by BJ Harvey
“Yeah.” She sounds distracted, her forehead resting on the car window, watching the world go by as if she’s a million miles away.
“Sez, is it alright that I brought you here? I just thought that—”
Her head jerks off the glass and wide eyes turn my way. “Oh no, Cam. It’s a surprise, but then again, not really.”
I furrow my brow, quickly meeting her eyes before returning my attention to the road. “Not really?”
“Well, this is where all of our history is based, so it makes sense to come here.”
“It does,” I reply, pulling into the road I grew up on, driving fifty feet before turning into my parents’ long driveway.
She gasps, spinning around to face me. “Why are we here?” she says, her voice tight.
I reach over and place my hand on her jean-clad thigh, giving her a hopefully reassuring squeeze. “Relax, Sez. I may not talk to them, but I happen to know that they’re at the house on Lake Como right now. The only people here are the gardener, the cleaner, and if you’re really lucky, the pool guy.”
Her shoulders sag in relief, and I frown.
“Hey, I didn’t expect this kind of reaction. I wanted to show you something.” I stop the car outside the stairs leading up to the obnoxiously large front door, the house itself better described as a monstrosity of epic proportions. Ten bedrooms, eight bathrooms, a guest house in the back far corner of the property, staff quarters in the other corner, and a seven-car garage that houses vehicles purchased for how good they look rather than usability.
“I thought you didn't see your parents.” Panic threatens to take over. There's no way I can see his father right now without committing a felony for what his company did to my father, but then how would I help my parents? Besides, Cade Carsen Senior doesn't deserve an ounce of my time or energy. He was the catalyst that set my family on the downward slide to the rock bottom they’ve found themselves at now.
“Sez, what's going on?”
“I just…”
“Hey,” he says, tipping up my chin with his index finger. His eyes drop to my lips as the pad of his thumb brushes over them. He used to do that to me all the time when we were together. It was our thing.
His other hand curls around my neck, his palm resting over my thrumming pulse. “Your heart is racing. Tell me what’s going on.”
“Can I call veto and tell you during our talk?”
His worried eyes scan my face, his fingertips on my neck softly strumming a surprisingly soothing rhythm. “Hmm. I'm not sure I like the sound of this. Look, if you’re not comfortable being here, we'll go, but I feel like I'm missing something, and I'd really like you to tell me what it is.”
“It’s not anything like that, Cam, I swear. Just tell me why we're here.”
He studies me for a few more moments before a slow-growing smile creeps up his face. “Well, I rang Gary the gardener.”
That breaks the mood. I bite my lip to stop myself from giggling but a little snort escapes regardless. “Gary… the Gardener? Is that like Bob the Builder but with plants?”
He shakes his head and chuckles. “Pretty much.”
“Is there a Paul the Pool Guy and Claire the Cleaner too?” I lose my battle and bury my face in his chest, laughing into his shirt.
“The pool guy is actually Paul,” he says with a chuckle. “But unfortunately, the cleaner's name is Joy.”
I lift my head up, missing the cocoon of his arms immediately. How can he still affect me like this? It's like the last sixteen years apart never happened.
The realization hits me like a freight train, my panic stations all screaming red alert. The cab of the car now feels stifling, the walls closing in on me and making my chest tight. I can't fall for him again. Not that I ever un-fell for him. I have a plan. Marry Wyatt, take out a loan, clear the hold on Mom and Dad's house, help them sell it and downsize while also helping Dad get a new job, even if it’s a part-time one as a groundskeeper or something. His name may not be Gary—it's Greg, actually—but he can still garden.
I pull back, having an internal meltdown while trying to maintain a facade of calm on the outside. Easy, breezy, and not at all queasy.
