by McGee,J. B.
The words echo in my mind, you’re an ass, Holden Masters.
That’s part of the problem with Cammie. She’s bought the façade I’ve put on for everyone because it’s been easier to hide behind it.
Ass is the last word I’d use to describe myself.
It’s one of many I reserve for Oliver, and I have to find a way to prove it to her before she makes the biggest mistake of her life.
Swiping the tears from my cheeks, I rush through a back door and into the only room that’s probably vacant, the bridal suite.
My heart’s pounding in my chest, and it’s not just from running. The irony isn’t lost on me that in just three short months, I’m supposed to be dressing in this room to marry Oliver.
Closing and locking the door, I fall onto the couch as my shoulders quake, my lungs and throat tighten, and my hands are soaked from the tears that are steadily trickling from my face. How can I go through with a marriage to someone I’ve already betrayed?
It was an accident.
But if I’m honest, I liked the accident.
My chest aches, and I bury my head in a pillow to muffle the cries as my sobs intensify.
Holden’s an ass. He’s a bad-boy heartbreaker. In five minutes he’s already got me crying.
Oliver cares more about his career than me. He would never worship and adore my body the way Holden just did. He never has. And I know it. And when will I stop denying the sparks that Holden ignites in me every time I’m near him?
I further bury my face into the fabric and let out a scream.
Get yourself together, Camellia Olivia. You have commitments, and you can’t break them. Pull it together.
After pushing myself off the couch, I stare into the ornate, wrought iron-framed mirror. My green eyes are puffy, my skin is blotchy, and my cheeks are mascara-stained. I look like a scene from a horror movie.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
I wave my hands in front of my face, then caress my swollen lips, lips that Holden claimed, tugged, and sucked. My body mourned the disconnection from his the moment he placed me back on my feet and released me. Why did he have to wait until I was engaged to do that?
Pacing back and forth, the scene just keeps replaying. The way his tongue was smooth against mine, how his hair slid through my fingers like silk. The way his eyes danced when he sucked his finger that I know had been in me just moments before. My insides quiver.
Dammit.
My hands ball into fists. I should have known by the hair. Did I know? Did I ignore it because I wanted it just as much as he did? Fuck. I just cheated on Oliver, and the lingering question that I keep asking is whether or not I’d change a fucking thing. This is so screwed up.
Pulling a tissue from a box on the bookcase, I dab my face as more tears spill down my cheeks. I’m going to look like a train wreck at the auction. This night has turned to shit. It’s a nightmare. Having planned the cabana fiasco early on, I didn’t bring a purse, which would have had a compact and lip gloss. No, instead, I gave those two things to Oliver to put in his coat pocket, using the excuse of not wanting to be burdened with holding something all night. I roll my eyes. He grumbled something under his breath. I let it go because after I surprised him, he’d understand, right? Wrong.
Now, I have to make my way back to him, hoping he doesn’t notice Holden’s woodsy scent. It’s all I can smell. I can’t tell if it’s on my clothes or just stuck in my nostrils.
That’s another sign I should’ve known it wasn’t Oliver, but I just thought that maybe he decided to wear a new cologne. Pulling a strand of hair to my nose, I inhale. My scalp starts to tingle at the memory of his hand being tangled in my hair.
Stupid, Cammie.
You can’t like his cologne.
And you certainly can’t be tingly at the mere thought of his hands in your hair.
Maybe I could make up some excuse for smelling like a guy, though. What that excuse would be, I have yet to figure out, but I’m quick on my feet. If I can manage that, then perhaps Oliver won’t notice my crazy hair or my imperfect makeup.
I glance at the clock on the mantle over the fireplace. I have five minutes to get my shit together. The auction will be taking place soon, and I’ve yet to tell Oliver what my package is. Club rules smules. While I understand it’s for a good cause, it’s beyond ridiculous that even engaged girls have to participate. Whose idea was that, anyway?
