[Kendall]
"You said you didn't want to think. Did it help?" His words carry a weight, a quiet sincerity that makes my heart ache in a way I wasn't prepared for.
"I'm not thinking anything," I whisper, my voice raw, as I look away, my fingers brushing over the marks he left on my skin. Camden laughs softly, rubbing a hand over his face.
"Then it did work," he chuckles, his laughter warm and somehow comforting, like a balm on my scattered nerves.
I have no idea what to do with myself now. My body feels heavy and weightless at the same time, like I'm floating in some strange, blissful limbo. I stand up on shaky legs, unsure of what happens next, and mumble, "I think I'll take a shower."
Camden nods, throwing a forearm over his eyes as if he, too, is processing what just happened, giving me space. I leave the room, the cool air of the hallway hitting me like a shock, and head to the bathroom.
I stare at myself in the mirror for a long time, at the marks Camden left on my throat, the little red bruises on my hips.
Had that really just happened?
Did I just sleep with Camden Andretti?
The thought feels unreal, but the evidence is all over my skin, undeniable.
I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on me, before I turn the shower on as hot as I can. The water hits my skin in a rush, scalding and comforting all at once, washing away the momentary haze. I can't think about Bruno, not now, not when I just had the best sex of my life with my best friend's older brother. For the first time since last night, I feel like I can breathe again, the weight of everything lessened, at least for now.
I let the water run cold before I get out. When I step back into the room in my robe, my dark hair wet and cascading down my back, Camden's sitting up on the edge of the bed, shirtless. His gaze lifts to meet mine, and I catch a glimpse of something there-something warm and intense-that makes my heart skip a beat.
I haven't cut my hair since I was a teenager, and it's probably my only vanity. But the way he looks at me now, the way his eyes linger, makes me feel beautiful in a way I never thought I could. It's an intimacy that goes beyond the physical, something deeper, something I can't even begin to understand.
Camden looks up at me, and I bite my lip, my hands fidgeting nervously with the fabric of my robe. "What do we do now?"
Camden shrugs, his expression unreadable, but there's a glimmer of something in his eyes that I can't place. "We wait. You like to play cards?"
I smile slightly, relieved that he's keeping it light. "Only if it's Texas Hold 'Em."
"A woman after my own heart," Camden jokes, but my heart skips a beat nonetheless, his words lingering in a way I don't want to examine too closely.
I follow him to the kitchen, my stomach growling loudly, and he laughs. "I'll make you something to eat first," he suggests, pulling out eggs and ham from the refrigerator. The cold air from the open door mingles with the warm kitchen, creating a comfortable cocoon around us. The light from the window slants in, casting soft shadows across Camden's face as he works, his movements fluid and easy.
The sizzle of the eggs in the pan fills the room, mingling with the faint crackle of the ham as it browns. The smells are rich, comforting, and my stomach growls in protest, though part of me wishes I could hold onto this stillness, this moment with him, for a little longer.
"Dante keeps this place stocked," Camden explains, his voice low as he flips the eggs with a practiced hand. His eyes flicker to mine for a moment, a quick, almost imperceptible glance that makes me wonder what's going through his mind.
I sit at the counter, watching him, my fingers lightly tapping the edge of the table. Every inch of him seems so sure of himself, so composed, while I'm left trying to gather the pieces of myself after everything that's happened. There's a weird kind of intimacy in the way he moves around the kitchen, as if he's done this a thousand times and yet, somehow, I'm seeing him in a new light.
The eggs are done quickly, and he slides them onto a plate, adding the ham beside them with a flourish. "You eat well," he says, a hint of surprise in his voice as he watches me scarf it down.
I laugh softly, my cheeks flushing as I take another bite, the food somehow making me feel a little more grounded, a little less lost in the chaos of the past few hours. "I know, right? You can tell," I say, glancing down at my belly roll, a small part of me still self-conscious.
Camden frowns, his gaze unwavering, and for the first time, I don't feel judged. "Eating well is an attractive quality in a woman."
My heart stutters in my chest at his words, a strange warmth spreading across my skin. "It is?" I ask, a little incredulously, and Camden nods, his gaze softening.
"You're very beautiful, Kendall. You should know that." His words are quiet, but they carry weight, sinking into me in a way I wasn't prepared for. His sincerity catches me off guard, and I feel a rush of emotions flooding me-gratitude, warmth, and something deeper, something a little dangerous.
I look away, suddenly unsure of myself, my face turning redder than it already was. "Thank you," I mumble, my voice soft and unsure. It feels like everything has shifted between us in a way I can't quite understand.
As Camden chuckles and shovels more eggs onto my plate, I feel an odd kind of contentment settling into my bones. Despite everything-despite the whirlwind of emotions, the chaos of what's come before-I feel a strange peace in this moment. Maybe it's because he's here, and he doesn't seem to be going anywhere. Or maybe it's because, for once, I'm not thinking about the mess I'm in. I'm just *here* with him.
"I can't eat another bite," I say, pushing the plate away gently, the food settling in my stomach with warmth.
Camden raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Are you sure? There's plenty more where that came from."
"I'm sure," I say, smiling faintly, feeling pleasantly full but also oddly light in his presence.
After breakfast, Camden steps outside, his long, confident stride cutting through the warm sunlight. I linger behind, loading the dishwasher, my hands mechanically moving through the motions as I try to steady the whirlwind of thoughts in my head. The moment feels strangely domestic, a quiet kind of bliss that settles over me, the hum of the house filling the silence.
A pang of longing rises within me-just for a second, a fleeting thought that catches me off guard.
I can't help but think how easy it would be to get used to this.
To mornings like this with Camden Andretti.
But the thought is gone as quickly as it came, fleeting and impossible. Because I know the reality of our situation. It won't last. It can't.
And no matter how much I wish otherwise, I need to remember that.
Or risk losing everything.