Challenge

by Amy Daws

  “I’m not saving myself for marriage.” Her tone is admonishing.

  “Then why?” I frown, wondering what other reason anyone could possibly have for staying a virgin this long, especially someone as beautiful as her.

  She shrugs and murmurs, “I want it to be good.”

  “Your first time?” My face screws up in confusion.

  “Yes, keep up!”

  Her snappy outburst elicits a smirk on my face. She’s cute all revved up like this. “I’m not having a go. I promise. I’m just trying to wrap my head around all this.”

  “There’s not much to grasp. I’m a virgin. End of.”

  She crosses her arms and turns away from me, throwing a proper fit in a towel. It’s comical really. But she’s holding on to her virginity just because she wants it to be good? That can’t be the only reason, can it? Most people’s first time is utter crap. Then again, I suppose most people’s first time is in their teens when they’re poking around in the back of a vehicle to hide from their mum and dad. Their priority isn’t for pleasure. It’s so they can tell all their mates at school.

  I’m not sure I believed in destiny until this second.

  I stride up to her, mindful of my knee, and lean over her back to whisper in her ear, “Why settle for just good?”

  She stiffens slightly but turns her head and answers, “Well, I want more than good I guess.” She adjusts the frames of her glasses and turns to face me again. I love how small she is next to me like this. I love that when she looks up at me, her eyes have to squint a little from the lighting above my head. “I’m twenty-four, Camden. I’ve waited this long. Surely it isn’t an impossible task to find a great shag at this age.”

  I chuckle at her pensive expression. “Sweetheart, you needn’t even ask.”

  Her jaw drops as her eyes snap to mine. “Well, aren’t you just a cocky sod.”

  I shake my head, tilting her chin up so she looks at me instead of my chest. “Specs, if you want your first time to be greatness, I’m right fucking here.” I close the last twelve inches between us and twine my fingers with hers, pulling her back to my bed. “But you’re right, it can’t be here.”

  “Obviously.” Her voice is wobbly as she looks away with a small flicker of disappointment and a huge splash of shame marring her pretty features.

  “But it will be me.” My voice is self-assured.

  She pulls her large pink lower lip into her mouth and chews it nervously before looking at me and saying, “I don’t think you could be any cockier.”

  All humour drains from my face. “I’m not cocky. I’m certain.” I reach out to pull her lower lip from between her teeth and rub the pad of my thumb along it. Bits of it are raw and chapped from the overtime she’s been working on it.

  Her eyes flutter closed as she says, “I’m mortified.”

  I smile at her hunched posture. “You don’t need to be embarrassed.” I turn her face to look at me. “But I do think you need to stop lying to yourself about what you think we could be for each other.” Her eyes flicker quickly between mine. They look sad but hopeful. “After I’m out of here and you don’t have the stress of getting caught hanging over you, we’re going to do this. And I’ll make it better than good, Indie. I’ll make it so great that when I walk away, you’ll compare every bloke you ever meet to me.”

  She smiles, a resigned look of satisfaction on every inch of her face. “Just sex?”

  “That’s all I’m offering.” I watch her for her reaction.

  An appreciative smile takes over her face. “You couldn’t be more right for this than if I hand-picked you from a catalogue.”

  “You’re damn straight.” I wink and silently beg my cock to simmer down. “Now let’s get some sleep before my blue balls create a new colour in the rainbow.”

  “YOU THINK I’M SLEEPING in here again?” I ask, pulling out of Camden’s large hands and standing up off the bed. I’m about to burst with insecurity and detaching for some space is exactly what I need.

  “I don’t think, I know.” He looks up at me, his jaw taught with determination. “You’re staying.”

  “Cam, last night was a fluke, and we’re lucky we didn’t get caught. Doing it again would be tempting fate. I could get kicked off your surgery.”

  There are two sides of me that I am fighting with. The old side of me that’s a scared young girl being thrust into a world that’s completely out her comfort zone so she follows all the rules and aces all the tests. Then there’s the side of me that wants to make up for lost time and be daring and bold and take risks.