Releasing a few cleansing breaths, I stomp off in an effort to locate my fiancé. But it’s not as hard as I thought because he’s not moved since I left him. My blood starts to boil. Except no one is allowed to see any signs of anger from a woman of my standing. There’s a code of conduct, an expectation of behavior from the wives and fiancées in the country club. It doesn’t matter that it’s 2016, that women are strong and independent. Here, in this setting, we’re defined by our last names and the men who gave them to us.
Plastering a fake smile on my face, I loop my arm in Oliver’s. “Oh, there are you are, darling.” I kiss his cheek, then glance at the guys huddled by his side. “Gentlemen, I’m so sorry to interrupt, would you mind if we have a moment?”
They all smile, but Luke, Oliver’s best friend grins. “Sure thing, Cammie.” He studies me from top to bottom. “You look beautiful, by the way.”
“Thank you so much. You look exceptionally nice tonight too.” I smile, glancing at Oliver. Surely, there should be a spark of jealousy in his eyes at this exchange with his best friend. Or maybe a look of admiration. Like, hot damn, that’s my girl. But, instead, he gives hand motions to one of the other guys walking away, mouthing something. Then, he has the fucking audacity to glare at me. Based on previous experience, my guess is it wasn’t the comment to Luke that garnered it as much as it was the inconvenience of me busting up his little pow-wow with his friends slash colleagues.
His mouth parts, but my head is about to explode. And my body yearns to be filled. There’s nothing worse than having incredible foreplay and being left dangling. Granted, that was my decision, but that doesn’t take away from the need going unsatisfied. I hold my hand out expectantly. “I just need my compact and lip gloss so I can freshen up before the auction.” I glance away, then back at him. I swear it’s as if he’s looking in through to my soul, like he can see what happened in the cabana, as if my eyes are all-knowing crystal balls that bare my indiscretions. I push my hand out further. “It starts in five minutes, and I need to tell you my package so you make sure to bid on me. A date with someone else would be awkward at best, don’t ya think?” I wait with my palm open, tapping my foot. “Even if it is for charity.”
Oliver drops his arm, thus releasing the one I’d looped into it. He reaches across his chest into his coat pocket, pulling out my things. His eyes are half on mine and half tracking the business associates he chose to kiss ass with instead of screwing me in the cabana. Maybe he wasn’t looking into my soul after all. Maybe all I saw was my own reflection.
Is Holden right? Has Oliver always been this dismissive? Have I only ever received half his attention? Is it obvious to everyone but me?
“Honey, I’m sure I can pick your package out.” Instead of his smile being apologetic like I want it to be, it’s almost smug. “You’re about to be my wife.”
Taking the compact and lip gloss into my hand, I cross my arms across my chest. Even though I know what happened with Holden is between the two of us, damn if it doesn’t feel as if everyone is looking at me, judging me.
When I turn, I realize it’s not everyone. It’s just him. Holden’s crystal blue orbs sparkle against the light like I’ve noticed them to do every year. Even though he’s a jerk, I’ve always found it difficult to look away from them, from him. He’s a special kind of beautiful. The way his dark hair falls across his wide, prominent forehead, how his eyebrows are perfectly arched, and that rigid square jaw line makes me curious as to how it’d feel beneath my tongue.
Seriously?
But Oliver is always clean-shaven, thou
gh, so it’s a legit curiosity.
He cocks his head, curves those plush lips into a sly smile, and even the way he’s standing with his ankles and arms crossed oozes sex. Every inch of me quivers. Snap the hell out of it, Cammie.
Oliver’s voice seems like it’s miles away. “I mean, if you wanna tell me, go ahead. But I really need to finish up my conversation with these guys before the auction starts.”
I shrug my shoulders. He’s right. He should know my package. “Suit yourself.” I give him a quick peck on the cheek before heading to the ladies’ room.
Although, if I am being perfectly honest, it’s not just to refresh my makeup. Every memory at Magnolia Grove involves Holden or his family in some way, and while I’ve always been attracted to him, I’ve never felt quite so discombobulated by him until tonight. Did he really feel those things he said in the cabana?
Burn for me?
