Текст книги "Something about You"
Автор книги: Julie James
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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 18 страниц)
Twenty-three
PER JACK’S ORDERS, they entered the Grand Traverse Resort through a back entrance and were immediately escorted to the manager’s office. Cameron had never stayed at the resort before but quickly saw why Amy had been so impressed by it: with luxurious décor, over six hundred rooms, gorgeous beach and fairway views, and a full-service spa, the property was indeed grand in every sense of the word. Even Jack, who’d said he would move her to a different hotel if he wasn’t one hundred percent comfortable with the security aspects of the resort, seemed to find it acceptable.
“It’ll do,” he said in response to her silent question as they walked through the white marble and cherrywood hallway.
Jack had spoken to the manager on the phone and had explained the situation in general terms, revealing no details. In the office, he requested a map of the hotel grounds, which he kept, and emphasized one basic point: no one outside the three of them was to know the location of Cameron’s room. He asked for a private conference room where he could meet with the hotel’s head of security, one that he and the two agents coming in from Detroit would also use as a working space throughout the weekend.
Then he asked the manager whether the wedding guests had been assigned a particular block of rooms.
“Yes, the bride reserved a block in the hotel itself,” the manager said. “The wedding guests will all be staying here.”
“Perfect. Delete Cameron’s reservation, and book us a new room under the name David Warner. Put us in the Tower,” Jack said, referring to the seventeen-story building located adjacent to the hotel.
“David Warner?” Cameron asked after the manager left to get their room keys.
“An old alias of mine,” Jack said.
“Ooh . . . an alias. Who does that make me?”
“For this weekend, I suppose it makes you Mrs. David Warner.”
“Hmm. I’m not sure I’m the type to take my husband’s name. I’m on the fence about it.”
“For the next two days, you can be the type.”
“Boy, Mr. David Warner sure seems a little bossy.”
The manager poked his head into the office. “Sorry—I forgot to mention: the Tower accommodations are all standard rooms, not suites. I’m guessing you would prefer two queen beds instead of one king?”
Cameron and Jack looked at each other. Neither spoke.
The manager shifted in the doorway. “I could always switch you back to the hotel, if you require larger accommodations.”
Jack shook his head. “No. I want to be kept apart from the rest of the wedding guests. And the high-rise is a safer location. No balconies, no windows accessible from the outside, only one way into the room.”
“We’ll take two queen beds,” Cameron told the manager, thinking that was the safest thing to say.
He nodded. “Excellent.” He took off again.
Twenty minutes later, as they began to get settled in, Cameron realized that the one-versus-two-beds decision really didn’t matter. Bottom line: she and Jack were sharing a hotel room. And here she’d thought living together in a five thousand square foot house had seemed intimate.
She watched from the doorway as Jack checked out the closet and bathroom. When finished, he headed over. “So? Which bed will it be?”
“Excuse me?”
He laughed at her expression. “Which one do you want? I’ll put your suitcase on it so you can unpack.”
“Oh. I’ll take the bed farther from the door.”
“Good answer.”
She watched as Jack lifted her suitcase onto the bed, then threw his duffel bag onto the one closer to the door. She suddenly felt . . . jittery. Up until now, every time she and Jack had gotten physical, it had been under crazy, impulsive circumstances. But staring at those two beds, she now found herself consciously thinking about all those things a single woman in her thirties tended to think about when sharing a hotel room with a man she was really attracted to, and who appeared to be really attracted to her, who she hadn’t yet slept with.
Despite all her sass and bravado, she was falling for Jack. Just yesterday—God, was it really only yesterday?—she’d told Collin that all she and Jack had between them was a physical connection. True, she’d been lying to herself. And a lot had happened since then. But she’d never found herself wanting to be wrong about something as much as she did right then.
She trusted Jack with her life. The next question, she supposed, was whether she could trust him with her heart.
