4. Sloane

CHAPTER 4

SLOANE

I t takes every ounce of willpower I possess not to hover in the kitchen, ear pressed tight against the screen door, hoping to catch snippets of the man-to-man my dad’s having with Cam.

I shuffle around for a while, but can’t really hear anything over the low hum of the refrigerator. Then the AC kicks on and I give up entirely, heading out to the living room.

Plopping onto the sofa, I pick up my cell and text Gracelyn.

Sloane: GRACE! You’ll never guess who’s in my backyard right now…

Bestie: Tom Holland?

Sloane: Really? Why would Tom Holland be in my yard?

Bestie: IDK. You said I’d never guess

Sloane: LOL. Think more local

Bestie: That guy from last night at Mustang’s? Rick something or other?

Sloane: Mercifully, no

Bestie: What? I thought he was kinda cute

Sloane: No. He had that odd smirk thing going. And wouldn’t stop talking about how great Dallas is gonna be this year. And we all know that means he’s delulu

Bestie: Truth. Okay, I give up. Who’s there???

Sloane: Cam

Bestie: OMFG

Sloane: I KNOW

Bestie: Are you totally freaking out rn? Did you have sex with him?

Sloane: What? No

Bestie: Oh. I thought he came to profess his love for you and whisk you away to Chicago

Sloane: Not exactly…

Bestie: Ohhhh—spill

Sloane: He’s kind of in a bad spot right now

“Sloane?”

My dad’s deep voice startles me and I almost fall off the sofa as he and Cam saunter into the living room. I slam my cell face down on the cushion, the vibration of an incoming message rattling against my palm.

Gracelyn’s going to have to wait.

I flick my eyes from my dad to Cam, trying to read their expressions. My dad seems happy, his broad chest puffed up. Cam seems…I don’t know. Confused, maybe? Not sad or anything, but not happy either, his brow wrinkled.

“What’s up?” My foot bounces in the air, crossed over my knee.

“Can you throw sheets on the guest bed?” Dad asks, folding his arms across his chest.

I bite at my lower lip, my mouth going dry. “Uh, yeah. Sure, no problem.”

I don’t move, my bottom glued to the sofa. The metal of my cell continues to vibrate against my palm—Gracelyn cannot take a freaking hint.

“Cam’s going to be staying with us for a while.” My dad grins over at Cam like he’s the prodigal freaking son and my insides twist.

Cam Crawford’s staying at my house. In the only other room in the house, the bedroom next to mine.

Oh. My. God .

It’s my high school dream come true.

Except now it’s a freaking nightmare because I’m living with my dad at almost thirty years old.

FML.

“Go on, scoot.” My dad pushes Cam toward the front door and I stand on wobbly legs, trying not to sway on unsteady feet.

I follow Cam’s every move, staring at his broad back and very fine ass as he bangs out the front door.

“Sloane? You okay?” Dad interrupts my ogling, and I tear my gaze away from Cam’s retreating backside.

“Uh, yeah. Of course. How long’s he staying?” I hook a thumb in the direction of the driveway. “Like, a week or two?”

“I don’t know. Might take longer to get him back on track. You okay with that?” He narrows his eyes at me and I swallow hard.

“Sure. Totally fine,” I say, forcing a tight smile. I mean, I should be fine with it. A gorgeous pro football player staying in the room next to mine, with only a thin wall separating us.

And I probably would be fine if I hadn’t sent that drunken email.

Maybe he never read it. He’s not acting like he read it, at least. And now he probably doesn’t have access to his team email anymore. I should just forget about the email, pretend it never happened.

The door swings open and Cam reappears, duffel in hand. Good gravy, the man is gorgeous. His wide, muscled frame fills up the entire space, golden rays of sunlight streaming around him. I can practically hear a romantic swell of music announcing his arrival as we lock eyes across the living room .

“Sloane will get you settled in. We usually order pizza on Friday night. Does that work for you, son?”

“Sounds great, thanks.” Cam nods his approval and I force myself to move, ignoring the frantic flutter of possessed butterflies lurching around my stomach.

Cam looms behind me as we walk down the dim, narrow hallway. My bedroom’s at the end, the guest bedroom adjacent, with a shared bath on the opposite side of the hall. The house was built in the mid-sixties, before the concept of the en suite became a thing.

“Guess we’re going to have to pull straws to see who gets first shower,” I joke, tipping my head at the small aqua bathroom.

“Nah. You can always have it. It’s your house and all.”

Heat rushes into my cheeks and I open my mouth to correct him—I mean, technically it’s my dad’s house and I’m a visitor here too—but then slam my lips shut before I say something pathetic. I’ve already spilled my tale of woe—no need to keep reminding him of my current solo status.

“Here’s the extra bedroom.” I sweep my arm at the door, ushering him into the room that’s an exact replica of mine, just flipped with no window. “It’s nothing fancy, probably not like your digs in Chicago?—”

“It’s great, thanks.” Cam drops his duffel on the ground, his hulking frame taking up most of the space. My eyes flit to the bed and my heart flip-flops.

