by DC Renee
Like right then … I had been racking my brain to come up with ideas for what to do on Sunday. The only thing I had was the concert. But I’d told her I wanted her all day. So what else?
“Not interested.” I shrugged in response to Roger’s declaration.
“Shit, I’ll take them,” he said with a smirk. “But that’s not the point. You, my friend, are whipped. You know that whole ‘look but don’t touch’ shit?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I responded.
“It’s because men aren’t fucking blind. Even when they got a good thing, they still notice other chicks … unless they’re pussy whipped like you.”
“I’m not pussy whipped,” I told him. “I’m trying to decide what the hell I’m going to do on Sunday.”
“What’s Sunday?” he asked.
So I told him my dilemma.
And you know what? Fucking Roger, the anti-relationship guy, came through once again. He practically laid out the day for me.
“How the fuck do you know so much shit for a guy who doesn’t ever see the same girl twice?” I asked.
Something passed across his eyes for a split second. If I hadn’t been looking, I wouldn’t have noticed—some deep shadow. But just as quickly as it came, it went. “Not telling you my secrets,” he said with a wink. That was fine with me. I had plenty of shit that could cloud any day for me. I was the last person to ask him about his.
“Thanks, Rog,” I told him genuinely.
“If she doesn’t sleep with you after the day you planned, well, then fuck … you’re a lost cause.”
What he didn’t realize was that I didn’t even care about that. I just wanted Gen. Her. Period. Sex would just be the cherry on top.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
Present
Genevieve
WHAT WAS IT like to date the star quarterback at school? Exhausting.
Books and movies made it seem like girls literally threw themselves at those guys, and people attacked, trying to be a part of the guy’s circle. In real life, it wasn’t that crazy at all. There were some, of course, but nothing like you’d expect. It was more of the stares that drove me nuts. Everywhere I turned, girls stared at Cam like he was meat and they suddenly decided they didn’t want to be vegetarians anymore. They also spared a glance at me. Sometimes, those looks were envious, sometimes they were appreciative, and other times, they were downright dirty. I could practically hear their thoughts—“What makes you so damn special?”
Apparently, it worked like this: be the girl said quarterback used to bully, change your appearance enough that he doesn’t notice you, coincidentally go to the same college and have the same class, and then plan to get even with him. There you have it, ladies; that’s what makes me so damn special.
The guy stares, though? Those were usually awestruck toward Cam and then blatant perusal of my body. I swear Cam didn’t notice the girls ever, but he sure as hell figured out when a guy was checking me out. His arm around me tightened every freaking time.
I was used to the stares from before. Cam and I had been hanging out for months together. The difference was that the space between us made it fairly obvious I wasn’t his girlfriend, so girls didn’t have anything to be jealous or envious of, and guys didn’t even look my way. It probably didn’t help that Cam had publicly announced I was his girlfriend when he kissed me after the first game.
You’d think that was the only tiring part in all this. It wasn’t.
I was a hormonal nineteen-year-old who had never had any type of sexual experience. Cam was hot, and his kisses could melt better. And when I forgot who he was, his personality could charm a bitter old woman. So keeping my hands to myself and my pants securely on … now, that was the exhausting part.
Cam didn’t try a thing with me, so it wasn’t him. He was actually quite the gentleman. We kissed as if our lives depended on it, but he never went further. I knew he wanted to, though. I could feel his body vibrating with need, with desire, but he kept himself in check. He wanted to go at my pace. That meant he would forever be waiting for me to either tell him I was ready for more or show him. Too bad for him, or I guess even for both of us, that I wasn’t ever going to take things further. I just needed to get him to the love stage, and then things would be over.
When I admitted all this to Amanda, she told me that none of that was exhausting.
“Oh, yeah? Then what is?” I asked.
“You trying to deny your feelings and sticking to this ridiculous plan that doesn’t even apply anymore,” she answered.
“Of course, it applies,” I retorted.
“You’re not the same person you were back then, and it’s painfully obvious that neither is he. Why can’t you just let the past go? Live in the moment. Enjoy who he is now instead of dwelling on who he was then.”
“I can’t,” I whispered.
“You won’t,” she responded.
I ripped off one of my bracelets, pointing my wrist at her. “See these, Mandie. These are physical scars. Physical,” I repeated. “But physical ones I can handle. I cover them up, I hide them, and I can even let them remind me to be stronger. It’s the emotional ones that I can’t bear. The ones that no amount of therapy or confidence can get rid of. And those scars? They’re not from today; they’re not from tomorrow. They’re from yesterday. They are from my past, and I have to live with them every single day. You know why? Because of Cam. So no, it’s not ‘I won’t.’ It’s really ‘I can’t.’”
“I’m sorry, Gen, I really am. I’m sorry you went through all that. I’m sorry I almost lost you before I even knew you. I’m sorry you missed out on so much. I’m sorry it still affects you to this day, and you can’t see how damn beautiful you are. And I sure as hell am sorry that Cam was the cause of it all, but I’m not sorry for telling you the truth. Sad to say, but if it wasn’t for all that, you wouldn’t be here today. And who you are today … I really like her. I just wish you liked yourself too.”