Leaning back against the car door, I fake confidence while my turmoil turns me inside out. Needing to get the conversation back on track to avert any inkling Cam’s got that I’m all mixed up, I go back to the topic at hand. “So, you called Gary the Gardner…”
“Yes. First to check that the parents were absolutely not here, which they’re not.” He tilts his head toward the house. “And second, I wanted to show you around, since I guess you haven’t been here in oh, about sixteen years, and as much as we both dislike my parents, I remember you really did used to love this house. Wait there and I’ll come get you.”
“I can open a door you know.”
“Just because you can doesn’t mean a man who’s any man at all should make you.”
“Oh,” I whisper and he grins, exiting the car and rounding the hood before opening my door and holding a hand out for me. I dip my head and step away from the car. The moment the door is shut, Cam is on me, pressing my back onto the cold metal. He cages me in, hips to chest, one arm resting on the roof of the car, the other curled around my neck.
“Being a gentleman has other benefits too. It means I can do this.” That’s all the warning I get before he crushes his mouth to mine in that same way he always has, taking, giving, tasting, and claiming. I grab hold of his arms and hold on for dear life, giving everything back that he’s giving me.
Now this I remember. Necking in the driveway of Carsen Manor—not the real name, but the moniker all us kids gave it—and having to stop before we reached the point of no return.
When we pull apart—me breathless and way too flustered—his thigh is wedged between my legs, pressing hard against the very part of me I wish something else was hard against. “If that’s what I get for letting you open doors for me, feel free to open them any time you like.”
“Duly noted. We can move apart as soon as I’m socially appropriate again.”
My head jerks back, and I smirk up at him. “You were never socially appropriate.”
“Another part of growing up, Sez.” He shoots me a dazzling smile, and I swear I lose focus at its intensity. “Let’s go before you have another freak-out and try and hide it from me.”
By the time the shock of his comment has worn off, he’s already five feet ahead of me.
After walking around the grounds and peeking through the ground-floor windows, Cam leads me into the backyard toward the edge of the property. I stop short when I spot the tree swing that’s still there from when we were younger.
“Why?… I mean, I can’t believe it’s still here,” I say, my eyes hazing over. Cameron looks over his shoulder and grins at me. He reaches out and grabs hold of the rope.
“How about a ride, for old time’s sake?” He winks at me and paired with his dazzling smile, I’m walking over and taking a seat before I realize I’m even doing it.
“Hold on, Sez,” he says, his lips right next to my ear. He places a soft kiss to my neck as I wrap my fingers around the rough rope, giving a squeak when I’m pushed in the air.
“Shit.”
“You used to love it when we’d do this.”
I giggle, lifting my legs up and down every time I rise and fall. “You used to love it more.”
He pushes again, the heat of his palms searing into me every time he touches my back. “That’s because you wore those short sundresses when I did it. I bet you did it on purpose.”
“I absolutely did not.”
“You can lie to yourself, but I know the truth. You totally wanted me to sneak a peek at those white cotton panties you always used to wear.”
“Cameron Carsen, I cannot believe you would say that.”
“I totally did, you know.”
I grin, marveling at the changing reds and yellows in the sky as the sun starts to set, reminding me of all the good
times we shared back then. The hours we’d spend here, lying on the grass, sitting on the swing, and doing more than we probably should’ve been doing out in the open.
A few more pushes later, he eases back, letting the swing come to a slow stop. He moves around to stand in front of me, his hands covering mine as he looks down. “You hungry?”
“I could eat…”
“Let’s go eat then.”
Once we’re back in the car, we drive toward the main street of Highland Park where all the restaurants and take-out joints are situated.
“I was thinking we could grab a pie and a couple of Dr. Peppers and go sit down by the lakefront.”
He really is trying to take us back to high school. “Sounds fun. I haven’t had a pizza from Gino’s for at least a few years.”
“Nobody can beat his pizza sauce. It is the work of the gods and then some,” he says, mimicking the owner’s Italian accent perfectly.
By some miracle, we find a parking spot right outside the pizzeria and after fighting over who would pay for dinner—of course I was losing before I even opened my mouth—he was out the door, and I was left shaking my head.