Stop it, Sloane. The man’s at an all-time low and all you keep thinking about is jumping his bones.

“Uh—I’ll go get the sheets and make the bed up for you.”

I scurry out of the room, my entire body flaming.

This is going to be the longest summer of my life .

Grabbing the first set of sheets I lay hands on, I hustle back to the bedroom. Only when I unfold the sheets and start stretching the cotton over the mattress do I realize I’m staring at the smiling faces of the Jonas brothers in all their boy band glory.

OMG.

And why the fuck does my dad still have these sheets?

“Is that the Jonas brothers?” Cam asks, his voice tipping up.

I’d love nothing more than to crawl under the bed in mortification right now, but I’m not sure I’d be able to inch my way back out with any shred of dignity remaining.

“Um—yeah. You nailed it. Nick, Joe, and Kevin, keeping you cozy all night long.” I straighten up, moving to the end of the bed to pull the fitted sheet tight.

“Cool.” Cam’s lips tip into a smirk and I’d love to melt into the beige carpet, becoming one with the semi-plush fibers.

I wave the top sheet up in the air with a flourish and decide to fully embrace the Jo Bro sheets. Too late to do anything about it now, so might as well go with it.

“Didn’t my dad tell you about the available accommodations? This is the Jonas Brothers suite. If I dig around, I may even be able to find the matching pj’s—although I’m not sure they’ll fit you.” I take the opportunity to eye him up and down, pretending like he may have a shot at squeezing into my Jonas brothers jammies.

“It’s okay, don’t go to any trouble on my behalf,” Cam says, not missing a beat. “You’ve already done way too much.”

“You sure?” I glance over my shoulder as I fluff the pillow, smacking Joe’s grinning face. “Maybe I could find my signed T-shirt? ”

Cam chuckles, waving his hand in the air. “Positive. This is more than enough.” He tips his head at the sheets.

“Lucky for you, the comforter is long gone. Gracelyn and I spilled glitter nail polish on it and then tried to use nail polish remover to get it off. Spoiler alert—acetone eats comforters. We ruined it and I’m pretty sure I cried.”

“Shame,” he says with a straight face, his marine eyes glittering. It’s the first time I’ve seen him genuinely happy since he walked into the house.

“I know. It was a vintage set. Probably could have sold it for a lot of money on eBay.”

“For sure.”

“You’ll have to make do with this quilt instead. Real sorry about that.” I pull the navy-and-white quilt up on the bed, smoothing out the wrinkles.

Satisfied, I straighten up and spin around to face Cam. “Feel free to use the dresser and the closet to unpack. They should be pretty empty.” I gesture at the tall wooden dresser in the corner and Cam nods.

“Thanks.” He shoves a hand into his pocket and I rack my brain trying to come up with some roundabout way to find out if he read the World’s Most Embarrassing Email.

“Well, I guess I’ll leave you to it—” I hold my hands up and shoot two finger guns at him, my voice trailing off. Somehow managing to be both cringey and awkward, all at the same time.

So much time’s passed since we’ve seen each other that I’m not sure how to act around him anymore.

I wish things between us were the same as they were back in high school, before he was Cam Crawford, pro football player. When he’d stop by my locker every morning to say hi and catch up on the latest episode of The Walking Dead. Or when we’d sneak into the weight room during lunch—sometimes Cam would lift weights and I’d eat my sandwich in peace, avoiding the smelly cafeteria scene. Back when he’d pop over to the house to see my dad after practice and we’d end up talking for hours, about school and football and all our big grown-up plans.

Plans that didn’t happen, at least not for me.

I force my legs to move, heading for the door. As I brush past Cam, he reaches out, taking gentle hold of my wrist.

“Hey—” The low rumble of his voice sends a hot bolt of electricity shooting straight through me and my breath hitches. My gaze drops to his huge hand encircling my arm, the rough pads of his fingers creating a flame burning beneath my skin. His touch familiar, but somehow different, more charged.

“Yeah? You rethinking the Jonas brothers’ shirt?” I tease, but Cam doesn’t smile at my joke this time, his face serious.

“Thank you.” He swallows hard, his throat bobbing with the effort, and it’s a monumental struggle for me to even breathe as the rough pad of his thumb tingles against my skin.

“It’s no biggie.” I shrug, my heart pounding against my rib cage.

“It is to me. It’s good to see you, Trouble.”

Blood roars in my ears as Cam gazes at me with an intense stare, sending shock waves rippling through me.

“You too, Cam.” I force the words out, my voice hoarse, like I’ve been at Coachella screaming for the last few days.

He lets go of my arm then, breaking the connection, and I somehow make myself move forward, out of the room. I head down the hall, sinking down onto the edge of the bed. Every inch of my body’s sparking and I’m acutely aware of the dampness between my legs.

It’s going to be a long, hot summer, sharing such close quarters with Cam Crawford.