There was also this really strong urge to get into Cam's apartment. I was curious about it, I won't lie. Where he called home. If it was comfortable or super masculine. If he would feel weird about me being there.
The last idea filled me with a little dread.
He welcomed me whole-heartedly into his room at the clubhouse, but I think everyone understood that it was not the same thing. His room at the club was impersonal. Really, I was pretty sure nothing was actually his save for a couple changes of clothes in the drawers for when he was working the night shift and needed to crash after.
Some guys were really possessive about women in their place. They overthought your hair tie on the nightstand or your face wash on the counter. Even if it was just there because you were washing your makeup off, not because you planned for it to live there.
I was really hoping Cam would not be that way, that he wouldn't care if my guitar was in the living room or my sheet music was on the coffee table. That he wouldn't over-analyze it if my bra was hanging in the shower because I hand-washed it in the sink.
I was ready to stop wondering though.
I had hinted at it the night before in bed.
Luckily enough, Cam wasn't the kind of guy who couldn't pick up on subtle signals. The first thing he'd said to me this morning after bringing in coffee was that he thought we should head back to the apartment since he didn't have a guard shift for a couple days.
He said that too.
The apartment.
Not my apartment.
I liked that.
Not as much as maybe someday I would like our apartment. But let's not get ahead of ourselves.
"R-r-ready?" he asked, coming into the room, taking my luggage, reaching for my guitar too.
"Yep."
"C-C-Cy is g-g-g-going t-to f-follow w-w-with t-t-this," he said, waving my stuff around as I slipped into my shoes.
I know it was a little thing, but I couldn't help but feel a warm sensation inside at knowing Cam - and by extension I - had people to lean on. Since my mother passed, I had never had anyone to help me with, well, anything. It didn't matter that I had too many groceries to carry up the stairs all at once, or had to move into a new place, or was down with the flu so bad that I could barely lift my head off of the pillow. There was never anyone there to lend a hand.
It was amazing to me that at any given moment, he was one text away from like forty people who would drop what they were doing to help him.
I wondered if he knew what a blessing that was.
Having grown up the way he had, I imagined he did.
"Okay, so, like, am I going to walk into something I should know about?" I asked as we made it to the top of the stairs on our floor.
"L-L-Like?"
"Oh, I don't know. A collection of women's hair, a giant pet snake that eats fluffy little bunnies for dinner, a Monet art print over your sofa..."
To that, he let out a little snort, shaking his head as he put the key in the door.
And his place was, well, homey.
Curtains and carpets and pillows.
Everything matched even.
It was impressive.
And there was no way Camden had designed it himself.
"Liv decorated didn't she?" I asked, watching as he put my bag up on the coffee table, a move that had my brows furrowing.
"H-H-How'd y-you k-know it w-w-wasn't A-A-Astrid?"
"I don't know, it feels very homey. The kind of place a nesting woman kind of creates, you know? I think Astrid would be all about clean lines and neutral colors. With bold splashes here and there. I mean... I'm only guessing from the stories you have told me about her."
I hadn't met Liv or Astrid yet.
Why, I wasn't sure. Since I was sure the news that I was around in a steady way had likely made it through the girls club grapevine.
I knew Astrid had a lot going on up at Hailstorm. And Liv was constantly juggling a home, kids, Roderick's family. They had full plates. Meeting me wasn't likely high on their priority lists.
That shouldn't have upset me, but there was definitely a bit of a sinking feeling in my stomach. If not for myself, then for Cam. Because I knew he hadn't exactly been a relationship kind of guy in the past, so choosing to spend more than a night or two with me, well, that seemed like it should say something. Mean something. And I couldn't imagine he loved the idea that things that meant something to him might not mean much to them.
I shook my head, forcing the thoughts away, not wanting to think negatively about women I had yet to meet, women who meant the world to him.