Surely it’s nothing more than suggestive words on his behalf. Guys love the chase, the unattainable. I shake my head, needing both mental and physical space from them both, one who seems to be ripping my heart apart, and the other who very well could do the same, but for very different reasons.
The lights of the ballroom flicker as the emcee, Harry, takes the mic. “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for dinner. Please take your seats. The women of Magnolia Grove have a fun-filled evening planned for you. Sit back, relax, and enjoy.”
Cammie re-enters the tent, and my eyes follow her as she sits. Within moments, she glances over both shoulders. Sweet Cammie. No one knows except for me. Taking that as my cue, I walk up behind her, pull my chair out, and sit. “Hey, tigress.”
She inhales sharply. “Why do you always call me that?”
I grin. “I don’t know. Seems to fit your, er, wild personality.” I’m not ready to tell her the real reasons for the nickname. That’s something I’ve always envisioned being a special moment between us, one in which we’re alone for starters. Ideally, in love. That time is definitely not now.
Rolling her eyes, she glances at Oliver, who is, as usual, completely ignoring her. She turns back to me. “Ha. Very funny.” She’s not laughing. She’s not even smiling. “Did you pay someone off to be able to sit with us?”
“You think I need to pay someone off to be assigned to your table?” I place my hand under the long tablecloth and on her thigh. Her legs tighten as her eyes widen. “Well, do you?” My fingers lightly wander up her leg, making their way to her exposed pussy. Damn, her skin feels like satin beneath my fingers.
Shaking her head, she swallows. Her eyes are hooded, and her lips slightly part. Her hand captures mine, moving it to my leg instead of hers. “Perhaps you should find your original seat, though.”
I chuckle. “This is my original seat.” I grab the place card in front of me and flip it around so she can see it. “Says so right here.”
She blows out an unsteady breath and shakes her head before smoothing back her hair.
“So, let’s cut to the chase. Tell me all about your package.” I know all about her package. “I mean, the one that’s up for auction.”
Cammie raises her chin, then drags in a gulp of air. “There’s no way in hell I’m telling you about my package.” It’s all I can do to not laugh at how cute she is.
“You want my jacket?” I smirk, knowing the shiver wasn’t because she was cold. This tent, with the heaters, is quite toasty.
“Keep your jacket”—her voice softens—“and your hands, to yourself.”
“I don’t need to know about your package. I am pretty sure I have you figured out better than you have me defined.”
The server places the first entrée in front of me as I pick up my fork and knife, then cut into the fancy salad. It looks more like a floral bouquet, complete with pansies. I’ve never understood the point of making food look so ridiculous, but whatever.
Cammie mirrors my actions and raises her fork to her mouth, taking a bite of the crisp greens. She places a hand below her nose, covering the fact she’s probably about to talk with food in her mouth, as if that makes it more acceptable. “Asshole is how I have you defined. Last time I checked, it fit you as perfectly as your suit.”
“So you think my suit fits nicely?” I can’t contain my grin. I didn’t change pants. I left them wet after the cabana fiasco in an effort to keep my cock down.
Nearly choking on her food, Cammie quickly picks up her glass of wine, taking a long swig. That’s the only thing she’s been able to do to catch Oliver’s attention the entire night.
He pats her back like he’s burping a damn infant. “Hell, Cammie, don’t make a scene.”
“Cam?” I clench my fists in my lap. I don’t even realize how tight my jaw is until I hear my teeth starting to grind. “You all right?”
She looks at me and nods. “Just went down the wrong way.” She glances back at Oliver. “So sorry. I’m fine.” She takes another gulp. If she doesn’t eat, she’ll be drunk in no time. I can’t foresee her tiny frame tolerating much.
I open my mouth, but decide to hold my tongue. That is until Oliver completely disregards her yet again. This. Is. Bullshit. I lean into her. “Do you really want to spend the rest of your life apologizing for your needs, for your existence? Begging to be seen? To be heard?”
She stiffens.
“Yearning to be touched and handled like the precious gem you are? Because I think—I know—you deserve better than he’s offering you.”
She faces me and snaps a finger over her lips. “Shh.”