She watched as Jack threw some rolled-up socks into one of the drawers in his nightstand. He’d taken off his blazer, so his gun harness was exposed and he was looking extra Special Agent Danger-ish right then. But that single act—putting socks in a drawer—made him momentarily seem like any other guy.
“You okay?” he asked, seeing her still standing by the door.
She smiled. “Yeah, sure.” She headed over and stood between the two beds, surveying the scene. “Makes me think of the Walls of Jericho.”
“From . . . the Bible story?”
Cameron laughed. “No, It Happened One Night.”
“Still not following you there. What happened one night?”
“You know, the movie, It Happened One Night.” She saw him shake his head. “Really? You should check it out—it’s a classic. Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert are on the run and they stop to spend the night at a motel. They’re not married, but they have to pretend they are, so for propriety’s sake Clark Gable strings a clothesline down the middle of the room and hangs a blanket over it. He calls it the ‘Walls of Jericho.’ ”
Jack stretched out on the bed, tucking his hands behind his head. Of course, being a man, he was already done unpacking and she had barely begun. “So in the movie, after he builds the Walls of Jericho, what happens next?” he asked.
“Things get pret-ty steamy from there. Clark Gable asks Claudette Colbert if she’s interested in learning how a man undresses. And then he takes his clothes off in front of her.”
“Sounds like a chick-flick. I bet Wilkins has seen it ten times.”
“And good for him. I think most men could learn a thing or two from so-called ‘chick-flicks.’ ”
“Like what?”
“Like how women think. What turns them on.”
“If I want to know what a woman’s thinking, I’ll just ask her.” The corners of Jack’s mouth lifted in a sly grin. “And if I want to know what turns her on, well, I’ll just ask her that, too.”
“Hmm.” Cameron grumbled her way into the bathroom. Impossible man—being all reasonable and everything. She unpacked her toothpaste, toothbrush, shampoo, and conditioner. She set them off to the side on the marble vanity, as if to suggest they were the only four products she would need the entire weekend. Hey—he was a man, he didn’t need to know there was a whole routine involved behind the curtain. And about fourteen other bottles in her suitcase.
When she came out of the bathroom, she saw Jack standing by the windows that spanned the length of the room. He gestured. “Come over here for a minute.”
She went over. He surprised her by pulling her into his arms, her back against his chest so that she looked out the window with him. Their room overlooked vibrant autumn-colored rolling hills and orchards, and the East Grand Traverse Bay.
“I like this view,” he said, his voice husky against her ear.
Cameron leaned her head against his chest—it was rare to have such a quiet moment with Jack in contrast to the chaos that had overshadowed their lives for the last couple of weeks. She pulled his arms tighter around her.
“Me, too.”
FOR THE DINNER that followed the rehearsal, Amy had reserved the entire space at Aerie Lounge, which was located on the sixteenth floor of the Tower. A convenient short elevator ride from Cameron and Jack’s room. Not so convenient for Cameron, however, was the fact that the cousins had cornered her by the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the bay, wanting to play Twenty Questions about Jack. Having recognized him from the bachelorette party, they’d been on her case ever since she’d walked into the rehearsal with him.
Cameron was relieved when she felt a hand at her elbow and heard a familiar voice to the left of her.
“Sorry to interrupt, ladies. I need to borrow Cameron for a few minutes.”
“Please make it more than a few,” she whispered as Collin led her to the opposite side of the room.
She kissed his cheek in an official hello. Since Amy had asked Collin to be a reader at the wedding, he had been at the rehearsal, too. But she’d been running around with various maid of honor tasks and hadn’t gotten the chance to talk to him there.
“I meant to tell you at the rehearsal: you look very dashing tonight. Love the navy sport coat and tie,” she said, gently tugging it.
“Richard gave it to me last Christmas,” Collin said.
Cameron saw the hurt in his eyes and knew how rare it was for him to show that. “Are you doing okay?”
