Her hand hadn’t let go of his arm, and he didn’t bother shrugging it off. He also ignored her question. “You ladies already drank?”
“Frozen cosmos.” Her eyes glittered.
Ew, he thought. “Well, that’s good. Remember, liquor before beer, you’re clear. Beer before liquor, never been sicker.”
She laughed and slapped his chest like that was funniest, cleverest thing she’d ever heard. “I’ll have to remember that!”
He nodded. “You do that.”
When they reached the bar, Cam placed his palm on the top and tugged on his earlobe, his sign to Trevor that they had some patrons who were on their way to drunk town.
“How about a pitcher of light beer on the house, ladies?” Cam asked. He didn’t want them ordering shots or, heaven forbid, more cosmos.
Kara smiled huge, like he’d just given her a diamond ring. And after extracting himself from her clutches, he resumed his post at the door. His eyes searched the bar again and this time, his gaze met Tate’s.
Well, the side of Tate’s head, because she was shooting a death glare at Cosmo Kara. Then she whipped her head to him. Their eyes met, and Cam waited to see Tate’s reaction. She looked pissed and maybe a little hurt.
Then she shook her head, her face clearing, and turned her attention back to her pool game. Cam looked around the table and noticed Marcus was right behind her, watching as she bent over the table, lining up her shot. His eyes were on her ass. And Cam wanted to throttle him.
If Cam had any sense, he’d turn his stool around and focus on the door and his job. Forget about Tate over there laughing at something Marcus said, her hand on his waistband, stealing looks at Cam out of the corner of her eye.
Did she really want to play this game?
Because Cam had perfected this fucking game in college. If she wanted Cam “The Player” Ruiz, she’d fucking get him.
He glanced at his watch. It was break time. Fucking perfect.
He looked at Trevor and pointed at the clock over his head. Trev saluted back.
And it was officially game time. Cam made a beeline toward Kara, then leaned down where she sat at a table along the wall with her friend. The pitcher of beer stood on the table untouched. “Hey, wanna play some pool?”
Kara’s widened, and she squealed as she bounced to her feet. And Cam sighed because if he would have said that in Tate’s ear, she would have put on her game face, cracked her knuckles, and told him she’d have his balls.
He walked toward the pool table next to Tate’s, her eyes on him the whole time as she stood off the side while Marcus took his shot. As he drew closer, with Kara trotting behind him, Tate narrowed her eyes.
Cam grabbed two pool sticks, handed one to Kara and then asked her to rack the balls. When she stared at him with wide blue eyes, he sighed and did it himself.
He was a dick for using Kara, who was a nice girl. But she’d caught him on a bad night, so maybe he’d tell Trevor to give her a free round of shots next time she was in or something.
Cam glanced over at Tate and caught her staring at them. He smiled to himself and focused back on the pool table and Kara’s minty breath along his temple.
Game. Fucking. On.
TATE STARED AS Cam stalked toward the empty pool table beside her, Kara Masters hot on his heels, staring up at him like he hung the fucking moon.
Tate growled under her breath.
“Tate!” said an irritated voice behind her, and she whipped her head around.
Marcus stood with a hand on his hip, the other propped up on his pool stick. He made a proceed motion with his hand. “Called your name three times. Your turn.”
Tate mumbled an apology and eyed the table, but her gaze kept drifting to the table next to hers, where Cam was racking the balls. Kara leaned down, chattering, her cleavage right beside his head.
Cam leaned down to break the balls, shooting Tate a glance, then he turned to Kara and said something to her with a smile.
Oh, that bastard. He wanted to play this game? She could play it right back. A thought trickled in the back of her mind, struggling to beat through the beer buzz she had, a thought that maybe this wasn’t a good idea. That a friends truce didn’t include jealousy. But one look at Kara’s laughter and Cam’s grin buried that thought under an avalanche of anger.
She tugged on the hem of her shirt to lower the neckline a little and then did a flirty turn to face Marcus. She braced her hands on the edge of the pool table and rolled her shoulders back so her chest stuck out a little. Marcus’s eyes darted right where she wanted them. Out of the side of her eye, she swore she saw Cam glance over.
“So, it’s been a while since I played pool, Marcus, and I’m not sure I’m holding my hands right, ya know?” She held them up and wiggled her fingers. None of that was true. She used to have a pool table in her basement until she sold it to help pay the bills.
Marcus cocked his head to the side, like he was trying to figure her out. “You want me to help you?”
“Sure!” She straightened and held up her pool stick, letting it wobble in her hands.
Marcus turned her around and showed her how to hold her hand on the felt, so her pool stick could slide easily in the webbing between her thumb and forefinger. His technique was actually kind of bad, but Tate played along.
She stole a peek at Cam. And met his narrowed eyes.
With a sharp turn of his head, he maneuvered Kara in front of him, mimicking Tate and Marcus’s positions, as he directed Kara how to shoot.