  But not at the expense of my job. “My career is just as important as yours.”

  “I never said it wasn’t.”

  “That’s why I need to go. But me leaving doesn’t change anything between us. You have my number. Call me when you’re out of here. Right now I need to focus.”

  “So do I,” he snaps in a self-deprecating tone.

  “What does that mean?”

  “I need you to stay, Indie.” His voice is low and pleading, and his eyes are strained. “Please.” He swallows hard and watches me for my answer.

  “Why is this so important to you?”

  “Because I’m afraid if you leave, I will, too.”

  His words shock me. I stare back at his gorgeous, tortured, vulnerable face. Then I walk over to him and stand between his legs, cupping his face in my hands. “You can’t leave, Camden. You need this surgery. And you have nothing to be nervous about.”

  He closes his eyes before speaking. “You are my distraction from running out of this place, screaming.” His eyes pop open as he adds, “Football is all I have and, fuck, if this doesn’t work—”

  “It will work,” I reply, nodding my head but knowing that there are never any guarantees in life.

  He looks as if he’s on the brink of truly losing it this time, and I realise that what I’ve been sensing all along is right. From the moment he came into Patch Alley, I could see it in his face. Even in the ICU and his demeanour last night when he talked about Arsenal. He’s battling something—something bigger than just nerves.

  I exhale heavily because I know, deep down, there’s no way I can walk away from him like this. He has to have the surgery. It’s what’s best for him.

  “I’ll stay, but only because I have it on good authority that you have nothing to be nervous about. Plus, I slept like a rock in that chair.”

  “If you think the chair is comfy, you should feel the bed.” He tweaks his brows at me and I feel better seeing his playful side come back to the surface. Just as quickly, he closes his eyes as if he’s in pain and adds, “You need to get some clothes on because I just pictured pulling that towel off and motor-boating your tits.”

  Camden manages to find me a pair of black compression tights that fit me like loose leggings and a white T-shirt that is so large I have to knot it around my waist. It isn’t far off from what I wear when I workout at the hospital, so I’m able to duck out easily before Nurse Beardie’s final checks for the night.

  Back in the on-call room, I take a quick shower and brush my teeth. I change into my own workout clothes so anyone that might see me in the hallway later will assume I’m on my way to the gym. This whole set up is weird and totally horrid. But it’s rather satisfying doing something wild and against the rules. It makes wearing my colourful eyeglasses look about as exciting as a bird-printed cardigan on a granny.

  Running into Belle as I leave the on-call room is the only hiccup. But I convince her that I’m going home to sleep so I’m well-rested for the big career-making surgery tomorrow.

  I hate lying to her. She’s my one and only best friend—the person who made up this Penis List with me in the first place. I’m too terrified of what her opinion might be to come clean, though. Would she cheer me on? Judge me? Call me an idiot? It could be all of the above.

  Mostly, I just don’t want this bubble I’m in popped quite yet. I’ve managed to put this thing I’m doing with Cam in
his room into a protective box that feels so far removed from the real world that I can’t bring myself to allow reality in. I’ll probably tell her everything after Cam’s gone. But right now, I don’t need the extra pressure of her opinion before I even know my own.

  It’s just before ten by the time I make it back upstairs to Camden’s room. I find him lying in his big bed with his nose in a novel and a pen in his hand as he scribbles something inside of it. His braced leg is sticking out of the blanket and I’m pleased to see he’s got a shirt and shorts on. After our heated make-out session earlier and me almost ripping his towel off, it’s probably for the best.

  I wince at the audible sound of me locking the door. I’d rather not take any chances tonight. “Beardie did her rounds already, right?” I whisper.

  “Yes, she did. She’s gone ‘til seven.” He’s still writing inside of his book. “One second, I’m almost done.”

  I head over to his closet and toss his shirt and tights in with the rest of his clothes. This is all so ridiculously casual. How is it possible I feel so at ease in Cam’s little suite here?