“Oh, please. No one can hear us over the band, and after the way he just treated you, he’s lucky I didn’t make a scene handing him his fucking ass on one of those silver platters.”
A small smile spreads over her delectable lips, one I’d been missing tonight, so I savor it for as long as she’s willing to allow me.
“How’s dinner?” Harry asks.
The room is filled with applause, but the only thing I hear is the beating of my heart. The only person I see is her. Slowly, I put my hands together and clap because that’s what’s expected. Except, I’m not clapping at the food. I’m clapping at her, for making me so damn happy right now. She has no clue. Cammie Spencer has no idea that she’s been my happiest thing for as long as I can remember. I’m still clapping, lost in her, feeling like I’ve had ten beers—totally buzzed and euphoric—except, I’ve had nothing to drink. I’m drunk on her. The room grows quiet.
“Can we get the young ladies participating in the Dream Date auction to come to the stage?” Chairs creak. Cammie pushes away from the table, placing her napkin beside her plate. While they are making their way up to the front, it’s my great honor and privilege to introduce this year’s event chair, Georgette Masters.”
Whose idea was it to start the auction while we’re eating?
Terrible fucking timing.
“Thank you, Harry,” my mother says, while adjusting the microphone. “And thanks to all of you for being here. As this year’s chair, I’m so excited to present our first auction, Dream Dates.”
Smiling, I resist the urge to give her a standing ovation just for being her, but also for the chance to win a date with Cammie. This was better than any gift she’s ever given me.
Paying, as Cammie suggested, to sit next to her wasn’t necessary. That was free and easily obtainable. Growing up, it wasn’t an option to be a mama’s boy. It’s not like my father and I had a lot of time to do the whole male bonding ritual. But I refuse to think too much about that son of a bitch.
When I let myself in one day to take Mom to lunch, I overheard her on the phone planning the auction portion of this event. I pulled a pen and scratch sheet of paper from the junk drawer, sat in the chair next to her, and started scribbling.
She smiled and nodded. “What do you think about one called dream dates?” She paused. I had no clue who she was talking to, and I couldn’t make out who the voice on the other line belonged to. “Young adults.” She laughed. “Uh huh. I can’t take credit. Ho
lden’s over here writing me notes with suggestions.”
Really, Mom?
“Yeah, maybe he should be chair next year.”
I shook my head, waving my hands like windshield wipers. My brows furrowed, and I found myself mouthing no. I jotted down my next recommendation.
All club member young adults participate unless married. I tapped my pen at the paper and nudged her shoulder.
Mom nodded again, but this time mouthed, “Good idea. More participants.” I only cared about one.
“What do you think about all girls ages eighteen to twenty-five participating unless married? That would give us more dates, which means more funds.” But when she put it like that, I did grin back at her, feeling kind of proud to be helping raise money for the cancer ward.
She wrote a note back while listening to whoever she was talking to yap so loudly I could hear her through the phone. I’m so proud of you, sweetie. Thank you for the ideas. I knew you’d come around to this charity stuff eventually.
Fuck.
Of course she’d think this was my way of being involved. What the hell had I gotten myself into?
“I’m still here,” she said, putting her fingers together like a duck quacking, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, I think it’d be best if no one knows who each package belongs to.”
My eyes bulged. I shook my head, but she winked.
“Way more exciting that way.”
Even bigger fuck.
While I don’t mind stacking the deck in my favor, I do have a very big issue with flat out cheating to win. As many stereotypes as Cammie probably has in her mind about who and what I am, a cheater isn’t one of them.
So, I’m sitting here twisting my neck around several times while shrugging my shoulders, with no clue what my mother had been talking about or how long it’s been. All I know is I have to win Cammie’s package. And I don’t even know which one is hers.
The minutes passing feel more like hours when Harry finally takes the microphone from my mother, who could chat the ears off anyone. She winks at me while walking off the stage. If I could, I’d fist pump her right now, but not for the reasons she thinks. No, I’m way more selfish than she gives me credit for. Although, I do love that I’m able to do good while trying to win the heart of the girl whose had mine for as long as I can remember.