“Then I have to do this,” I said quietly.
“If you think you have to, you know I’ll back you up. But I won’t do it quietly,” she said.
“That’s like asking you not to breathe,” I teased. She threw a sock at me.
“So I’m going to say one last thing—” she started.
“Shocking,” I interrupted with a chuckle.
“Okay, let me rephrase. I’m going to say one last thing for today. He admitted he wasn’t a good guy. He said he was better because of you. Isn’t that your closure? Isn’t that enough?”
“If that’s true, then why wasn’t he better because of me when we were in high school?” I asked.
“He didn’t know you then.”
“He didn’t even try,” I told her.
“He was a kid, Gen. A stupid, dumb kid. People grow up, and they change. They realize that plans don’t always work out. They fall for guys they didn’t want to. That’s not a bad thing. Embrace it.”
“Not today,” I told her.
“Then I hope you do before it’s too late.”
She let me stew on her words. You know what the sad part was? Despite my hate, despite my pain, despite my anger, and despite my want to bring all those emotions to Cam, part of me—a big part of me—hoped she was right.
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
Past
Cameron
Two days earlier …
GEN MADE ME believe I could let go of the past, of the person I used to be, the one I’d buried inside myself. How could I not believe those things when she gave me a chance and looked at me like I was something special?
Fuck … when she looked at me through her eyelashes, her innocence written in her eyes marred only by the desire even she couldn’t mask, I felt like a god. Nothing in my life had ever made me feel like that … not the women before, not the person I’d bullied, and not even football.
I felt like I was getting away with stealing a hidden treasure, and obviously, the treasure was Gen.
So what was
the problem? There were two actually—aside from it being painfully clear I didn’t deserve her. The first was that apparently jealousy hadn’t been a one-time thing with that asshole she almost dated at the end of summer. Every damn time we went anywhere, guys blatantly checked her out. They didn’t give a fuck that my arm was around her or that she was tucked into my side. They perused her body like she was a fucking centerfold in a magazine just for them.
I had to keep my temper in check every fucking day, or I’d punch the shit out of every guy I came across. I probably wouldn’t have cared and done it anyway if it wasn’t for the fact I didn’t think Gen would appreciate it and I’d probably get suspended from football.
And the second problem was that I literally wanted Gen more each day. Her kisses were teases of what could come. The pleasure she got out of such a simple act; the soft whimpers and the little moans whenever we kissed had my zipper straining constantly. I couldn’t wait to taste every inch of her, but I wasn’t an asshole. I would not make her do anything she wasn’t ready to do, but that didn’t stop me from waking up each day with a hard-on that could probably crack ice.
The rest of the time, though? Pure heaven. I spent as much time as I could with Gen. We hung out just the two of us and with her friends or mine. We ate together; we watched movies together. I took her on dates I thought she’d like. I could even say Roger didn’t give me every date idea. I had a few of my own. One night I took her to the Griffith Observatory, and we watched the stars. Well, she looked at the stars while I spent my time staring at her. She was a damn star, and her smile could light up the freaking galaxy. Damn. I was whipped. Fuck it. As long as it was by Gen, I didn’t give a shit.
She came to every home game and sat in the front with Amanda like she had that first game. I looked for her before every game, and only when I saw her smiling face was I able to get pumped. And for the away games? She’d started texting me things like you got this or score a touchdown for me or not that you need it but good luck. I’d check my phone before I left the locker room, needing those texts to get on the field.
Being with her was everything.
If I wasn’t careful, though, I could fall in love with her, and that would break my heart ... because no matter how different I was, no matter how well I treated her, no matter how much I did to be worthy of her, she’d never know who I was. And that meant she’d never fall in love with me.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
Present
Genevieve
I HONESTLY THOUGHT I’d date Cam for maybe a month before he said he loved me. Then—bam—heartbreak central and this sham of a relationship would be over. Maybe I had overestimated my own worth. Maybe I had unrealistic expectations. Maybe I was just dragging it on for as long as I could because I secretly wasn’t ready to let Cam go. But over a month had already passed and things were, as Amanda would say, “fan-fucking-tastic.”
If I forgot about Tyler, I could be giddy about the fact I had a boyfriend. Not only a boyfriend, but a good one. A hot one who tried to make every day different. It almost felt like he was trying to prove something to either me or himself or both. Like maybe he needed to show us both he could be a great boyfriend. If I had no reason to see beyond that, then I wouldn’t leave him.
I had always viewed Cam—even Tyler—as a strong, confident, overbearing guy. But there were little things—things I couldn’t even put my finger on—that made me believe he had some insecurities of his own. His words had said as much, but words were like sand, spilling easily through the mouths of liars. His actions told the same story, though.
And for someone who had a rough go of it in high school, I felt like I deserved this bit of happiness. Especially since, ironically, it was coming from the guy who made high school rough in the first place.
But each day, it got harder and harder to resist him … and even my feelings for him.