  Heading back toward his bed, I get a better look at what he’s writing in. “Are you an Alex Cross fan?”

  He frowns thoughtfully over his note and looks up for the first time. His eyes flick down to my blue tank and black leggings. “I might be. Can I just add that I’m a fan of your aversion to traditional pyjamas?”

  Ignoring the last part of his response, I do my best to school my features so they don’t appear too surprised over his reading hobby. But I have to admit, a mystery-reading footballer is most definitely not a combination I would have put together on my own, especially one who writes notes in the margins.

  Camden abruptly clears his throat when I move to sit in the chair. “I was thinking you should just crawl into bed beside me.”

  My jaw drops.

  “Hear me out.” He angles toward me and props himself on his elbow. “You already know we won’t be having sex. Even though a secret hospital room shag sounds pretty epic, we both know that you need to be completely relaxed and that’ll never happen here.”

  “Right,” I reply, ignoring his charmingly eager eyes.

  “So this is just for the sleep. You’ll sleep so much better here, and it’s important you’re at your best when you operate on London’s sexiest footballer tomorrow.”

  “I’ve met all your brothers, Cam. Are you entirely sure you hold that title?”

  He watches me for a silent moment with a playful scowl and finally says, “Just get your arse in here and stop playing defence, Specs.” He throws back the cover and shoots me a smouldering look. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

  “I could get into serious trouble if I get caught. That is a very big deal.”

  He exhales heavily. “The door is locked. Beardie’s gone. No one came in last night. We’re safe. And on the Harris name, I promise you, there will be no funny business. If there is, you can blast me to the tabloids.”

  His eagerness is a bit shocking. For a guy who has all the qualities of a player but promises he doesn’t want sex, I’m not sure why it’s such a big deal for me to sleep in his bed. I bite my lip, pondering that notion.

  He takes my hesitation as an opening to continue his pitch. “Haven’t you ever just wanted to take a risk? Live a little?”

  It’s as if he’s speaking directly to that meek girl in my heart of hearts—the one who only did as she was told by teachers and never experienced that wild, rebellious teenager stage.

  My jaw opens to refuse again, but the words get stuck in my throat.

  “Seriously, what’s the last wild thing you did?” he asks.

  “This would top the list.” I shake my head with a self-deprecating laugh and glance back at the door. I can’t believe I’m seriously wanting to do this right now.

  My next question makes me wince. “Rounds at seven?”

  The corner of his mouth lifts. “Yes. We’ll set your alarm for six just to be safe.”

  The forbidden fruit is so tempting. Additionally, the deeply seeded desire I have in my body to make this a Tequila Sunrise moment and stop living my life as an inexperienced little girl is strong. Plus, the thought of lying next to Camden’s large body in that comfy bed is incredibly alluring. Why can’t I take a risk? Why don’t I live in the moment? That’s what Tequila Sunrise is all about.

  With a firm nod of my head, my mind is made up.

  God, why does being bad feel so bloody good?

  Camden smiles triumphantly when I begin slowly sliding into his bed. I get myself situated, mirroring his position so we’re both on our sides facing each other with our heads propped.

  Glancing at the book on the bed between us, I ask, “What book are you on? There are like twenty in that series, aren’t there?” I’m trying to come off casual when I feel anything but.

  He gets the drift and picks it up. “This is Patterson’s newest release. I’m a sucker for mysteries. And puns. Alex Cross is the master of puns.”

  Camden Harris likes puns? Who’d have thought? I begin fidgeting with the blanket and say, “Well, all I can say is ‘when I get naked in the bathroom, the shower usually gets turned on.’”

  I look up once I’ve got the blanket just how I like it and find him staring at me with his mouth hanging wide open.

  He shifts his jaw to one side and narrows his eyes before saying, “‘This book has some scenes about anti-gravity and it’s impossible to put down.’”

  I give him a mock impressed look and reply with my super casual voice, “‘Yesterday a clown held the door open for me and I thought it was a very nice jester.’”

