But attached to a sexy as fuck man like Cam.
Mmm…
Would he send me nudes if I asked?
Full-length ones?
With his face and his shoulders and his chest and his hand wrapped around his cock?
At least the lower abs? Or the thighs?
God, he has nice thighs. I haven't seen enough of them. He's always partially dressed. Every time we've fooled around, he's kept most of his clothes on.
I don't mind. If anything, it's really, really hot. But it's kind of strange I saw him more undressed on our run.
And I want him naked.
I just do. I want to see him and touch him and feel him and feel every inch of his skin against every inch of mine.
"Sienna?" Indie taps me on the shoulder. "You okay?"
Shit, I'm the one in the Love Zone. Or the Fuck Zone. Whatever the zone is called, I'm the one spacing out thinking about my man.
Even if he's only my man for another twenty-two hours.
Not that I'm counting.
What if I skip class Monday? Will he call in sick to work and spend the day with me?
Until soccer practice, at least?
Or maybe I can come back after practice, have dinner in his hotel room, fall asleep in his bed, wake up and push our date to Tuesday morning.
Or skip practice.
If that's what it takes.
Whatever it takes to fuck him again and again.
"Sienna?" she asks again.
Shit. "I missed my alarm." I take my seat at the cozy table. This place is a hidden gem on an easy to miss side street. It's small enough it's crowded with office workers Monday to Friday, but on weekends, it's calmer. Not calm enough to break free of its size. But reasonable for a New York City restaurant.
The tables are close together; the space is humming with conversation; the servers are quick and to the point.
And the coffee—
Mmm, the coffee.
Like an angel from heaven, the server appears, drops off waters, asks what we'd like.
We order our usual breakfasts and drinks. A latte with an extra shot for me. A black tea for Indie. Apparently, the brand they use here is second tier.
Not bad. Not great.
Good enough, considering the quality of the food and the difficulty of finding good tea anywhere other than a specialty shop.
The server jots our order and disappears with a nod. Unlike the blonde barista who clearly wanted to bone Ty, she's neither friendly nor flirty. She's to the point.
"You skipped your run?" She takes a long sip of her water. Leans into her seat, casual, relaxed, not at all suspicious I'm fucking Cam.
"I'll run later. It's supposed to be nice today." Or I'll get my work out in a much more fun way. There's time to run all week. I can skip one weekend.
My sister looks at me curiously. Is there suspicion in her eyes? Or am I imagining things.
"You look cute today. Not in white for once."
She laughs, and the furrow of her brow relaxes. "It's a little exhausting being bridal for three weeks straight."
"But you wear it well."
She swats oh stop.
It's almost normal, except for her getting married and thus wearing bright white every single night.
But right now, sitting at brunch, at a cafe that's actually in my price range, with my sister in her usual black jeans, black tank top, leather jacket getup—
Sure, the jacket is now real leather and her boots are now several hundred dollars instead of several dozen, and her purse is way more expensive than her old H&M one (but not into several-thousand-dollar designer)—
This is almost how things used to be. If I squint, we're back in Brooklyn and nothing has changed except for our dire need to make the mortgage payment.
And then I stop squinting and I see it. Her boots and purse and smile and my wedges and lingerie and sense of having recently been fucked and really wanting to fuck again.
Things are changing.
It's just how life happens.
But… maybe that's okay. "Will you promise me something?"
"Will you tell me why you missed your alarm and showed up in wedges?"
Uh… "I was out last night."
"Out…"
"With Katie. You remember Katie? Well, she needed help cramming for her Chem test, and even though it's basically AP Chemistry, which I took like two years ago, I offered to help. And she lives in Jersey with her parents. I'm not even sure how she makes it to soccer practice every day. And we were so late I fell asleep there and I had to take the train in this morning."
"You don't have to make something up," she says.
"I'm not." That happened. It was a few weeks ago, but it happened.
"You're an adult now, Sienna. I respect that. And I know you respect that being an adult means you're responsible for the consequences of your actions."
Uh-huh.
"You can stay out late at a party. If it means you have a hangover and you miss your run… that's not the end of the world. And if it means you're late to class and you miss an important test and your GPA falls… that's also not the end of the world. It's your mistake to make."