to turn away from Camden. King was safer. He was busy unloading groceries onto the counter.
“Ah—no. I was thinking. With introductions out of the way, perhaps it’s best if I head over to my motel and return tonight. I don’t wanna interrupt whatever you’re—”
“But you just got here,” Camden protested. “I wanna know everything about the Fender Initiative.”
I side-eyed him. At least those words brought me some relief. Music was a topic I didn’t have to worry about, and it made perfect sense if he had an interest in playing an instrument and wanted to discuss that. What didn’t make sense, however, was the possibility of Camden calling me hot behind an anonymous BDSM account on Instagram.
Because if he was the guy who’d followed me and liked several of my photos, I’d just walked into some kinky dynamic that was none of my business.
“It’s your choice, of course. I understand you must be exhausted,” King said patiently. “But you’re not interruptin’ anythin’. My only plan is to throw the meat for tonight in marinade and park my ass on the patio with a beer.”
“It’s settled, then!” Camden said triumphantly. Then he legit grabbed my arm and tried to drag me toward the patio. Emphasis on tried. He didn’t pack a whole lot of strength in his perfect little body.
His behavior wasn’t very reassuring either, because he reminded me of the unfiltered glimpses I’d seen of my buddy Moshe.
“Did your feet grow roots?” Camden grunted and stared down at my feet.
My mouth twitched with humor.
He had to know he wasn’t acting…normal.
If he didn’t know, King seemed to. He was frowning at the boy. “Camden.”
The two locked eyes, and King’s look was pointed—a silent reminder of something that made Camden release my arm and avert his gaze to the floor.
“I apologize, Anthony,” King said. “We don’t entertain often. And Camden was clearly raised by a pack of wolves.”
“Was not,” Camden whispered. Next, he excused himself to go to the bathroom, and he disappeared out of the other kitchen entrance.
Dejection was written all over his posture, and it tugged at something in me.
King followed after sending me another look of apology, and I had a feeling he was beginning to regret having a bunch of people over for a barbecue. Because there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell they had a regular relationship dynamic. They reminded me too much of my friends, although Moshe handled the transition between family life and playtime much easier. But it was still there, like an undercurrent, obvious to those who knew.
The psychology major in me had always been fascinated, and I didn’t think twice about taking a few steps closer to the doorway to see if I could overhear anything. Douchebag move of me, but whatever.