by Emilia Finn
“I’m sensing a ‘but’…”
“Not only are you a Roller, but you’re a Roller! You’re a champion’s son. You’re just… you’re…”
“Trying really hard to get this beautiful girl to notice me for a minute?”
“You’re a Kincaid! You’re rich, affluent, spoiled. You don’t know hunger, you’ve never had to steal a meal. You will never, for the rest of your life, worry about how to pay the rent. Your entire life is gravy!”
“Well… I don’t consider myself spoiled,” I counter. “Sure, I’m fed, but we’ve already established that I mop too, right?”
Cam drops her face into her hands, she draws a deep breath, noisy and hitching until her chest fills, then she lets it out again and shakes her head. “You’re charming, Jamie. You’re arrogant, but it’s more endearing than it is annoying. You’re hot, we’ve established that already. You’re like…” She presses her head against the wall and sighs. “You’re as out of reach as the stars.”
“No…” I reach across her lap and take her hand in mine. I twine our fingers together to prove to myself that we fit. “I’m not out of reach. In fact, I’m right here, already holding on.”
“I can’t kiss you now!” she snaps. “For the rest of my life, this opportunity is gone.”
“Why is it gone? Lean on in, let’s give it a spin.”
“I said no when you were poor and pitied.” She tears her hand from mine and tucks it beneath her thigh. “I can’t say yes now, because you’ll assume I said yes to money and prestige. Saying no to the secretary, but saying yes to the prince…” She shakes her head. “Nope.” She turns to me. “Ya know what that makes me?”
“What?” I ask. “What does that make you?”
“A whore.” She pushes the blanket off her lap and, standing over me, she looks down and studies me through shadowed eyes. “Saying yes to the rich boy makes me a filthy whore. If I could rewind a day and say yes to yesterday’s kiss, before I knew what I know now, then it would be okay. Or if we could rewind twenty-five years, to before your daddy became a champion and got rich, then that would be okay too.”
“Wait.” I push to my feet and stand so we meet eye-to-eye. “Because my folks fought two decades ago and won, I’m suddenly unlovable? I’m callin’ bullshit. You’ve been looking all week for excuses to say no to me.”
“We’ve already been through this, Jamie.” My name on her tongue feels… foreign. Exotic. “I said no because even when you were poor, you seemed too good. Hell, you’re not a woman-beating misogynist, and in my experience, that’s kind of the jackpot. You were a winner, and in my world, winners just aren’t for me.”
“I don’t… I… what?”
She scoffs, but there’s absolutely no humor in the sound. “I’m not destined for the same things you are. It’s just the way it is. So I was letting that broke secretary off easy. Don’t you see, you were already out of my league? And that was before I realized who you were.”
“Your logic is flawed, and—”
“And what?” she snaps. “What, Jamie?”
“Insulting. Offensive. Fucking stupid. Take your pick!”
“I’ve offended you?” She rolls her eyes. “You poor little rich boy. Where I come from, we can’t afford feelings. Which is a blessing, I suppose, because then we can’t get them hurt. Stay away from me, Jamie-with-the-girl-name-for-a-boy. But hey, at least we have that in common, right?”
I grab her wrist when she tries to stride away, swing her back, and step in to crowd her against the wall when she crashes back with a gasp. “I’m not offended, Cam.” I press my chest to hers and crush her against the wall. “My feelings are not hurt. I meant it’s offensive that you speak about yourself in such a ridiculous way. And yeah, it’s totally cool my name is Jamie… boy or girl. Cam… boy or girl. It’s fun we have that in common.”
“It’s the only thing we have in common,” she hisses. “Now let me go.”
“Kiss me. One time.”
“I can’t!” she bursts out. “I can’t, because I want to. I’ll like it. And then for the rest of our lives, I’ll be the girl that said yes after finding out you’re rich.”
“There are women who purposely seek out men with money. It’s not such a big deal.”
“I’m not one of those women! I’m happy in my little lane. We steal squares of cheese from the store, we work triple shifts to make rent, and we dodge the authorities because it’s safer that way. You and I aren’t compatible.”
