12. The Jersey

TWELVE

THE JERSEY

BECCA

A week later, I still had no job prospects, despite applying online and out and about at stores and restaurants every day. Just my luck to be job-hunting in the worst economy right now. At least I have a nice long weekend to do nothing but wallow in my misery since Calista took off with Danny for a romantic getaway to make up.

I knew they couldn't stay apart for long.

I'm okay, though. She feels bad about not being able to talk Uncle Eddy into giving me the job back, so she left me with the guys, Ben and Jerry, as a gift to cheer me up.

It's Friday night, I'm alone, and I have nothing better to do. I grab a spoon and prepare to ingest a ton of carbs in the form of my favorite butter pecan salted caramel ooey-gooey ice cream.

"Hello, fellas. Let's have a threesome," I say to the container, figuratively that is. I've never really had a threesome, nor a twosome, for that matter. I've dated, of course, but never let my boyfriends take my V-card.

It isn't a religious choice and has nothing to do with saving myself for marriage. I simply have it firmly in my head that I should give it to someone who matters. There have been some willing takers, but none of the guys were lucky enough to be granted access to my most sacred lady part.

Not the senior quarterback in high school who took me, the wide-eyed freshman, to a party and tried to take advantage of me. Not even the professor gained access, although I was very tempted at the time. I liked having a sexy older man interested in me. We did everything but the actual act of fucking. What I didn't like was finding out after I arrived in Las Vegas that he was actually still married to his wife and had two little kids.

So far, I don't have the best track record with men. I don't see that changing anytime soon. My virginity shall remain intact; I think I hear my vagina crying.

I flip the lid off and dig in, then bring a huge spoonful into my mouth and clamp my lips around it. I moan at the chilly substance and head to the couch-slash-my-bed to binge some scandalous reality television, too, when a knock comes at the door.

I peer through the peephole and gasp.

With the container in hand and the spoon still in my mouth, I pull the door open. Shock doesn't even begin to describe seeing Cam standing there.

"Uh. Hi." His eyes rake over me and I want to die under a rock right now. Of all nights to have my hair up in a messy ponytail, no makeup on, and obvious clues that I'm about to pig out on ice cream.

Then his brows stitch together, zeroing on my chest. My nipples must be poking out again, until I realize what I'm wearing and he does, too.

"Is that my jersey from high school?" He asks, frowning. "I wondered where that went. The coach made me cough up a hundred bucks to the school to buy a new one and benched me from playing until I did."

Oh, hell in a hand basket. It is his and I can't even try to cover it up by saying it's my brother's. This is Cam's old number I have on my body. He'd left it in Hayes' room one night after a game. I intended to give it back, really I did. For some reason, I've kept it all this time, only because it's so big and cozy to wear around on nights like these when I'm alone and want to chill. It's like a hockey-style snugly.

"You've had it this whole time? Wait." His eyes drop to my bare legs. A sly corner of his mouth turns up. "You're not naked underneath, are you?"

I don't know what's melting faster, me or the ice cream.

I finally snap out of it and yank the spoon from my mouth. "What the heck are you doing here? How'd you know where I live?"

He clicks his mouth. "You didn't really think I'd leave you at the diner the other day, did you? I followed you home to make sure you were safe."

I huff. But those dang butterflies in my stomach wake up and flutter, too. "You didn't have to. Your date must have hated that you were late."

"What date? Oh, that. I cancelled it." He shrugs.

I stand there a few more beats, still in shock, gaping at him. But I mean, look at him, any woman in her right mind would stand at the altar of him and give him all the glory. He's all Tom Cruise-y leaning against my door frame with his thumbs in his belt loops as if I'm the one woman at the bar he's singled out to be his next leading lady. Looking freshly showered with his hair still wet, he must have come straight from his game tonight, where the Gamblers won again.

Yes, I've become a little obsessed this week googling about Cam and tracking the Gamblers' games schedule, in between my job search, that is. I'm not proud of it and I know it's creepy.

"So, can I come in?" he asks.

"What for?"

"Let me in and you'll find out."

His response only invites all kinds of scenarios into my creative brain as to why he's here on a Friday night. Cam. Here. Alone with me. And yes, aside from a skimpy thong, I am indeed mostly naked underneath. Now my nipples pebble. Hard.

I step back and give him entrance. When he passes, he leaves behind in his wake the most delectable after shave scent. Something cocky, aged, full of wisdom, with a dash of devilish notes in between. I want so badly to rub this jersey against him so it'll smell like him.

But this is Cam. Just an old whatever. Only here to check up on Hayes' little sister. He can't possibly be lusting as hard for me as I am with him. Still, what if…

"I'll be right back," I call out. I put the ice cream back in the freezer and hurry to the bathroom to change. I pull a pair of denim cutoffs and a loose sweatshirt out of the hamper and spritz them with perfume. My hair gets attacked next with dry shampoo spray, brushing it out, flipping it to one side. And I adjust the wide neck of the top off one shoulder.

"Here," I say when I return to find him at the dining table. I hold out his jersey to him, sort of sad to part with it.

He takes it, then hands it back and chuckles. "What do you want me to do? Mail it back to good old Pembrook high school? Keep it. It's yours."

I don't argue, and set it aside and take a seat, glad I don't have to part with it after all. Now how can I get him to rub it with that scent of his?

"You know, I've never officially given a woman my jersey before. Guess I have now. You're the first." He winks. "You know what that means?"

Yes, I do indeed. Wear a guy's jersey and you belong to him. I recall a lot of girls wanting Cam's back in school. "Wasn't that just a silly high school thing?"

Cam grins, and I can see his wheels turning, but he says nothing more about it. "Anyway. This is where you live? It's not exactly a desirable area of the city, Princess."

"It's all I can afford. I was lucky to meet Calista the day I arrived, and she offered me her couch until I could land on my own."

His eyes snap to the couch made up as a bed. "Jesus. We gotta get you into something better than this."

My shoulders fall under the weight of his words. I know my life is shit right now, but seriously, he's going to berate me about it? I'm doing the best I can, I think.

"How's the job hunt going?"

"It's rough. I've applied at about twenty places and auditioned for a Rockettes holiday show at the River's Casino. That could be promising for Christmas, at least." I gave that damn performance my all and got compliments for my high kicks from the director. I'm hoping to get a call back.

"Okay. Good. Well, that's why I'm here. I have a job for you. Can you meet me in the morning?"