Spitfire in Love (Chasing Red 3)

We stared at each other for five seconds. Then she pointed two fingers in a V toward her eyes before pointing them back at me, the universal sign for I’m watching you.

It was too late before I realized.

Her tires spun, roared, and accelerated, splashing a giant puddle I hadn’t noticed. Dirty, muddy rainwater from last night’s

downpour sprayed all over me. I could feel the grittiness of it dripping down my face and my neck.

I wiped my face and mouth with the back of my hand. Then I cursed her. I saw her give me the finger as she drove away.

And then I laughed.

Missing her already.

Man, oh man. I was in big trouble.

Chapter 17

Cameron

I woke up hungry.

But that was nothing unusual. I always woke up with my body craving food.

I groaned as I sat up on the couch where I slept. Leaning forward, I propped my elbows on my knees and rubbed my face with my hands.

The sun wasn’t up yet. Working for Rick since high school had programmed my brain to wake up the same time every day. I didn’t even set up the alarm anymore.

I got up, folded my blanket, and tried to reach the itch on my back, but it was too far away.

“Shit.”

Normally I’d do my workouts first—it was easier to lift weights when my stomach was empty—but sometimes I gave in to more basic urges.

I turned on the lights, staggered my way into the kitchen still sleepy, still trying to reach that itch with my fingers. Then my stomach growled.

I opened the fridge, grabbed one of the boxed takeout meals I must have had this week—hopefully. Sniffed it. Smelled okay.

Pulling open a drawer, I reached for a fork, used that to scratch the itch—damn, that felt good. Wolfed down the food.

When that didn’t satisfy me, I got a bowl and poured cereal and milk and ate that too. Still hungry. Grabbed a couple of bananas. Crunched on an apple. I made a mental note to buy some peaches at the store.

Is she still sleeping?

She was probably still asleep, I thought as I took a leak, then turned on the shower, closing my eyes as the warm water washed away the rest of the sleep from my body.

And once she woke up, I imagined her going straight for her cup of coffee, bumping into walls on the way to the kitchen.

Hair in disarray. Clothes rumpled. Skin warm. Lips soft. What did she wear to bed? Did she wear anything at all?

I got out of the shower, reached for the towel, and wrapped it around my waist. Brushed my teeth, reached for the razor to shave. I wondered what she’d feel like, smell like in the morning.

She’d be unaware of her surroundings, and I could wake her up with a kiss on her neck, nuzzling her sensitive skin there. It would be warm, and her scent would be concentrated there. My hands would travel down—

“Shit.”

I winced as my hand slipped and I nicked myself with the blade.

Even thinking about her was ruining me, I thought as I washed the cut with freezing water. I grabbed tissues, put pressure on it.