“I have an uncle who’s a cop. Two of them.”
“Awesome! Family dinners must be so much fun.” She tries to throw her hands up in exasperation, but I catch them, slam them against the wall above her head, and pin her so we touch from toes to fingers.
“Let me go,” she growls. “Let me go, or I’ll scream so loud that you’ll be the one getting arrested.”
“Don’t shank me.”
Her eyes flare wide. “What?”
But I’m too fast, too determined, and she said she wanted to kiss me. I heard it with my own ears, so I take the choice out of her hands and slam my lips against hers until the back of her head crashes against the wall and her cry bursts from her lips and slides between mine.
But she’s tough, and this is the only chance I’ll ever get. I hold her hands with one of mine, use the other to cruise along her ribs, her hip, the outside of her thigh, and when she relaxes, when she stops fighting and instead sighs, I slide my tongue against hers and take what’s mine.
I release her hands, slide mine into her luscious hair, and massage the back of her head where I hurt it. But our tongues dance. Our lips slide over each other. We share the same oxygen, and dots float in my vision because I refuse to end this kiss and come up for air.
I refuse because she’s a flight risk, and shit, it took a week for me to get her in a room alone.
Instead of shoving me away, Cam’s arms come up to wrap around my neck. They cinch me close so she has to stand on her toes, and because she’s all stretched out for me like a lazy cat, I slide my hands to her hips and take some of her weight.
I lift her just a little. Just barely off the floor so the very tippy tips of her toes touch the ground. But she’s a dancer, and she already knows how to do this.
I let my tongue explore her mouth. I swallow her sighs when she can’t hold them in. And when she might pass out from lack of oxygen, she pulls away with a gasp and races to refill her lungs.
Her chest lifts and drops with fervor. Her lungs clamor for more air. Her eyes are wide, warm, inviting, like a lukewarm pool in the shade on a summer evening.
“Jamie…” Her breath comes out on a stuttering shake. “Dammit.”
“You could have done that a week ago,” I rasp out. “That’s all I wanted, and then we’d know. I told you I’d leave you alone if there was nothing there.”
It’s odd how an equal mixture of longing and dread swirls in her eyes. “There’s nothing there… right?” She knows her words are a lie. “I can go now?”
“Mm.” I dive back in and steal another kiss. Gentler. More patient. “It’s all in there,” I promise breathlessly. “All of it.”
“Jamie…”
“When we know, we know. Those are the facts we’re raised with.”
“Yeah?” Panting, she tries to pull away. “Well the facts I was raised with included keeping a blade close at all times, and if you can get a meal for free, do it. Because the opportunity might not come around a second time.”
“So let me take you out to dinner.” I wrap my arms around her hips when her eyes turn glacial. “I’ll pay,” I add, “which means you get a free meal.”
I was so close. So fucking close to breaking through her steely exterior. She was limber, warm, touchable, and in my arms. But now she turns cold and mean.
“You are so fucking clueless, it’s disgusting. So stupid!” she hisses. She unwraps her arms from around my neck and drops back to flat feet. “I’m not your whore, Jamie. And this marks
the first time in a long time that I’ll say no to a free meal.”
She slips out from between me and the wall.
“Where are you going?” I spin to chase. My heart pounds for its other half. My soul yearns for its mate. “Cam!” I shout when her hand wraps around the door handle. “You were here just now. You felt that. So where the fuck are you going?”
She turns back and meets my gaze for a long minute. Her hair is long, straight, perfect, and hangs over her shoulder so the frizzed-from-the-snow ends cling to her top. “You might have felt something, Kincaid. But you didn’t even ask if I did. You’re such a cliché of all the rich boys, so certain you’re desirable. But despite the Romeo you seem to think you are, I don’t want you. I don’t need you. Have a nice life, Lothario.”
“Have a nice life?” I jump forward, and hiss when I slam my knee on the corner of Uncle Aiden’s desk. “Where are you going?”
