One and Only(15)

He could still feel his fist connecting with that asshole’s jaw. He wanted to regret his actions that day. He did regret them, in the sense that they’d destroyed his career. He definitely regretted that after he’d landed the punch that had dislodged Biggs and summoned the others, he didn’t stop.

Cam followed his own code of honor. One that dictated that you put your dick on ice when actively deployed. One that dictated that you protect someone—man or woman—when they’re being hurt. Ironic that it had turned out to be his downfall.

The flip side of that code of honor, of that long period of celibacy combined with stress, meant that when he came back, he was ready to go. It was like someone turned on the TV with the volume at full blast in what had been an utterly silent house. And, after his first deployment, Christie had been happy to see him. Or so he’d thought. She’d been happy to fall into bed with him anyway.

He wasn’t sure what the hell had happened to him this time. He should have been able to get laid ten times over by now. The tiny waitress. Sherry of the too much perfume. That Gia girl in the bar earlier. And those were without him even trying.

But no. Instead of ticking that item—the most important one—off his return-to-civilian-life list, he was in bed alone with his hand in his pants and a head full of watermelon.





Chapter Seven

FRIDAY—EIGHT DAYS BEFORE THE WEDDING



When Jane got into Cameron’s car, it took her all of five minutes to ask, “So what did you do last night after you left the bar?”

I stuck my nose in your pillow and jerked off to this weird watermelon smell that reminded me of you.

But of course he couldn’t say that. So he settled for, “I presume that what you’re actually asking me is, ‘Did you sleep with any randoms last night?’” The way she called potential hookups “randoms” was pretty funny.

“I am not!” she protested. She shifted her gaze out the window. “I probably shouldn’t be so hard on you. I didn’t know you’d just gotten out of a long-term relationship. I think sleeping with randoms is probably pretty normal when you’re on the rebound?”

The way she’d phrased it as a question suggested she didn’t have firsthand knowledge of post-relationship slutty phases. Damn if he wasn’t happy about that. He didn’t like the idea of Jane sleeping around. It took a while to get to know Jane. To appreciate her. He didn’t trust “randoms,” to use her term, to do a decent job of it. He didn’t mean it in a sexist, double-standard sort of way—it wasn’t like he thought Jane needed to remain “pure” or anything. But she deserved someone better than your average bar-trolling, right-swiping Neanderthal. Someone with his shit together who could be all in.

She still wasn’t looking at him, but there was alertness about her that suggested she was waiting for him to speak.

“Well, I have no idea about ‘normal,’ but my ex and I had been together for three years. I’m not really looking for anything serious right now.” Or ever again. “So I admit I was kind of looking forward to a little wild oat sowing once I got to town. But,” he added before she could say anything, “I also enjoy betting—even though you kicked my ass with that CN Tower one.”

“Damn right I did.”

He grinned, checking over his shoulder before merging onto the highway that would take them to Niagara Falls. “So all that’s to say, Ms. Denning, that thanks to you, my virtue remains intact.”

She finally looked at him, laughter in her eyes.

“I’m a man of my word,” he added, though he wasn’t sure why. It just seemed important, at that moment, that she know that.

“I know,” she said quietly.

He sighed, a big, content exhale that took with it some of the tension of the past few days—hell, of the past few years. It was another gorgeous day. Sure, he wasn’t doing very well with his return-to-civilian-life list—hell, steak, beer, and TV were pretty much the only items he’d managed to tick off. He pissed off his brother just by being alive. And he had no fucking clue what he was going to do with the rest of his life. But for one minute, none of it mattered. He was in a sweet car with a pretty amazing girl, and there was nothing but blue skies ahead of them.

“Okay, I did some research,” Jane said, dumping a stack of paper out of her purse.

He chuckled. “Of course you did.”

Ignoring him, she said, “There’s a lot to do in Niagara Falls, so I figured we’d want to maximize our time there. So I printed out some stuff to help us decide.”

“We could grab a hotel room if we feel like we’ve not done all we want to do by the end of today.”