Tate arched her back so her butt snugged back up to Marcus’s groin. His breath caught and his lips lowered to her ear.
Cam’s face was red and he gripped Kara’s hip, his face pressed intimately into the side of her neck.
“You’re such a good teacher, Marcus,” Tate moaned, eyes on Cam.
She heard him say to Kara, “You’re a great student, babe.”
“Fuck, Tate,” Marcus breathed into her ear.
“Tatum Ellison,” came a sharp female voice, and Tate straightened suddenly, cracking Marcus on the chin with the back of her head. He gave a grunt of pain, and Tate turned around. “Oh shit, Marcus. I’m sorry!” She held her hands up to see the damage but Van spoke up again. “Tatum, we need to have words. Go over there”—she pointed to a table in the corner—“and sit down.”
“And you!” She pointed at Cam. “You go sit over there, too.”
He placed a hand on his chest like Who me? and Kara made some noises of protest, but one look from Van had her scurrying back to her table.
Tate left Marcus’s side and walked to the table with her head down. She felt like Van was going to take a ruler to her knuckles.
She sat down at the table, and Cam slid into a chair beside her.
Van stalked up and stood before them with her arms crossed over her chest. “First of all, both of you owe Marcus and Kara an apology. Because you used them in whatever little game you were playing.”
Tate hung her head. Shit, that had been wrong, and she did owe Marcus an apology. She looked at Cam, and he was biting his lip.
“Now, we have a problem.” Van tapped her foot. “I thought you two were friends, right? Well, friends don’t act like this. They don’t get jealous of the attention the other is drawing from the opposite sex. And they certainly don’t put on little performances like you did just now.”
Tate shifted in her chair and scratched her knee.
“Anything to say?” Van asked.
Silence. One heartbeat. Two heartbeats. Three heartbeats.
A chair scraped and Cam’s deep voice was in her ear. “What the fuck, Tate? Marcus practically had you cornered in the bar the other night and now you’re playing pool with him?”
Because watching you flirt with every patron was killing me, and I wanted a little attention to make me feel better. Tate turned to him. “It’s not a big deal. Marcus and I have hung out before. We were just playing pool, not screwing in the bar.”
Cam’s jaw
clenched. “Wait, are you two . . . are you together?”
Tate hesitated. “No, we’re not together.”
He leaned closer. “You just hesitated. Have you been together?” When she didn’t answer right away, his eyes widened and then turned cold. “Wait, is that the guy—?”
“No-ooo,” Tate drew out the word. “Seriously? Are you going to bring that up for the rest of our lives? No, Cam, no. If you really want honesty, I’ve been with Marcus once. Last year. That’s it. No repeats will be happening. Are you happy now?”
The normally warm brown of his eyes swirled like a muddy river in a storm. “Well damn, girl. Glad you got someone in town when you need some.”
Tate’s anger reached its peak. “Oh, fuck you. What, you think I was celibate for four years? Waiting for Cam Ruiz to show up and stoop for his own leftovers? Get real.”
He pointed to himself. “You have to flaunt it in my face?”
She threw her hands out to the sides. “What am I flaunting? Because I’m drinking? Because I dare to show my face in the same room as you? I mean, what the hell? Are you actually jealous?”
He made a choking sound and leaned forward, waggling his finger between them. “This. This friends bullshit. It ain’t working.”
She barked out a laugh. “What an Einstein you are. No shit this isn’t working. Because I refuse to be a verbal punching bag. I’m not going to live my life being punished for one mistake.” She stood up and leaned down. “So you either get over it or stop bringing it up. Because I’m fucking done, Cam.”
He shook his head and stood up, too. “Guess that’s it then.”
She’d had him. She’d had him back for about one week. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or throw things. “Guess this truce is reversed.”
He looked away, his shoulders tense. “Guess so.”
She was done. She didn’t want to hear any more and as she walked toward Van, who wore a devastated look on her face, she heard a “Hey, Tate.”
She stopped and looked at Cam over her shoulder. “What?”
His eyes were calmer, the storm over. His voice was softer when he spoke. “I’ll still be there Wednesday to drive your dad.”
She wanted to refuse. She wanted to tell him to go to hell, that she’d find her dad another ride. But that would take a lot of scrambling. She didn’t have the time or energy, and despite her anger and hurt, she knew she could count on Cam not to let her down. Her responsibility to her family won out. So she just nodded, and then walked to Van. Her best friend’s arms encircled her, and Tate waited until she was outside the bar to break down and scream and throw things.
Because Van was there to pick up her pieces and put them back together. Then Van drove Tate home, helped her and all her pieces into bed, whispering that she’d be put back together again by morning.
But this time, Tate didn’t think so.
Chapter 10
CAM SIGNED INTO Utope, biting his nail and jiggling his leg.
He’d acted like an asshole last night. He’d used Kara and he’d said some shitty things to Tate. He wanted to blame the alcohol for his actions¸ but he’d been sober. Stone-cold sober.
Also jealous.