“I was waiting for Will to talk to…” She flicks her wrist. “I dunno. Someone. But now I’m leaving.”
I rush forward another half a dozen steps. “You’re coming back for the tournament, right?”
“Nope. I have to work, because kids from my neighborhood need to eat.”
“But I felt something!” I shout when she opens the door. “Dammit, Cam. Stop fucking lying to yourself.”
She stares into the hall for a long minute, the silence tense and tangible. And then she clears her throat. “Um… hello, beautiful, blonde girl that looks about my age. Can I help you?”
“Fuck!” I throw my head back and scrape my hands through my hair. “Dammit.”
“Uh… hello. I’m Taylor. I was looking for my boyfriend. I checked every other room, and I couldn’t find—”
Cam turns back to me with a lifted brow, and draws a breath in through her nose. Letting it out again, she hooks a thumb over her shoulder and smiles for Taylor. “He’s in there. Cool name, though. Taylor can be used for a boy or a girl, huh?”
“Ha. Yeah.” Taylor stumbles her way through the door and plays with the ends of her hair as she meets my eyes. “Jamie. Your… uh… friend?”
“I’m his cousin’s friend,” Cam volunteers. “I just wanted to check on the puppies.”
“The puppies?” Taylor’s eyes flip around the office. “Cass had them?”
“This morning,” Cam adds helpfully. “I came in today to see her, but turns out she’s at Evie’s house, so I guess my business here is done.” She inclines her head, like in a tiny bow, as Taylor crosses the room and slides under my arm.
“I’ll see you guys later.” Cam flashes a grin. A real-life, almost genuine grin. “You guys make a cute couple, by the way. She fits under your arm like you were molded for each other, huh?”
And with that, she closes the door with a soft snick and walks out of my life.
Part II
Cam
Eleven Months Later
“I don’t know what I want to do this year.” I hold my cell between my ear and shoulder and do what I do most days; I stock shelves, pray for a moment to sit down, and I talk to my brother on the phone, because we so rarely get to see each other face-to-face during daylight hours. “I don’t really want to go back there, but I don’t want you to go on your own either.”
“Do I get a say in all this?” Will tosses a pizza tray into the woodfire oven at the local pizza place. His third job — fourth? — to keep a roof over our heads. “Do you want my opinion at all?”
I shrug and move along the aisle. Like I do every single shift, I steal a sucker and toss it into my mouth. “I’m actually not sure I do.” I laugh. “It rarely aligns with mine.”
“That’s because you’re a brat.”
“Fine.” I pocket the sucker wrapper and pause in the middle of the aisle. Mr. Han has eyes in the back of his head, he has a sixth sense and knows every single time I stop working, but my feet are killing me, my shoes are the wrong size, and I’m fairly certain I have a toenail being squished out of shape. “What’s your opinion?”
“Well…” He passes through a noisy kitchen and makes his way somewhere quieter. A cool room, perhaps. “Like you, I’m unsure.”
“Such a help!” I throw my hand up. “You cleared it all up.”
“Shut up,” he laughs. “Hear my reasons. I’ll put them in bulletpoints for you.”
“Sure. Go ahead.” I grab a box of canned tomatoes and tear the tape from the top. “Give me your list.”
“It’s a long drive, and being in the car with you that whole time would be good for my soul.”
“Ugh.” I bring a hand up to my heart and sigh. “I love you, Will. Did I tell you that yet today?”
“You left a note on the bathroom mirror.”
I grin and continue working. “I did. That lipstick is shitty, so it’s not so bad using it for smudging up the mirror.”
“Also, I don’t want you to stay here alone,” he continues. “You’re eighteen now, but still, I’m not digging the idea of you staying here and me being there for a whole week. It’s too far, too long.”
“Solid points against staying. What are your pros of leaving me here?”
“Room fucking three,” he growls out. “Kyle Baker is gonna end up in a box this year if he doesn’t mind his business.”
“You need to let that go. If I can’t trust you to leave it behind, then I’m not letting you go.”
“He fucking cheated, Cam. He cheated. I couldn’t even get to the finals because of that motherfucker.”