The withering glance she shot him followed by the raising of one eyebrow told him what she thought of that idea. And, uncharacteristically, he hadn’t even meant it like that.

“How do you do that?” he asked, reminding himself that “I was watching my passenger raise one eyebrow” wasn’t going to get him out of a ticket when he got pulled over for erratic driving.

The eyebrow plummeted, joining its twin in a furrow. “Do what?”

“Raise only one eyebrow at a time.”

The eyebrow shot back up, and he laughed. “And it’s always the left one.”

And there came the furrow. It was like watching her eyebrow bungee jump.

“It is?”

Eyes on the road. “Yes, so what do you do when you’re not writing portal fiction or babysitting me?” he asked.

“Not much, actually,” she said. “I’m kind of boring.”

He noticed she hadn’t fallen back on her usual protest that she wasn’t babysitting him. “What about this costume ball thing?”

“Not a ball! Comicon.”

“Huh?”

“It’s a convention for people who like comics and sci-fi and stuff. And people dress up like their favorite characters.” She laughed. “It’s a nerd convention, basically.”

“And who do you dress up as?”

“Do you remember the show Xena: Warrior Princess? Probably not—you’re probably too young. And/or too cool.”

“Hell, yes, I know that show. I used to watch it in syndication.” He’d loved the mixture of goofiness with, as dumb as it sounded, Xena’s quest to atone for her past sins. There was something about the noble warrior that had always appealed to him. Of course, there was also the part where his thirteen-year-old self had sexually imprinted on Xena. Not really, but he did appreciate how well Lucy Lawless could rock a leather corset.

Jane’s jaw fell open. She was surprised he knew the show.

“Hey,” he protested. “Xena and Gabrielle run around scantily clad and kick ass. What’s not to like?”

She laughed. “Yeah, well, Comicon is this weekend. I’m going Sunday, which totally conflicts with the wedding, but Elise knows I’ve been planning this since last year. I went as Gabrielle last year, which is the obvious move for me because my hair has a red tinge, but Xena is my brass ring, and I’ve been working on the costume for months, so Elise doesn’t dare say anything.” She grinned like she was particularly pleased with herself. “So barring total wedding apocalypse, I will be transforming into Xena this coming weekend. I’m all ready to go except for the chakram.” She eyed him. “You know what a chakram is?”

It felt like some sort of test. “It’s that circular weapon thingy, right?” She beamed. Hell, that might have been the only test he’d ever passed on his first go. “This all sounds great.” It really did. Goofy, and definitely nerdy, but great. “But I don’t see what the scheduling problem is. The wedding isn’t until the weekend after this coming one, so it doesn’t conflict, does it?”

“For mere mortals? No. But a bridesmaid is not a mere mortal. Alas. A bridesmaid must bend space and time so as to make herself continuously available at the whim of her friend the bride. I have duties this coming weekend.”

Right. Because why else was she here if not because she was doing her bridesmaid duty, looking after the wild-card brother who couldn’t be trusted?

“Well,” he said, glancing at the pile of papers in her lap, “I’m up for something totally low-brow first.” He’d had enough of playing tourist in his brother’s refined life. Swanky condos and interior designer fiancées and ten-dollar pints of beer were wearing on him. Apparently you could take Jay out of the trailer park, but not so much Cam.

“Oh, that should be easy,” she said, reading from one of her printouts. “Dinosaur mini-golf, wax museum, or, oh! If you’re not into dinosaurs, there’s wizard mini-golf! Also, Ripley’s Believe It Or Not, Nightmares Fear Factory, some kind of indoor roller—”

“Nightmares Fear Factory.”

She whipped her head around to look at him. “I’m not going into a haunted house, particularly not one named Nightmares Fear Factory.”

“Why not?”

“Because I have an overactive imagination. Haunted houses scare the crap out of me. Horror movies, too—all that stuff.”

Wow. He had expected her to give a speech about how stupid and juvenile haunted houses were, not to admit that she was just plain afraid. “Even though you know it’s all fake?”