We were at my place. Amanda was out for the night, and Cam and I had eaten dinner, watched some TV, and were in the middle of a passionate make-out session. He hadn’t pushed for more the entire time we were together, and neither had I. But my resolve was slipping, and somehow, even before I could register what happened, we were both lying on my bed. Except he was on the actual bed, and I was on top of him. We had kissed and kissed and kissed more in various locations but never in such an intimate position.
When I realized it, I sat straight up, my body still straddling his, his clearly impressive erection—even through his jeans and mine—just barely poking my butt.
He had to have sensed the panic I was feeling because he sat up as much as he could, balancing his body on his arms. “Gen, it’s okay,” he said. “We won’t take it any further than you want,” he told me. His words calmed me. When he could probably tell my racing heart had slowed down, he looked at me like he was searching for something before he spoke again. “Gen, do you trust me?” he asked.
How could I respond to that question? In a sense, I did. I trusted him completely. I knew he’d treat me well, he’d be there for me if I needed him, and he’d protect me from others … but he hadn’t protected me from him. When I needed someone the most, he was the reason. I hesitated before answering honestly. “Yes and no.”
I could see a cloud pass over his face as if my answer had darkened his soul, and I actually felt bad. The disappointment in his eyes was enough to make me wish I had lied to him and told him I trusted him implicitly.
“I don’t blame you,” he mumbled more to himself than me. “I’m only me because of you. If you knew what lived inside me, then you’d know I’m no good,” he said.
The agony in his words ripped something out of me. Forget his heart, I was breaking his soul right then, and I hadn’t meant to. I didn’t want to.
I grabbed his face in my hands, bringing my own face closer to his as I stared intently into his eyes. “No, no, you’re wrong,” I told him. “Cam is a good guy. Cameron is a really fucking good guy.” It’s just that Tyler isn’t.
If he noticed that I had used his name instead of calling him “you,” he didn’t react. Maybe he thought I was trying to make a bigger statement by using his name like that, but I couldn’t bring myself to say “you.” Because “you” was technically two people—Cameron and Tyler, and I had meant what I said. Cameron was good; Tyler was not.
“It’s not about you,” I continued when he still looked unsure of himself after my outburst. “You don’t understand what it was like for me,” I told him. “I just don’t trust easily. A product of my high school life,” I said with a sad shrug.
“You can tell me anything, Gen,” he said with sincerity. “I don’t want you to share this burden alone. Tell me what it was like for you. Tell me everything,” he urged, and I knew he meant it.
I couldn’t … for more reasons than one.
“School was …” I trailed off, trying to find the right words. “It wasn’t a good time for me. It was filled with bitter, painful memories. And that’s why I lack self-confidence. Why I’m the way I am—skittish. I’m sorry. I can’t say more because if you knew the real me, I don’t think you’d like her.” I knew he wouldn’t. He’d hate her, just like he did in high school.
“Impossible,” he said vehemently. “You don’t see yourself the way I do. You don’t see yourself through my eyes. You’re … fuck, I always tell you this, but I don’t have better words. You’re simply amazing, Gen. You literally take my breath away every time I look at you. And you’re so sweet. You don’t even realize the little things you do that make you so special. When you talk to the old lady in the coffee shop across the street, she lights up like she’s been missing a friend all these years. When we pass by a homeless guy, you always give him money. You watch out for your friends when they’ve had too much to drink. Everything … simply everything about you is amazing. Nothing you could tell me would change my mind.”
“One day,” I said. “One day I’ll tell you everything.” Because once I do, everything will be ruined. And I’m not ready
for that yet…
CHAPTER SIXTY
Past
Cameron
One day earlier …
“AMANDA, HEY,” I said as I ran into Amanda about a block from her and Gen’s place. “Just the girl I was hoping I’d run into.”
“What’s the scheme this time?” she said, rolling her eyes, but the amusement in her voice couldn’t be hidden.
“No scheme,” I told her. “It’s just that ...” I hadn’t been this nervous around girls since I was a kid. And it didn’t even have anything to do with the girl I was talking to.
“Just spit it out. Whose ass do I have to kick, and I hope to God it’s not yours,” she said with only a hint of joking. If she only knew what kind of person I truly was, she’d have probably kicked my ass a thousand times by then, and I’d have let her.
“Gen doesn’t trust me,” I said even though those hadn’t been the words I’d meant to say. I sounded like a petulant child whining about something when I really wanted to pick Amanda’s brain for advice.
“No shit.” She snorted. “Gen doesn’t trust most people.” I was waiting for her to tack on a “duh.”
“I get it. I do, but she trusts some people. She trusts you,” I pointed out. “How do I get her to let me in? How do I get her to open up to me? To tell me what’s bothering her? I want to be there for her in every way, Amanda. I want her to feel free to tell me about her past and tell me what happened to her in high school. I don’t want to be the guy who she can have a good time with but can’t show her true colors to.”
“I can’t quite figure you out,” she told me after she stared at me for a long uncomfortable minute like she was trying to decipher my words.
“Not much to figure out,” I countered. “I care about Gen. I care about her more than I’ve cared about anything.”