“And now your injury is healed. You can try again. And if you meet him in the octagon and knock him out, I’m not sure anyone will boo you.”
“His cheating cost us a lot of fucking money, Cameron.”
“Yeah, well…” I hesitate as bitterness rolls through my stomach. “We still got that babysitting money from Miles.”
“Yeah, no thanks to me,” he huffs. “We went there for me, we planned for me to change our lives, and in the end, it was you that saved us. Again.”
“It was just babysitting,” I counter. “Not a big deal.”
“Without that money, we wouldn’t have had enough gas to get home again.”
“Well, we did, so the hypotheticals are useless.” I drop to one knee when crouching over the box of cans makes my thighs burn. “How about we stop focusing on last year, and instead come back to our debate about this year?”
“That kid is gonna be another year older.”
I bring a hand up to touch my bottom lip. A gentle caress. A remembrance of the first and last kiss I’ve ever had. “Which kid?”
“Cam…” Will’s voice comes out on a sigh of impatience. “Really? We’re gonna do that?”
“Okay, fine. But I’m sure his infatuation is over now. He’s not a problem for us.”
“He sought me out at the tournament, Bubbles! He stopped me during my walk to the octagon, asked where you were, and then that motherfucker asked for my blessing to marry you.”
I want to laugh. I want to cry. I want to scream and curse and tantrum because Jamie Kincaid is… fucking crazy.
“I think he was just teasing. You know, to put you off your game or something. Maybe he had money on your opponent.”
“You’re still lying to yourself, huh? Well, I think we’ve answered our question anyway.”
“What question?”
He chuckles. “Whether or not you should come with me this year. I’m not ready to sell you off as a bride, so it’s probably better that you stay here.”
He can’t know that his words sting like a hornet’s barb. He can’t know that ‘selling’ me, while said in jest, is essentially a lance to the heart.
“I’m not for sale, Will. It’s not eighteen-twenty-nine anymore. I don’t have to be married off as a virgin to the most affluent earl of the county.”
“The earl?” he laughs. “Really?”
“He would have moved on by now, right?” I drop to my second knee and simply… breathe. “He can’t be that crazy, right, Will?”
>
“You’re kind of amazing. It would almost be offensive if he wasn’t still obsessed.”
“They seem so normal on the TV,” I whisper. “All of those successful fighters. They’re rich, and they smile on the news. They seem so… normal, ya know? Why’d the crazy one have to notice me?”
“It’s too bad he’s a freak,” Will laments. “That’s a lot of family money you could almost stumble into. Money means power, and power means safety.”
“I’m done with this discussion.” I pull the phone away from my ear and slam it to the filthy supermarket floor.
I’m not for fucking sale. I’m not a whore, I’m not looking for free refuge, and I refuse to acknowledge that, despite the evidence leading to Jamie Kincaid’s insanity, I wish he wasn’t crazy.
Or taken.
Or rich.
Because that’s three strikes, and I can’t spend time with a guy who has even one.
My phone vibrates on the floor, it moves across the laminate tile with a deep buzzing, and when it rings out a moment later, I count a mere three seconds before it beeps with a text.
I remain on my knees, in the canned food aisle, in front of a box of tomatoes, and, staring up at the ceiling, I draw a cleansing breath through my nose. I inhale stale supermarket air, but exhale the anger my brother’s words evoked. I exhale worthlessness, hopelessness, unworthiness.
I’m not worthless or hopeless.
And maybe, on a good day when my hair is cooperating, and I don’t have the pre-period bloat, I can admit I’m not unworthy either. Because, hell, whoever I end up with, it’ll be because of my personality and quick wit, not because of my economic status or powerful connections. It’ll be because he thinks I’m pretty, and I’ll think he’s handsome. He’ll swear my baking skills are delectable, when we’ll both know it’s not true. And I’ll tell him that I think his jokes are funny, even if they’re not really. He’ll worship my every step, and he’ll search for nice things to say to me, because he’ll want to build me up, when so many other relationships focus on finding flaws.