Camden (The Henchmen MC 18)

Instead, he gave me another sweeping glance, then jerked his chin toward where the sound of water splattering on the tub floor was coming from.

He wanted me to go shower?

Instead of talking to him, explaining to him?

I knew I was a mess, but I didn't think I was so revolting that he needed me to bathe just so he could stand being near me.

"Oh, ah, right. I will be right back. You can... you know... make yourself at home," I invited, scurrying away before the sting at the backs of my eyes became actual tears. Because that would be pretty embarrassing.

A dirty, crying girl?

Yeah, he would be running right back to Navesink Bank without a single thought.

I threw myself in the shower, letting a few tears sneak out, but not enough to make my eyes red as I scraped at my skin with a washcloth until my skin was bright red and angry. I washed my hair until it literally squeaked. I shaved. Lotioned. Slipped in the gray leggings and a white tee I had picked out.

I took time brushing out my hair, putting on lip balm, fretting over the way my face still didn't seem quite right to me. There was nothing I could do about the dark smudges until I got some sleep, though, so I was just going to have to accept that Cam was seeing me at my worst during our long-awaited reunion.

It wasn't until I opened the door that I noticed it.

The smell.

Food.

But Cam didn't cook.

And there weren't any frozen, heat-in-the-oven goodies left.

Rounding the corner in the small kitchen, I saw Cam standing at the stove, pulling white Chinese cartons out of a bag.

Confused, my gaze went to the clock, realizing I had been in the bathroom for nearly half an hour. Enough time for him to order food, run down to the corner, and pick it up.

Sensing my presence, Cam's head turned over his shoulder, seeing me standing there. His eyes did another up-and-down. And even though I was now clean, that look was in his eyes again.

Trying to ignore the dropping sensation inside, I forced a little pep into my voice as I spoke. "You didn't have to order food."

To that, he turned, scribbling on his notepad, then passing it across the counter top in a way I could only describe as aggressively.Yes, I did. You look like a fucking skeleton."I, ah, I think I maybe dropped a couple pounds from, you know, stress. But let's be honest, I had it to lose. I certainly don't look skeletal. I think I'd have to starve myself for half a year to look that way," I added, shrugging it off. My weight was the least of my concerns right that moment. "How did you find me?" I asked as he continued unpacking food, then digging around in the cupboards and cabinets, locating plates and utensils.

He opened up a carton of fried rice, upturning the entire thing on the plate, bringing it over to the table, dropping it down, then turning, yanking the chair outward with a grating sound that made me cringe, then slamming a fork down on the table.

He didn't need to say - or write - it.

The message was pretty darn clear.

Sit. Eat.

Feeling like the only way to get a normal reaction out of him was by first humoring him - plus, the smell of the food was making my belly twist and grumble at its emptiness - I moved across the floor, sitting down, taking the fork, and steadily working my way through the food.

It wasn't until I finished more than two-thirds, that he sat down next to me, scribbling on the notepad.Astrid helped me find you."But why?" I asked, reaching for the water he had dropped off to me.Because you disappeared."Yeah, but like... why?" I demanded, not wanting to say it, willing him to infer what I meant.You know why, babe.Babe.

God, I was sure I would never feel that warm sensation blooming across my chest again, yet there it was. Strong, undeniable. Even after weeks away.

"I wish I could have left you a note..."But you didn't want him to know anything."Exactly," I agreed, taking a deep breath.Tell me.It was a demand, but there was a softness in his eyes when my gaze lifted to his.

A strange, laugh-snort hybrid escaped me as my hand went up, raking through my wet hair in an old nervous gesture.

"I don't even know where to start," I admitted. It had been going on so long. There was so much ground to cover.At the beginning is usually best.Right.

Well.

"The beginning is the easy and the hard part, I guess."

See, I met Thomas through my mother originally.

I wouldn't say she was always playing matchmaker, per se, but most of the guys I went out with came to me through her.