He nodded. “Just . . . working through some things. Gay man in his thirties, dateless, the fifth wheel at his friend’s wedding. That kind of stuff.” His eyes held hers. “And aside from all that, I miss him.”
“Richard is a fool,” Cameron said. “And you’re not a fifth wheel. Technically, I only have a fake date to this wedding.”
Collin scoffed at this. “Looking like that, that won’t be the case for long.” He checked out her caramel-colored cocktail dress and heels. Her shoulder had begun bothering her midway through straightening her hair, so she’d pulled it back in a chignon and focused on smoky-eyed makeup instead. “I’m surprised Pallas let you out of the room like that,” he said. “At least without being a good hour late to the rehearsal.”
“And risk Amy’s wrath? No way—that woman scares even me,” Jack said from behind them.
As Jack joined them, he momentarily rested his hand on the small of Cameron’s back. She faced the party, so no one saw, but her body went warm just at the brief contact.
“I thought you could use a drink.” He handed her a glass of red wine.
Cameron smiled—partially because she’d been meaning to make it over to the bar for twenty minutes before being cornered by the cousins, and partially because she couldn’t get over how sexy Jack looked in his gray blazer and open-necked black shirt.
“Thank you,” she said.
Jack leaned in, and for a second Cameron thought he was going to kiss her. “You didn’t tell me this wedding was outside,” he said quietly.
“I didn’t think about it. From everything Amy’s told me about the setup, I barely consider it an outdoor wedding. Will that be a problem?” The last thing she wanted to do was make his job even harder.
“I promised I’d get you to this wedding. I’ll handle it.” With his back to the other guests so none of them could see, Jack laced his fingers with hers and pulled her closer, speaking low enough so only she could hear. “Collin is right, you know. You’re living very dangerously looking the way you do tonight, Cameron Lynde.” He brushed his thumb over hers before leaving.
Cameron watched as Jack headed over to a bar table by the door where the two FBI agents from the Detroit office sat. She sipped her wine and took her time simply enjoying the view of him.
He’d brought her a drink and complimented the way she looked. This fake date of hers was starting to seem more real every minute.
She turned to Collin. “It means that I’m the stupidest person in the world, right? That I’m actually excited and happy despite having a psycho killer stalking me?”
Collin peered down at her. “I think you know what it means.”
He clinked his glass to hers.
LATER THAT EVENING, Jack sat in bed, the pillow propped behind his back, while he talked on his cell phone. He’d called Wilkins to see if there had been any developments in the investigation, hoping that something had panned out with one of the Chicago cops his partner had spoken to. So far, unfortunately, none of them appeared to have leaked any information about Cameron’s involvement in the case.
“How’s it going on your end?” Wilkins asked. “You having any fun up there?”
Of course, Cameron chose that moment to poke her head out of the bathroom. “Hey—is there a trick to getting hot water in this place?”
“You have to let the faucet run for a good five minutes.”
Jack turned back to his phone call.
“You’re sharing a room with her, huh?” Wilkins asked.
Jack thought of how Cameron looked in that caramel-colored dress. He’d never seen her wear her hair like that before, nor that sultry thing she’d done with her eye makeup. She’d looked sophisticated yet incredibly beddable, and as a result, he’d been at half-mast all evening. Full-mast when he’d watched her eat the maraschino cherry from Collin’s drink. Thank God he’d been standing behind a table at the time.
He ended the conversation before Wilkins started asking those kinds of questions Wilkins liked to ask, questions Jack had no intention of answering. He was a private person to start with, and when it came to Cameron, even more so. He hung up the phone and rested his head against the headboard.
He knew what he had to do. It killed him, but he knew.
He grabbed his computer and tried to distract himself with work. He didn’t have a whole heck of a lot of success with that, which was exactly the problem.
Cameron finished up in the bathroom and stepped out. The first thing Jack noticed was her outfit.
He frowned. “Don’t you have anything less skimpy than that?”
