Each time his fingers moved over the flap covering the zipper, it tugged gently on my jeans, causing the seam of my pants to push against me. I had no idea if he knew that was happening. Knowing Cam, I’d have to go with a yes. In a matter of minutes, I was throbbing down there.
I let my head fall back against his chest and my eyes drifted shut. The acute sensation he was creating was mind blowing.
“Avery?”
“Hmm?”
There was a pause. “Are you paying attention?”
“Uh-huh.” I shifted restlessly.
Cam chuckled, and I knew without a doubt that he was fully aware of what he was up to. “Good. I wouldn’t want you to miss any of this.”
I wasn’t missing a single second of this.
#
Another fitful night of sleep beckoned me. I tossed and turned for hours after we got back from the drive-in, my body going through the same thing it had the night after our date. It was close to two in the morning when I gave in, slipping my hand under the band of my bottoms. It kind of felt dirty to be doing this in someone else’s home, in their bed, with Cam just a door away. It didn’t take long for me to find release, and I wasn’t sure what that said about me.
I slept for a couple of hours before waking a little bit before six. There was no way I was going back to sleep, so I showered and changed before I worked up the nerve to leave my bedroom. I stood in front of Cam’s door, like a total creeper. I wondered what he’d do if I woke him? Climb into bed—
I stopped myself before I finished that train wreck of a thought. If I tried to actually do that, I’d probably end up hurting myself in the process of trying to be seductive or flirty.
Pushing away from his door, I headed downstairs, hoping I didn’t wake anyone. It seemed like every step creaked obnoxiously. As soon as I reached the foyer, I caught the scent of coffee and knew someone had to be up.
I hovered at the bottom of the stairs, hands twisting together as I debated between going back upstairs or making my presence known. I thought about all those times I’d woken in the middle of the night, usually from a nightmare, and would go downstairs, catching my mom sneaking drinks.
She had so not been a happy camper when that occurred.
I honestly shouldn’t be roaming around someone’s house. Seemed like that was breaking some guest rule. I started to turn to go back upstairs when Mrs. Hamilton stuck her head out of the kitchen.
Oh shit.
A warm smile appeared on her face. “I didn’t wake you, did I? I’m an early riser, even more so on Thanksgiving.” She waved a dishtowel. “Making stuffing.”
“You didn’t wake me.” I inched closer, sort of fascinated by the fact she was up this early making stuffing. “Do you need help?”
“I could always use a hand in the kitchen,” she replied, motioning me forward. “And I have fresh coffee.”
The allure of coffee was too much to resist. I followed her into the kitchen, my eyes widening at all the food spread across the kitchen island. A turkey sat on a platter, waiting to get stuff shoved up its cavity.
“Sugar and cream, right?” she asked.
I smiled a little. “You remembered.”
“I think the key to the start of any good relationship is to remember how the other person likes their coffee.”
“Cam doesn’t really like coffee.” The moment those words left my mouth, I flushed.
His mom pretended not to notice my red face. “No, he’s not big on coffee. Milk, on the other hand…”
“He drinks milk while eating Chinese.” I shuddered. “It’s so gross.”
She laughed as she handed me the coffee. “He get’s that from his father. Teresa is the same way. Speaking of which, you will be meeting her within the next couple of hours.”
Knots formed in my stomach. Meeting his sister made me anxious.
“Have you made stuffing before?” she asked, moving over to the island.
“No.” I joined her on the other side, eyeing the loaves of bread, onions, milk, and eggs.
“My daughter usually helps me in the morning,” she said, placing the dishtowel on the counter. “It’s not difficult at all, so you’re more than welcome to help or keep me company.”
“I can help. What can I do.”
Mrs. Hamilton’s smile was wide. “If you could start with the bread, that would be perfect. All you need to do is break them up in this bowl.” She pointed to a large blue one. “When you’ve finished the loaf, we’ll move on to the next step.”
“Okay.” I pulled my hair up into a ponytail and rolled up my sleeves, then washed my hands quickly.
“That’s a pretty bracelet,” she commented as she started chopping the onion into small chunks.
“Thank you.” I tore apart the bread, probably a little harder than necessary. “Cam told me that his sister was at a dance recital?”
“In Pittsburg,” she said, pride pouring into her voice. “It was an invitation only recital. Richard and I would’ve gone, but we wanted to be home for Cameron. Teresa understands though. We rarely miss any of her dances.”
I finished the loaf. “What’s next?”
“Onions, butter, milk, and seasoning. You get to mush it all with your hands.”
I waited for her to dump in the ingredients. As she did so, she told me how much she thought should go in and then I sunk my hands into the gooey mess. Grinning, I laughed. “Okay, this feels kind of weird.”
“It does. At least you’re not eating it.”
“Raw?”
“Yep, Cameron and Teresa both would try to eat it raw.”
I made a face as I smushed everything together so that the milk and butter would evenly distributed through the bread. After wiping my hands clean, I moved onto the second loaf of bread. “I used to dance,” I admitted.
“Cameron mentioned that.”
My hands stilled around the bread. He’d told his parents that? I wasn’t sure what to make of it.
“I would’ve known if he hadn’t said anything,” she commented as she dropped some of the onions in my bowl. “You still move like a dancer.” She smiled. “I danced and watching Teresa over the years, you come to be able to recognize that in others.”
“It’s nice to hear that. I mean, I don’t feel like I still do.”
“You do.”
I was back to the mushing part again and I decided that was my favorite. I was weird.
“You never made stuffing with your mom?” Cam’s mother asked.
It was an innocent question, but it caused a deep ache to slice across my chest. My mom and I hadn’t been the closest two people in the world before the incident, but afterward, our relationship was nonexistent. “I don’t think my mom knows how to cook,” I said finally.
“You don’t think?”
I shook my head. “My parents aren’t into cooking dinners.”
There was a pause. “Cameron said they travel a lot during the holidays?”
“Yeah, and they kind of like doing their own thing, you know, daughter free.” I forced out a laugh, shrugging it off. “I mean, I’m okay with that. I can’t ski to save my life and being stuck on a ship in the middle of an ocean isn’t something I’m into.”
Mrs. Hamilton was silent as we added the last of the ingredients and I dug my fingers into it, liking the way it slid through my fingers. “So what do you normally do when you’re home?” she asked.
I shrugged. “I wouldn’t be by myself the whole time. They have a maid that usually cooks dinner for me before she goes home. It’s really nice of her because she’s not required to work during the holidays.”
“What about Christmas?”
“The same,” I admitted, surprising myself. I glanced up and found her watching me. “It’s not really a big deal. My family isn’t very close and so it’s probably better this way.” After saying that, I figured it probably wasn’t the best thing to say. “Anyway, I’m done. What’s the next step?”
“It goes in the turkey.” She smiled, but it seemed a little off. “Want to do the honors?”
“Sure.” I waited for her to turn the bird around and then I completed the somewhat gross task of getting all in the turkey’s personal space.
When I was done, I headed over to the double sink while she wrapped the turkey in foil and placed it in a roaster.