My phone vibrates in my pocket and when I pull it out, I bite my lip. It’s Wyatt. How do I explain this?
“Hi,” I say, way too chirpy for my own good.
“Um… is this Sarah Mason, the woman I live with, my best friend since forever and the woman I jilted at the altar today?”
Normal people wouldn’t laugh at that description, but since today has been one for the books, I just laugh. I mean, what else can you do?
How do I explain that the events of the day to Wyatt without the need for a few hours of amateur psychoanalysis and at least one bottle of wine—each?
In the end, I settle on a joke. “Of course it’s me. You rang my phone. Remember?”
“Yes, but hearing you sound like you got a good morning, a good afternoon and a really good after-dinner treat is not the Sarah Mason I know and love.”
“I’m not that bad.”
“No, you’re not, but you’re not someone who people would describe as bubbly.”
Even though I’m at least a thirty-minute drive away from the man, I square my shoulders, my body preparing for a verbal fight—albeit a playful one. “I’m bubbly.”
“No, you like bubbly. There’s a distinct difference.”
“This conversation is pointless.”
“It totally is, but that’s why you love me,” he says, and I can just picture him standing in our living room, patting Mister Mistoffelees and grinning at her. “So where are you? I’m home with a bunch of ‘sorry for standing you up on our wedding day’ flowers and a bottle of ‘celebration slash commiseration’ wine, and you’re not here.”
“Um…”
The line goes silent. I even pull the phone away from my ear to check that he hasn’t hung up on me.
When he still doesn’t say anything, I feel compelled to at least say something. “Today has been a hot mess in every sense of the word.”
“I really am sorry about—”
“No, I don’t mean that. Well, that was kind of the icing on the cake.”
“Wait there, I think I’m gonna need to sit down for this.”
“Might as well open the wine while you’re at it. It’s that kind of news.”
“Shit, Sez. Just how much trouble did you get yourself in to?”
“I’m currently in Highland Park, sitting in a car outside Gino’s, waiting for a pizza.”
“You better be bringing one right back here for me. Cold or not, Gino’s pizza is the only pizza that hits me in all the right places.”
I snortle, a unique mix of a snort and a giggle that I perfected at the age of fourteen. “Don’t let Mark hear you say that.”
“Are you crazy? Mark would want it to join us behind closed doors. He knows what that pizza does to me.”
“And that was a step too far in our friendship.”
“You went there.”
“No, I believe you did.”
“Anyway, you now have to tell me all the ways your day was a hot mess.”
“Mainly one way, and not necessarily a hot mess, but everything is pointing to it becoming one. I ran into Cam on the train today.”
“Cam? I don’t think I know him. Is he a client, or…?”
“Cam as in Cameron Carsen…”
The sound of wine spraying out of a gay man’s mouth comes down the line. “Oh, fuuuuucccckkkk.”
“That was my first thought too, followed by ‘why me’ and ‘damn those inspirational slogans my mother swears by’.”
“So no seizing of the day?”
“I swear, one fleeting thought about the man and poof, there he was, looking straight out of an Army GQ cover shoot.”
“You do know there is no such thing?”
“There should be!”
“You’re not gonna hear an argument from me on that front. But why does seeing Cam equate to you being a hot mess?”
“I’d already had a bad morning with the flashing and the running, and almost missing the train, then I see him. He wouldn’t let me brush him off and call him another day, you canceled on me, and Bean’s On Me was shut for health code violations so I couldn’t get my coffee this morning—”
“But they do the best upside down chai soy macchiato in the city.”
“I still don’t know why you always choose the most obnoxious drink to order,” I say with a laugh.
“It’s part of my charm.”
“I’ve been your best friend since fourth grade—you’re telling me something I already know.”
“Lucky you love me then.”
“Want to know the weirdest thing about today?”