Cameron glanced down at her sleeping attire, one of those velour tracksuit things. “I’m wearing pants, a T-shirt, and a zip-up hoodie.”
Jack grunted his displeasure.
Cameron came around the side of her bed that was closer to his. “Somebody seems a little cranky.”
Yes, somebody was. Because somebody was trying to do the right thing despite the fact that somebody else apparently wanted to torture him with—sweet Jesus she was bending over the bed right in front of him to adjust the pillows, and those velour pants stretched tight across her amazing ass that would fit perfectly in his hands as he licked—
“That’s it, lights out. We have a big day ahead.” Jack flicked off the lamp on the nightstand and the last thing he saw was Cameron’s bewildered expression before the room went dark. He didn’t care. If he so much as looked at her right then, he’d be done for.
“So I take it that means we’re going to sleep now.” Through the darkness, she sounded somewhat amused.
Jack debated over his next course of action. He got out of bed and went over to hers. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness and he could see her underneath the covers, outlined by the moonlight. He sat down on the bed next to her.
“I’m trying to stay focused here, Cameron. My first priority this weekend has to be to keep you safe.”
“Of course—I was just teasing, Jack.”
“I need to be extra vigilant tomorrow, especially now that I know the wedding is going to be outside. That changes the game—more than ever, I can’t be distracted.”
“I understand. Really, you don’t have to say anything else.”
In the moonlight, her eyes shimmered up at him like stones in a stream. Unable to resist, he reached out and touched her long, dark hair that fanned over the pillow. “I think I’ll be glad when this wedding is over.”
He could see her smile. “You and pretty much every person who’s had contact with Amy over the last eight months.”
“Good. I’m glad we’re on the same page with this.” Jack pulled the blanket up to her shoulders. “Now—no matter what happens next, keep these covers up. Think of it as the twenty-first century version of the Walls of Jericho.”
She looked at him in confusion. “Okay . . .”
“Promise me, Cameron. No matter what happens.”
“I promise. But why?”
“Because I’m going to kiss you good night.” With that, he leaned forward and captured her mouth with his. She threaded her hand through his hair and kissed him back, meeting his tongue hungrily with hers. The next thing Jack knew, he was on the bed with her pinned beneath him. Underneath the blanket, she spread her legs and he sank between them greedily. He was hard as a rock and throbbing being this close to her, and when she arched her hips against him, he nearly lost it.
“You’re going to ruin me as an agent,” he murmured huskily. “Once I get inside you, I’m not going to be able to think about anything else except doing it again and again.” His hands went to the edge of the covers. Bullets hadn’t stopped him, and this was a blanket. “I’ll make it so fucking good for you. . . .” He kissed her neck, her throat, wanting to go lower, wanting to taste her everywhere.
Cameron exhaled unsteadily. “You are so not playing fair.” But she didn’t let go of the covers.
Jack buried his head in the pillow, struggling for that last shred of control. He lifted himself off the bed and grabbed his gun off the nightstand.
He handed it to her. “Take it.”
Her eyes went wide, a mixture of surprise and amusement. “Okay. If I have to shoot you to keep you away from me, I think we should just throw in the towel and say screw it to the wedding.”
“It’s not for me. I want you to keep your eye on the door for the next five minutes. I’m going to take a cold shower.”
Twenty-four
“WILL YOU JUST sleep with him already?”
Cameron looked around the salon. “Maybe you could say that just a little louder, Ame. I’m not sure everyone heard you over the hairdryers.”
Thankfully, Jack was waiting up front, sparing her at least some embarrassment from her friend’s comment. When they’d first arrived, he’d conducted a check of the entire spa and salon area, then had positioned himself by the door that was the only way in and out.
She and Amy sat next to each other, getting the finishing touches on their makeup. “There are a few things going on with us right now, you know,” Cameron said pointedly. “Like that slightly sticky issue with me being attacked in my home by an armed intruder.”
