J. Lynn - Wait for You

Honestly, it didn’t matter.

I couldn’t do a relationship of any sort. Maybe one day. Hopefully one day, because I didn’t want to be like this for the rest of my life. Eventually I wanted to be the girl who got excited about being asked out on a date instead of the girl who came home and did this.

Opening my eyes, I groaned. ‘I’m Señor Fucktard. Or Señorita Fucktard.’

I pushed to my feet and started halfway to the bedroom before I remembered my vibrating bag. ‘Shit.’

Hurrying back to the couch, I reached into the side pocket and pulled out my cell. I tapped the screen, fully expecting to see a text from Jacob or Brittany pop up. Instead I saw a missed call and a voice-mail message.

‘What the hell?’

I ran my fingers along the side and figured out I’d knocked the damn thing to silent. Sliding my figure along the screen, I unlocked it and saw that the call was from an UNKNOWN CALLER.

My heart skipped a beat.

No big deal. Probably a wrong call or a telemarketer. I went to the voice-mail screen, and my finger hovered over the delete button. The past raised its ugly, bitter head. How many times had I gotten prank calls from people blocking their numbers? Too many to count, but that couldn’t be it. My number was new, like my e-mail …

I cursed again.

Taking a deep breath, I hit the message icon and raised the phone to my ear. There was a pause and then a gravelly, indistinguishable voice crackled through the phone. ‘You know what happens to liars and skanks? They get a big, fat—’

Crying out, I hit the delete button before I could hear anything more. I dropped the phone on the couch instead of tossing it against the wall and backed up like it was some kind of venomous creature perched on the cushions.

Any method of communication could become poisonous. Didn’t I already know that firsthand? A strangled laugh escaped me. Really, did they have nothing better to do? It had been five years. Five years! They couldn’t let go of the past.

Just like, deep down, I couldn’t.

I jerked straight up in bed, confused and disoriented. It was damn near close to four A.M. when I’d finally fallen asleep and I had no idea what woke me. I twisted in bed, groaning when I saw that it was only eight in the morning.

On a Sunday.

Flopping onto my back, I stared up at the ceiling. Once I was awake, there was no hope of ever—

Thump. Thump. Thump .

I sat up again, frowning. Someone was banging on a door— my door . What the hell? Throwing off the covers, I swung my legs off the bed. My toe caught on the sheet and I nearly ate the carpet.

‘Holy crap.’

Cursing, I raced through the apartment before the entire building was woken up. I stretched up, peering through the peephole. All I could see was a mass of wavy dark hair. Cam?

Something had to be wrong. Maybe the building was on fire, because I couldn’t think of any other reason why he’d be banging on my door on a Sunday morning.

‘Is everything okay?’ I winced at the sound of my voice as I opened the door.

Cam spun around. A crooked smile appeared, taking his already extraordinary face and making it boyishly sexy. ‘No, but it will be in about fifteen minutes.’

‘W-w-what?’ I stepped—or was forced—aside as he entered my apartment, carrying something wrapped in tinfoil: a carton of eggs— huh? —and a tiny frying pan. ‘Cam, what are you doing? It’s eight in the morning.’

‘Thanks for the update on the time.’ He headed straight for my kitchen. ‘It’s one thing I’ve never been able to master: the telling of time.’

I frowned as I padded after him. ‘Why are you here?’

‘Making breakfast.’

‘You can’t do that in your own kitchen?’ I ask, scrubbing at my eyes. After the astronomy assignment and the phone call, he was the last person I wanted to see at a buttcrack time in the morning.

‘My kitchen isn’t as exciting as yours.’ He put his stuff on the counter and faced me. His hair was damp and curlier than normal. How was it possible for him to look so good when it was obvious he’d just rolled out of bed and showered? There wasn’t even a dusting of morning scruff on his smooth cheeks. And he made sweats and a plain old T-shirt look damn good. ‘And Ollie is passed out on the living room floor.’

‘On the floor?’

‘Yep. Facedown, snoring and drooling a little. It’s not an appetizing atmosphere.’

‘Well, neither is my apartment.’ He needed to go. He had no business being here.

Cam leaned against my counter, folding his arms. ‘Oh, I don’t know about that …’ His gaze moved from the top of my disheveled head and all the way down to the tips of my curled toes. It was like a physical touch, causing my breath to catch. ‘Your kitchen, right this second, is very appetizing.’

A flush crawled across my cheeks. ‘I’m not going out with you, Cam.’

‘I didn’t ask you at this moment, now did I?’ One side of his lips curved up. ‘But you will eventually.’

My eyes narrowed. ‘You’re delusional.’

‘I’m determined.’

‘More like annoying.’

‘Most would say amazing.’

I rolled my eyes. ‘Only in your head.’

‘In many heads is what you meant,’ he replied, turning back to my stove. ‘I also brought banana nut bread baked in my very own oven.’

Shaking my head, I glared at his back. ‘I’m allergic to bananas.’

Cam spun around, brows raised in disbelief. ‘Are you shitting me?’

‘No. I’m not. I’m allergic to bananas.’

‘Man, that’s a damn shame. You have no idea what you’re missing out on. Bananas make the world a better place.’

‘I wouldn’t know.’

He cocked his head to the side. ‘Anything else you’re allergic to?’

‘Besides penicillin and guys who bust into my apartment? No.’

‘Hardy-har-har,’ he replied, bending down as he started opening cabinets. ‘How many weaker, less assured guys have you slayed with that tongue of yours?’

‘Apparently not enough,’ I muttered. I went to adjust my bracelet and realized I wasn’t wearing it. My heart dropped. ‘I’ll be right back.’

Humming to himself, Cam nodded. I darted back to my bedroom and grabbed the bracelet off the nightstand and slipped it on. A shudder of relief went through me. Halfway out of the bedroom, I glanced down and cursed again.

No bra.

The thin material of my shirt stretched taut across my chest and my nipples were poking out, saying hello. ‘Oh, Jesus.’

Tossing the shirt off, I grabbed a sports bra out of my dresser.

‘Hey! Are you hiding back there?’ yelled Cam. ‘Because I will come back there and drag you out.’

Sports bra stuck around my head and breasts bouncing everywhere, I blanched. I yanked it down, smushing my right boob. Ow! ‘Don’t you dare come in here!’

‘Then hurry up. My eggs wait for no one.’

‘Oh my God,’ I muttered, pulling my shirt back on. I made it to the hallway before I then realized I also hadn’t brushed my teeth. Cam and his eggs were going to have to wait.

When I returned to the kitchen, he had several eggs boiling in water, and a perfect sunny-side-up egg in the little frying pan he’d brought. He’d found the bag of shredded cheese in my fridge and was sprinkling it across the eggs.