“No.” And there was nothing of Mitch’s usual playfulness in his tone. “Are you okay?”
“Am I—what?”
“Norah’s a sweetheart, but a shoot down is a shoot down, and I know you haven’t really been interested in anybody in a long time.”
He thought she wasn’t interested. Cam almost laughed. Lack of interest he could deal with. If this whole thing was legitimately one-sided, he’d just accept and move on. No harm, no foul. But she was balking out of…what? Some principled bullshit that if it couldn’t last, it wasn’t worth pursuing at all? Did she think they could just turn it off like a switch?
Well, if she had, it wasn’t working. For either of them.
“Cam?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
And there it was. That Look. That careful, piteous look his entire family had been using since Melody walked away years before. Because they all thought she’d broken something in him and had adopted a standard operating procedure of treating him with kid gloves when it came to women and relationships. It drove Cam batshit crazy.
As Mitch stared him down, a sick suspicion trickled through Cam’s gut. Had his family infected Norah with that absurdity? It was exactly why Miranda thought they were a bad idea. Had she warned Norah away after he’d blown off her caution at the bonfir
e? Was that at the root of Norah’s reluctance to be with him? Because she thought he was broken, too?
“I said, I’m fine, Mitch. I don’t need some touchy feely intervention here.”
This time, when Cam stepped forward, Mitch gave way and let him inside.
Norah hadn’t made it back to the table. She was, instead, in a line with Piper, Liam, Tucker, and Tyler executing the electric slide with more enthusiasm than skill. At least she didn’t seem in danger of injuring anybody dancing solo.
From the sidelines, Miranda was staring. “How much has she had to drink?”
“The Three Furies. Piper’s idea, apparently.” He studied his cousin, wondering if she’d stabbed him in the back in the name of protection.
“What?”
Not the time. “C’mon, there’s food.” He gestured toward their booth, then turned and signaled Tucker out on the floor.
Cam and Miranda slid in on opposite sides of the long table, squeezing to make room for everyone else as they came out of the dancing throng in a pack. As she went to make the single step into the booth, Norah missed and toppled. Cam lunged over, barely catching her before her head cracked against the table. She thumped into his chest, hands clutching at his shoulders.
“Whoa there. I’ve gotcha.”
She looked up from her perch, and her eyes were huge. “Sorry. It’s the boots,” she said, very seriously. “Piper wouldn’t let me wear mine.”
“Pretty sure it’s not just the boots. I think you’re officially cut off.” He righted her so she could crawl into the booth beside him.
“No.” Norah jabbed a finger into his chest for emphasis. The gesture seemed to distract her a bit, as she flattened her hand over his heart and frowned. “I cut myself off. That’s totally the problem. Being cut off sucks.”
“Yes, yes it does.”
She lifted her eyes to his again, resolute and clearly very, very drunk. “I told you. Is the responsible thing to do.”
“So you did.” Whatever composure she’d managed to cobble together out on the patio was eradicated. Apparently the full force of the shots had hit her somewhere out on the dance floor.
“Tell you a secret.” She leaned in, bracing herself on Cam’s shoulder as she tried to tuck one foot beneath her on the seat. “I really hate being the responsible one all the time. But I’m really, really good at it. Can’t let anybody else pay for my mistakes. No, sir.” She hiccuped.
“I’m pretty sure you’ll be paying for this one in the morning.”
“Jesus, Piper, did you really have her do the Three Furies on an empty stomach?” Miranda demanded. “She never has more than one drink. Ever.”
“What? She’s totally fine.”
“No, really, I am.” Norah, finally seated, balanced with one hand on Cam’s thigh—Jesus—as she leaned in to grab a French fry. “Piper was right. I tooootally needed to take a break.”