Amy immediately looked contrite. “You’re right—that was a silly thing to say. You have a lot more important things to worry about than my wedding.”
Cameron and Amy shared a look in the mirror.
“Wow. I even shocked myself with that one.” Amy grinned. “Well, luckily, you’ll be done having to put up with me in just a few hours. I bet you can’t wait.”
“Don’t be crazy—there’s no place I’d rather be this weekend than right here. Even if you have been a royal pain in the ass.”
Amy laughed and wiped her eyes. “Stop, you’re going to make me cry with all this mushy crap.”
The makeup artist applying Amy’s blush pointed sternly. “Don’t touch your eyes. This is some of my best work.”
The purple-haired, multi-tattooed and pierced cosmetologist doing Cameron’s makeup chimed in with her orders. “Look at the ground.”
Cameron obeyed, trying not to blink as the woman put a second coat of mascara on her lashes.
“That’s waterproof, right?” she heard Amy ask her technician.
“Of course,” he assured her.
“You can look up now,” Purple Hair said when she had finished.
Cameron peered back up at Amy in the mirror. “Besides, I generally have this rule about not sleeping with a guy until he’s taken me out on some kind of date.”
“When he saves your life, I think you can bypass that part.”
“He did have dinner delivered the other night, although I think the FBI picked up the tab. Do you think I can count that?”
Purple Hair stopped dusting blush over Cameron’s cheeks. “Hold up. Are you talking about the dark-haired guy who came in with you? The one who searched me before I could do your makeup?”
Cameron grimaced. “Sorry about that.”
“Don’t be—it was the highlight of my month.” Purple Hair threw her a get-real stare. “That’s the guy you’re holding out on? Sweetie, you need to grab that stallion and ride him like a cowgirl.”
“I . . . don’t really know you, but thanks for the advice.”
Purple Hair winked. “Comes with the makeup. What do you think?”
Cameron checked herself out in the mirror. They’d left her hair down, with waves and a lot more volume than she could ever replicate on her own. And the makeup, which had felt like a lot going on, looked perfect and made her lips look fuller, her cheekbones more defined, and added a sparkle to her eyes. “It looks nice.”
Amy snorted. “Nice? Give it a rest.” She came up in the chair behind her, looking mismatched yet still elegant with her hair pulled back in an elaborate twist under her veil, and her jeans and white button-down shirt. She put her arms around Cameron. “You’re lucky I love you so much, to let you look like that on my wedding day.”
“You look gorgeous, Ame.” No exaggerating there—minus the jeans and button-down shirt, Amy was the very picture of a blonde, fairy-tale beauty. “Aaron is going to be knocked off his feet when he sees you coming down the aisle.”
“He better not be. That’ll look terrible on the wedding video.”
The two women shared a laugh, and Amy inhaled excitedly. “So? Want to help me get into my dress?”
Cameron nodded. “You bet.”
“WHAT’S WITH AGENTS O’Donnell and Rawlings? Why couldn’t we just bring Jack with us?” Cameron asked as she followed Amy outside. The two FBI agents walked a few paces behind them.
“Because I consider Jack a wedding guest, and you are the only guest who gets the sneak preview. Besides, Jack needed a few minutes to get ready for the wedding.”
Cameron stepped gingerly in her silver heels off the walkway and onto a white fabric runner. She followed Amy across the lawn to the enormous white domed tent that had been set up on a hill overlooking the bay.
Cameron took small, careful steps in her bridesmaid dress, although there probably wasn’t much need to do so. The dress was fitted but had a slit on one side at her calf that made it easier to walk. Over the last eight months, the one part of Amy’s pickiness that she didn’t mind in the least had been her selection of the maid of honor dress—the same color and material as the bridesmaid dresses Melanie and Jolene were wearing, but different in style. Handpicked just for her, Amy had said. And when she’d said next that the dress was fuchsia, Cameron had nearly handed over her maid of honor badge right there.
