Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
“Infuckingcredible! That’s my girl!”
She throws her hands up, grins at the judges, and then grins at me as the girls all wrap her tightly in their arms before flicking their hands open and closed to signal a perfect ten. For me, it’s a given, but apparently one of the judges didn’t like something because she got a 9.9.
“Man, who do I need to fight?” I bite out, and Evan laughs at that.
“Hey now, you can’t fight here. It’s assault, not five minutes in a box.”
“That’s unfair,” Odder says, and I nod in agreement.
Even with the bullshit score, pride still sparks deep in my soul.
Because that’s my girl.
But fuck, how that feeling leaves me only an hour later. I know the moment Callie’s eyes meet mine after the meet that I’m not going to like what comes from her kind little mouth.
“Should I ask if she’s coming out?” I find myself asking, wanting to control however this is about to play out.
Before Callie answers, though, I know there is no controlling anything when it comes to Cameron. Shit, I said I was unscriptable. Truth is, neither of us is. With tortured hesitation, Callie doesn’t look at me while she’s wrapped up in Evan’s arms, but finally, she says, “She told me to tell you she’d see you tomorrow at the campaign. That she has plans with her parents, but thank you for coming.”
Oh, how the irritation eats me alive. I feel it course through my body, burning the tips of my ears. “She tell you to give me her number?” When she only shakes her head, I stare at her until she finally meets my gaze. “Will you give it to me?”
Her eyes burn into mine. “Can I ask her first?”
We hold each other’s gaze. “Do you know?”
“Know what?” Evan asks, and Callie doesn’t hesitate on that question.
“About their arrangement,” she says softly, and oh, how that chaps my ass.
Arrangement. The fuck?
“Arrangement? What’s that about?”
Callie pats his chest to shut him up, I guess. “I’ll tell you later.”
Then her eyes move to mine, and I lean in, despite the flash of warning in Evan’s eyes. “It’s not a fucking arrangement for me.”
Callie’s hand smooths over Evan’s chest. “I think the only person who believes it is, is her.”
At least we can agree on that.
“Let me know.”
She nods as I turn to leave before I lose my fucking marbles. “Will do. But, Benson…” I stop at her words. “Be patient. It’s not a sprint, but a marathon with that one.”
“A marathon, eh?”
“Yeah.”
“Good thing I’m built for a marathon just like her.”
With that, I turn to leave, my heart on my sleeve. I don’t give a shit who sees.
Chapter Nineteen
Cameron
Nope, nope, nope. Absolutely nope.
Space. I need fucking space. No matter how much I wanted to go out and take a photo with Benson and my name on his muscle-ridden chest, I need space. Especially after beam. What in the hell was that? Beam is my nemesis; we aren’t friends. We never have been. I have great form and beautiful artistry, but that damn beam loves to throw me off. I don’t know why, but staying on it has been my downfall all week, and I’ve been nervous. I didn’t want to fall in front of Benson. Bars, I’ve got on lock. Floor, I can do in my sleep. And listen, vault is making a return, I just have to get past this injury in my back that likes to take me out when I vault. Once I get over that, though, I’ll be right back on it, slaying it. But beam…beam has never been kind.
But today was different. One look. One little nod. A small curve of his lips as those dark orbs hidden behind long, luscious lashes locked me in place before he said—no, not said—screamed one bit of encouragement.
Just one.
Let’s go, Cam! You’re a ten, baby!
I didn’t even get a ten today, but I feel like one. All because of that look, those lips, those words of encouragement. Because of him. Because of Benson. And that freaks me out beyond belief. I mean, I came from him stroking my hip. My hip. Not my pussy or even when he kindly wiped up the mess I made. Nope, I came from him strictly stroking my damn hip. And what was that? Him cleaning me like that? Like it was no big deal that I had come on my thighs, or that I lied, saying it was sweat and pee. I mean, fuck me.
Then he had the audacity to rub his hard length on me and blame it on me? Well, duh. Who wouldn’t be hard when you’re wiping come off a girl’s thighs? It had nothing to do with me; it was a physical reaction. Purely male. But like the idiot I am, I wanted to be the reason. I wanted him to touch me. I wanted to feel each one of his digits play with me. Hell, if my dress hadn’t been so tight, I would have loved to drop to my knees and relieve him of that hard bulge.