  I nod my head animatedly at the end and we both burst out laughing. He quickly presses his finger over my lips to remind me about Beardie.

  His touch makes me feel warm and tingly inside. When I stop giggling, I flop down onto the pillow and say, “My grandmother liked puns. It was about the only interesting thing I knew about her before she died a couple years ago.”

  “You weren’t close?” He turns and sets his book down on the nightstand behind him and flicks the light off at the same time.

  The dim exterior city lights cast a blue glow over his face as he gingerly rolls back to face me. The darkness is comforting. Makes me feel less exposed.

  “She raised me, but I was always sent to boarding schools, so I only saw her a couple times a year if I was lucky.”

  “What about your parents?” he asks, a sombre expression on his face as if he’s expecting me to tell him they’re dead.

  “They travel for work,” I shrug my shoulders. “I hardly ever see them.”

  His brows lift. “I see my dad almost every day, even though I don’t live with him. But he feels more like a coach than a dad.” He reaches out and pulls my glasses off my face and sets them down behind him by his book.

  “Thanks,” I say. He smiles but he doesn’t respond. It’s all very…sweet. “How’s your knee?” I ask, feeling a bit too intimate and needing to bring this back to my comfort zone.

  “It’s all right. The brace makes it feel pretty stable.”

  Nodding, I reply, “That’s why some people never get their ACLs fixed. I was telling your dad that earlier.”

  Camden’s good mood evaporates. “What did he say to that?”

  “He wasn’t pleased. I didn’t mean anything by it. I know you’re an athlete so it’s not an option for you. But it just seemed as if…” My voice trails off.

  “As if what?” Camden urges.

  I shrug. “I don’t know. As if his top concern was skewed a bit.”

  Camden sighs heavily and rolls onto his back, ruffling one of his hands through his hair. There’s a sudden tension in his body that’s potent in this giant hospital bed we’re sharing.

  Before I can stop myself, I continue, “And he won’t be here for your surgery tomorrow? Is that right? After being here all day today and most of yesterday?”

  “He doesn’t do well in hospitals,�
�� Camden says quietly. “Never has.”

  Feeling like a proper jerk now, I shake my head. “I shouldn’t have asked. It’s none of my business.” It’s totally not, Indie. Stop getting so personal with him. This is just supposed to be good fun.

  Camden’s Adam’s apple bobs as he wars with himself for a moment. I can’t tell if he’s working up the courage to argue with me or if he’s thinking about something else entirely. Swallowing once, he says, “When I was little, my mum had a couple of surgeries after she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. They said it would give her more time. It didn’t.”

  My heart stills inside my chest at the raw and vulnerable words he’s just announced to the ceiling. “How old were you?”

  His lips form a hard line. “Three.”

  I inhale shakily and can’t help but ask my next question. “Did she die in surgery?”

  He closes his eyes and I almost have to look away because the stiff pain on his face is overwhelming. “No. She suffered through two horrid surgeries and didn’t even get the chance to start chemo before things went from bad to worse.”

  Relief blankets me right before guilt crushes me. She still died. But in my mind, it would have been worse if she had died on the operating table, especially with what he has coming tomorrow. “I’m so sorry.”

  He shakes his head. “I was young. I barely remember her.” Gruffly clearing his throat, he adds lightly, “My dad had me take a meeting with Arsenal today.”

  My eyes widen at his abrupt change of subject. “Here at the hospital? What did they want?”

  “To see how fast I will recover. Dr. Prichard sat in on the meeting, too.”

  This floors me. He’s lying here with an injury and they still want to talk contracts with him? He must be an incredible athlete. Regardless, talking here doesn’t seem like a good idea. It’s adding an immense amount of pressure right before he goes into surgery.

  “You’re being awfully quiet,” he says ominously. “I’d like to know what you think.”

  His blue eyes find mine, gleaming for answers. His hand reaches out to cover my own. It feels warm and personal and so much more than a doctor/patient relationship should be. The intimacy sends shivers up my spine.