Then she’d seen the dress Amy had chosen for her. Halter-style and pretty from the front, but that was nothing compared to the back.
Or, rather, the fact that there wasn’t any back to the dress.
After that, Cameron had shut her mouth and vowed to never question Amy’s judgment in anything bridal-related again.
“Are you sure you should be out here in your dress?” Cameron the Dutiful Maid of Honor asked Amy nervously. “What if you trip and get a grass stain on it or something?” Back when they’d gone dress shopping, she’d nearly choked at the price of the one Amy had chosen, a blush and ivory strapless taffeta Carolina Herrera with intricate ruffle detailing worthy of a nineteenth-century ball gown.
Amy shrugged. “Then I guess I’ll just have to deal with it.”
Cameron blinked. “Okay. Who are you and what have you done with my friend?”
Amy laughed as they came to the end of the runner. She waited as Agent Rawlings stepped into the tent to check things out. When he nodded, she grabbed Cameron’s hand. “So when guests step inside the tent through this main entrance here”—she pulled Cameron inside—“they’ll see this.”
For a moment, Cameron was speechless.
It was breathtaking. There simply was no other way to describe it. They stood at the entrance of the tent, facing the altar. The fabric runner continued on, becoming a white center aisle across the grass that divided the silver and white Versailles chairs guests would sit on. Scattered across the runner were fuchsia and red rose petals and multihued leaves upon which Amy and the bridesmaids would walk. Along the aisle, all the way to the altar, were tall pillar candles that glowed softly. The altar itself was a site to behold, lit elegantly with additional white and silver candles and adorned with more red and fuschsia roses than Cameron had ever seen.
The most striking feature, however, was the thousands of tiny silver lights arranged in elegant tiers across the top of the tent. At night, she imagined, it would look just like a starlit sky.
Cameron stepped farther into the tent, taking it all in.
“And we’ll have a harpist here at the entranceway, to play music as the guests take their seats,” Amy was saying. “The ceremony is at six thirty, which will be right at sunset. Afterward, while we take our pictures and the guests have cocktails and appetizers back at that gazebo we passed, they’ll set up the tables for the reception. The string quartet will be over there for the ceremony, which is where the band will go for the reception. They’ll set up a dance floor over here . . . Oh, did I mention the heat lamps? See—hidden along the perimeter there? We had a hell of a time figuring out what to do with all the electric cords . . .”
Amy paused and looked anxiously at Cameron. “You haven’t said anything. Do you think it’s too much?”
Cameron shook her head. “No. You did it, Amy. It really is the most perfect wedding ever.”
Amy smiled. “We used to come here every Labor Day weekend when I was a kid. I think I was nine years old the first time. I knew, even then, that this was the place I wanted to get married.”
They both turned at the sound of a displeased voice coming up the path behind them.
“I told Amy she could have twenty minutes with you guys,” Jack was saying to Agents O’Donnell and Rawlings, who stood attentively at the entrance to the tent. “It’s been nearly twenty-five minutes and I—”
Cameron looked over her shoulder just as Jack stalked into the tent. He got his first glimpse of the back of her dress. Or lack thereof.
He stopped dead in his tracks.
“Wow.”
His eyes lingered on her for another moment before he turned to Amy, gesturing. “This place looks great, Amy. You did one hell of a job.”
Amy grinned. “Nice recovery, Jack.”
Cameron walked over and touched Jack’s face, unable to resist. “You shaved.” She took in the classically handsome chiseled features he’d been hiding underneath the scruff, as well as how incredible he looked in his dark gray suit. It should’ve been illegal for a man to walk around like that without some sort of permit.
Jack grinned as she checked out his smooth jaw. “Don’t worry—it’ll be back in about two hours.” He took his time looking her over. “You look stunning.”
