Whistler. I think you’ll get hurt or die. Yeah, you’ll die up there in the mountains, Cameron. You can’t go.”
Fuck?
Okay, there’s way too much going on here right now. Ingela just jinxed my entire trip, and I probably will die now. Said is said. I’m not repeating this to Dan or Marek, though—we’re all superstitious. Damn. I’m going to die, huh?
A familiar rush floods in over me.
Get me straight: I don’t have a death wish. It’s just the thrill of living really fucking close to the edge that exhilarates me. And now? Right now, after what Ingela said, I. Am. Drenched in the high of tipping way over.
Shit, she’s so awesome.
“Shush, sweetie, I’m not going to die. We go on these trips all the time. You know that.”
“Yeah, well, but now we’ve slept together, and it’s different. I’m bringing you bad luck, I bet. Whenever people have someone waiting for them at home, they’re… uh…”
“Jinxed?”
“Yeah, that. You’ll probably die now.”
“You’re not my girlfriend, though.”
“Right, but I’m your best friend.”
I pull out of our embrace again, enough to really take her in. Red nose, watery blue eyes with heavy black eyelashes. Natural eyebrows and that rocker-girl short haircut. She purses her mouth at me, waiting for me to rebuke her statement.
I sigh and nudge her in against me with an elbow between her shoulder blades and my hand cupping her head. I keep her close. Almost shielding her. “Yeah. You are my best friend. I dig you, Inga.”
“I dig you too.”
“Don’t let him come here.”
She angles up to meet my stare. “You want to hug somewhere warmer?”
“Yes. Yes, I do,” I reply without a second thought.
This is crazy. I’m dropping Cameron off in Leon and Arriane’s car. He’s heading off on his Whistler trip, and even though his friends, Dan and Marek, drove to the airport in a truck big enough to take Cam’s snowboard gear too, I didn’t feel good about him leaving without me seeing him off. I’m having a mom moment.
It’s Friday morning, and after my little breakdown at the club yesterday, we ended up back at my place. Sure, we turned on the TV to some late night show, but heaven knows what went on there. All I focused on was being cozy in the crook of Cam’s arm and the way he nuzzled my throat with no thought of what we are and what we aren’t to each other. We were easy. Nice.
When you’re close with someone the way we are, you’re close and that’s it. No strings, just lots of nearness. So near, in fact, that he ended up whisking me out of the living room and into my bedroom so my roommate Maria wouldn’t surprise us.
Cam wasn’t as playful as usual, though. He didn’t mention it—and I didn’t either after my outburst on the promenade—but it was as if he too was worried we wouldn’t see each other again. Goddamn, I wish he weren’t leaving today. I have a bad feeling about this trip.
Returning from the airport, I think of how it was to sleep— sleep —in his arms. We were in my bed, with no dorm buddies of his freaking inches away from us, and I wasn’t even drunk.
Yeah. It was different. Cameron has this sweet way of sleeping. When he’s completely relaxed, he lies face up with his head tilted backward and nose pointing at the ceiling. The back of his hand covers his forehead and part of his eyes, and pink lips separate a little with each exhale.
All last night, he had me laid out partly on top of him. My brain didn’t fret over Bo’s and my issues, maybe due to the slow, steady thud of Cameron’s heart beneath me.
I woke up once to go to the bathroom. By the time I came back, he’d flung one massive thigh out to cover my part of the bed too. I tried to lift it, but it was too heavy so I had to sneak in on the other side.
By lying down on the arm he’d sprawled over my nightstand, I triggered an unconscious chain reaction. He pulled me in against him, sighed heavily into my ear, and then he rolled us