“You mean it gets hotter and messier?”
“I’m still with him.” I wince as I wait for him to say something—anything—but it doesn’t come. “Wyatt? Are you still there?”
“With Cameron?”
“Well, I wouldn’t have picked up another man in that space of time.”
“Have you seen your ass? It’s totally possible, and I mean that in a non-gay way of course. But tell me, is Cameron still sexy as hell? How does a train ride end up in a six-plus-hour date?”
“We're just two friends catching up. Besides, I never said it was a date.”
“You didn’t, but the empty condom wrapper on your nightstand certainly did.”
“Wyatt! What are you doing snooping in my room?” I ask, my voice rising an octave, giving me away. No, that would be the evidence of hot reckless sex you left behind.
“I was looking for that thing you call a cat.”
“Don’t be mean. She’s beautiful.”
“And that change in subject just gave me whiplash. What are you doing, Sez?”
I sigh and slump back into the seat. With a quick glance toward the restaurant, I find Cam standing at the counter. “I don’t know. But he was there and I… might have been having second thoughts,” I rush the last bit, finally admitting aloud what Wyatt has been trying to get out of me for the past week.
“I knew it,” he shrieks. “I knew you didn’t want to do it.”
“Not because of you, Wy.”
“Believe me, honey, I know that. I really do. Maybe he’s come back into your life now for a reason?”
I narrow my eyes at the windshield. “I’m not going to marry Cam just to bail my parents out.”
“You can’t exactly go ahead and marry me now if he’s back.”
“I don’t know that.” More like, I have no choice.
“Cameron Carsen was never a man to share his toys.”
“He also wasn’t a man we thought would walk away from me and not look back,” I retort scathingly.
“That is true. But that was sixteen years ago.”
“And he’s kind of explained that, but it’s only been seven hours, Wy. How would I know he’s not going to disappear all over again?”
“How much longer do we have
before he comes back?” he asks. Looking up, I catch Cam leaning over and shaking hands with Gino himself, our pizza box and soda cans on the counter in front of him.
“Maybe two minutes.”
“Right, two minutes is not long enough to go into this. So tell me this—was the sex good?”
“When was it not?”
“Those Carsen boys, I always knew the rumors about them and their talents were true,” Wyatt replies with a chuckle. “That’s one way to jump back on the horse.”
“Who said he was a horse?”
“Focus, Sez. What are you gonna do?”
“There’s not much I can do. Maybe once I get the loan and my parents are back in the black, I can look him up.”
“Sarah Mason, a man like Cameron Carsen does not let someone he wants walk away without a fight.”
“No, he’s the one who walks away,” I shoot back.
“And that is what you need to deal with. Good sex, great sex, out-of-this-world-and-send-you-to-Mars sex will not make that part of your past disappear.”
The bell on the restaurant door opens, catching my attention. “He’s coming.”
“Tell me this then—should I even bother changing shifts for Friday or is Operation Gay Husband on hold?”
Cameron reaches the car, opening the back door and putting the food on the seat. “I gotta go, Wy. But the answer is I don’t know.”
“Sarah, you don’t have to go through with this. The marriage license expires in sixty days if not used so you’re not obligated to do anything.”
“But I do have to go through with it. Anyway, I’ll see you tonight and we can talk about it then. Okay?”
“Sounds good, honey. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“That doesn’t exactly limit my options.”
“You’ll keep. Bye,” he says, ending the call.
Cam slides into the driver’s seat, his jaw clenched and his eyes firing—and not in a good way.
“How’s Wyatt?” he says, his tone matching his entire demeanor.
I quirk a brow and turn to face him. “He’s good. You’re not though. Why are you angry?”
“Let’s go park and eat while the food is hot. Then we’ll talk about what’s wrong. Because I have a feeling it’s gonna take a hell of a lot more time to cover everything we’ve gotta talk about and I don’t want to do it outside a pizza joint.”