From behind them, Amy cleared her throat. “Not to break this up, but we have this wedding to get to . . . Cameron—you have your itinerary for tonight?”
“Yep. In my purse.”
“Jack?”
He patted his blazer. “Got all six pages right here.”
“As indicated on page two, I’ll see you in the gazebo for bridal party pictures in five minutes.” Amy pointed at Cameron. “Don’t be late and make me regret choosing you for this position instead of Collin.”
“Was he seriously in the running?” Cameron asked, slightly offended by this.
“Only briefly. But I figured his wedding toast would be filled with all sorts of lame sports references.” Amy’s expression was stern. “I’m expecting much better things from you.” She left in a whirl of blush and ivory taffeta.
Jack nodded at Agents Rawlings and O’Donnell, who stepped outside for a moment, leaving them alone.
With a warm smile, he turned to Cameron and held out his hand. “So? Are you ready for this?”
She took his hand, lacing her fingers through his.
“Definitely.”
AMIDST THE CLAPPING and cheering, Jack escorted Cameron back to their table. He leaned in to congratulate her on a job well done when Collin raised his glass and beat him to it.
“Fantastic toast,” Collin said enthusiastically. “A few laughs, a few tears—seriously, you smoked the best man.”
Cameron shushed him as she took the seat between him and Jack, with a pointed glance in the direction of the other two couples at their table. Friends of the groom, she had whispered to Jack earlier—part of Amy’s plan to encourage mixing and conversation amongst the various groups. He’d actually already known who they were, and who they were friends with, along with their full credit history and lack of priors, having texted their names to Wilkins for background checks as soon as they’d introduced themselves.
As Jack stood behind Cameron, helping her with her chair, he tried to focus on anything other than the bare satiny skin at his fingertips. It was quite artful, the way the dress covered her just so, right at the curve of her lower back. An inch lower and he might be able to see cheek . . .
He was going out of his damn mind.
“Aren’t bridesmaids dresses supposed to be ugly?” he grumbled as he took the seat next to her.
“As if Amy would let any part of this wedding be ugly,” Cameron said. Underneath the table, she rested her hand on his thigh and squeezed gently.
Jack sucked in his breath through gritted teeth. On the other side of her, however, Collin seemed wholly unfazed by Cameron’s appearance. Jack kept one eye carefully trained on him, thinking things had better stay that way. Gay or not, best friend or not, no one with a dick was getting within a foot of Cameron while she wore that dress.
“My only criticism of the speech is that I didn’t get as much airtime as I deserved,” Collin complained.
Cameron brushed this off. “You got plenty of airtime. I talked about how the three of us lived together senior year, didn’t I? I even mentioned how you used to make pancakes for me and Amy when we got home from the bars.”
“We’d talk about the boys we’d met that night,” Collin explained to Jack.
Jack was curious about this. Plus he needed something to keep his mind off Cameron in that dress. “How did the three of you meet?”
Cameron started to answer when Collin held up a hand, cutting her off. “Ahem. Since no one asked me to give a toast at this wedding, I will handle this question. Besides, I tell this story better than you do.”
Collin sat forward in his chair, lowering his voice dramatically. “It was a dark and stormy night.”
Cameron rolled her eyes. “Oh boy.”
Collin held up his hands. “What? It was a dark and stormy night. I should know—I walked you home that evening, remember?” He turned back to Jack. “It was our sophomore year. I was living in my fraternity house and had been having a rough time of things in college, struggling with the issue of whether I was gay. I was at Michigan on a baseball scholarship and homosexuality was not something one discussed casually within the athletic circles. Anyway, one night early in the year, my fraternity had an after-hours party and it was pouring outside. I was hanging out by the front door, drinking my usual—which back then was Jim Beam and Coke—when Cameron blew in, huddled under a red umbrella with Amy and another girl. They were all laughing, and when they closed the umbrella, Cameron stepped into the room and shook out her hair. It was like something out of a movie—she was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen.”
