He almost smiles. “I could. But I won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
His arms are draped over his bent legs, his black mesh shorts riding up on his thighs. He looks so long and lean and sweaty and sexy, and I wish I could pretend I didn’t see Hannah touching him. I wish I could erase it from my mind.
“How did the event go?” he asks quietly.
>
“Fine. Raised a lot of money. Goal achieved.”
“That’s great.”
“Then why don’t I feel better about it?”
“Get up here,” he grins, patting the mat next to him.
A part of me screams to stay the course, be mad, keep the distance, but for my good and his, I need to touch him. To make sure he’s okay.
My heels are off and I’m slipping under the ropes before I can heed the devil on my shoulder’s warning. Sitting next to him, I lay my head on his shoulder. “I’m still very, very angry,” I warn. He pulls me closer and I take a deep breath. “I have something to tell you.”
“What?”
“It doesn’t matter one way or the other, really, but I’d want you to tell me.”
“Cam . . .”
“Barron Monroe asked me to Paris tonight.”
“Paris as in France?”
“Yes.”
“Some asshole asked you to Paris?”
“Yes.”
He shakes his head like he can’t believe it. “I’ll kill him.”
Shrugging, I blow out a breath. “You could’ve been there. Bet he wouldn’t have asked me then.”
“I definitely don’t think those are my people. I think they’re the kind of people that get my kind of people sent to prison.”
“Well, I think that about your kind of people.”
“What?”
“I have a thing against trashy gym whores that put their hands on my man, okay?”
“It wasn’t like that, Cam.”
“It was enough like that that I want to break her in half.”
He bursts out laughing, pulling my head into his chest. It’s damp with sweat and probably ruining my make-up, but I don’t care. As a matter of fact, I cuddle as close to him as I can and breathe him in, touching his back lightly until he jumps from pain.
“I’m not kidding,” I say. “I have moves now, remember?”
“Oh, I remember,” he chuckles. “You better work on that before you go throwing punches.”