He rolls his eyes and shakes his head.
“My dad’s gun wasn’t even loaded. He was there to stuff cash in a bag and run. The place was crawling with undercovers, though. And his so-called friend? He shot one of them.”
He stares at me, and I force myself not to look away. I press my lips into my knees to keep myself from speaking. I’m broken for him.
“He’s served eighteen years and has been a model prisoner. He was up for parole a couple years ago. He’s got another shot soon, maybe in a few months.”
“That’s why you’re studying law,” I piece together.
He nods slightly, blinking his gaze away from mine to look down at his lap. My fingers itch to touch him. His life story is nothing like I pictured. Most of the students here see this daredevil who has money to bail his ass out. And sure, maybe his mom and grandparents can and do give him that privilege. But that’s not what he wants. He wants his dad.
“What’s he like? Your dad.” I shift in my chair, letting one leg fall but clinging to the other.
Cameron chuckles as his eyes scan the room, almost as if he’s collecting stories to tell. His focus stops on my chest, and I look down when he nods at my Bruins jersey.
“Hockey fan?” I ask.
Cameron punches out a sharp laugh.
“Hugefan. He’d like you,” he says. Our eyes connect briefly, and I feel this falling sensation, as though we’ve just crested the top of a rollercoaster.
“Have you told him about me?” I can’t believe I’m brave enough to ask.
His mouth curves as he glances down, pulling his hands into his lap to fidget his fingers.
“He’s heard a story or two,” he says with a nod.
I fall more.
I’m unable to pull my gaze away from him, his expression morphing from amused to tortured in a span of seconds as I assume his searches through years of memories—memories that are probably nothing more than stories his father told him over the phone, in letters, or at visits. His hands move to the edge of the desk, and he grips the side, his forearms flexing as he leans forward before popping his head up to look me directly in the eyes.
“What are you still doing here, Brooky? What arewedoing here?”
My breath pauses at his question. The falling sensation no longer pulls my body down; I’ve landed at the bottom. This is as far as I go. I’ve fallen completely, and no matter what Cameron Hass says, he falls, too.
“I don’t think I could bear it, Cam. I’m so afraid of leaving this room, of listening to my father, and never feeling like this again. You make me feel like everything is okay. You make me feel beautiful. I’m not some prize to be gained, or some strategic relationship to foster for political gain. With you, I’m just . . . I’m just Brooky.” A half-laugh-half-cry gurgles from my mouth. Cameron slides from the desktop to stand in front of me, his shirt open, waiting for my hands to slide around his sides. His warmth waiting to embrace me. His mouth there for the taking. His heart . . . his heart bared along with his soul. He told me things he’s never told anyone.
“I don’t care what my dad says, Cameron. I can’tnot.I need you. And I’m so fucking afraid of never feeling any of those things again.”
“So, don’t,” he says.
I shake my head, not sure what he’s offering.
“Don’t listen to your dad. You don’t have to give up any of it. Brooky, I have been in love with you since you showed up in knee-high socks and a rolling leather suitcase alongside so many nannies and staff it’s as if you were born to have secret service detail.” His laugh spills out nervously and I bite my lip, trying not to cry.
“It’s really sweet that you think I’m the one who makes you feel beautiful, but I’ve got nothing to do with it.”
He takes a slow step toward me, followed by another.
“You’re just beautiful. All on your own. Simply existing. And while damn, Brooky, am I a lucky man able to admire you, that admiration has nothing to do with what makes you beautiful.”
He continues to move toward me until we’re inches apart, and he places a palm on the side of my face. I lean into his touch as his other hand brushes my hair behind my ear. My hands grab hold of his open shirt, holding on and urging him close enough for my chin to touch the center of his chest. His hands cup my cheeks and I’m completely shaded by him, peering up into his warm mahogany eyes.
Drawing my lips toward his, his eyes hold on to mine until the last possible second and we’re too close to focus. His mouth covers mine, suckling my bottom lip until I feel the sharp graze of his teeth. A soft moan slips from deep inside me without my control, which seems to speak to Cameron’s most basic needs and wants. His kiss grows hungrier, and I grow bolder, allowing my hands to explore every disciplined muscle along his stomach, sides, and back. I’ve admired this body so many times but getting to touch it is entirely different. What seems smooth and soft is so hard and warm. And knowing how easily he could lift me over his shoulder and run away with me brings an amused smile to my lips that he must feel.
“Do I kiss funny?” he whispers against my lips, a smile stretching his own.
I break away from him enough to see his face and shake my head.