And pissed off.
He signed into their game and waited for a notification to pop up letting him know that Tate had played the game. He almost wanted her character to slap him. Or yell at him.
But after five minutes of staring at the screen with no notification, he had to face the truth that she hadn’t played. She didn’t want to communicate with him.
His fingers ran over the smooth buttons, the controller warm in his hand. He wanted to do something. Apologize or reach out somehow. But he didn’t know what to do. So instead he shut off the game and went to check on his mom.
TATE WALKED ALONGSIDE her dad in the grocery store while he rode one of those motorized chair carts. She tossed in a box of crackers on an end cap and rolled her eyes when he made a screeching sound with his mouth as he took the turn as fast as the cart would go, which was not very fast.
Years ago, when she first helped him into the chair cart, she’d thought he’d hate it, or complain that it made him feel weak.
But she should have known that he’d take every opportunity to act like a kid again. He zoomed that thing around the store like he was hot shit. He echoed the high-pitched beeping when he backed up. He practiced complicated turning maneuvers. He waved at other shoppers like he was royalty. He even had the cupped-hand wave down. She pretended to be annoyed, but she loved how happy it made him.
He grabbed a bag of white cheddar popcorn off the shelf and threw it in the cart. She glared at him. He glared back.
“It says it’s healthy,” he pointed out.
“Yeah, in relation to a bag of greasy chips. But that popcorn isn’t exactly healthy.”
“I like it.”
She sighed and kept walking.
“So, Cam going to join us for doughnuts again anytime soon?” He watched her face as he asked the question.
Tate faked an extreme interest in the nutrition content of a frozen pizza. Her truce with Cam had lasted . . . not long. Before they both blew it by acting like middle schoolers at recess. Every time she thought about that night at the bar last week, her stomach churned. Because she’d used Marcus, got yelled at by Van, and still smarted from the barbs that had flown from Cam’s mouth.
Why did he have to be home? And mess up her ordered life. She’d had it all figured out until Cam showed up.
“Tatum?”
She threw the box of pizza into the cart and began to walk.
“We never get sausage,” her father said, leaning to the side to put it back in the freezer case.
“It was sausage?”
He nodded and nudged the cart closer to her. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“You want to talk about how you feel about Cam being back?”
She did not. “No, that’s okay.”
Tate kept walking as she heard the whir of the cart at her heels. “You want to talk about your breakup?”
No. No, no, no. She definitely did not want to do that. She’d rather rip out her eyelashes one by one. “No, Dad.”
“Because I think there’s a lot of things unresolved there,” he pushed.
Unresolved? There wasn’t a word to describe the clusterfuck that was her breakup with Cam. She whirled around. “Dad, first of all, I don’t want to discuss this. And I certainly don’t want to discuss this in the freaking grocery store.”
He didn’t back down. And those eyes didn’t waver from his face. “It’s hard to find time to talk to you when you aren’t working or dead on your feet.”
She instantly deflated. “Shit, Dad, I’m sorry, I—”
He shook his head. “That wasn’t to guilt you. You’re busy and I appreciate everything you do for this family. But sometimes I think you take on more responsibility than you need to.”
How did he get from the Cam breakup to this? “I don’t—”
“Why didn’t Cam know about my cancer?”
She froze. That was a complicated answer. “I . . . um . . . I never told him because we broke up . . .”
He cocked his head. “You didn’t think he’d still want to know?”
Tate looked down at her feet. She wanted to blurt out the whole sordid tale. Flop in her dad’s lap and cry while he smoothed her hair and told her it would all be okay. But instead, she mumbled, “Probably.”
“Baby,” he said softly.
She looked up, glad that the grocery store was rather deserted for an early Monday morning. “Not trying to be hard on you, but sometimes decisions we make have a ripple effect on a lot of people. And that’s okay, but you want to make sure those ripples don’t turn into tidal waves, all right?”
This was weird, like he knew everything. Or maybe he suspected, but either way, all she could do was nod.
He seemed satisfied with that, and started up his cart, driving past
her so she had to jog to catch up.
While loading the gallon of milk in the car, she changed the subject. “So, I think Anne’s dropping off a casserole tonight.”
Her father pretended not to hear her.
“I think it’s that chicken spaghetti thing. Isn’t that your favorite?”
He turned his head away from her and she suppressed a laugh. She teased him about Anne. About the crush the two had on each other but seemed to want to avoid. “I think she’s going to stay and eat it with you.”
He lifted his nose in the air, still ignoring her, and she relished getting him back for giving her a hard time earlier.
“She said she might wear her new black lace lingerie.”
“What?!” he cried, whipping his head to look at her.
And she cracked up, clutching a container of a dozen eggs to her stomach as she doubled over.
His eyes narrowed. “You’re full of shit.”
She laughed harder. “I got you to answer me.”
“Brat,” he muttered.
“I’ll light some candles for you and turn on some Kenny G.”
“You turn on that music, and I’ll smash the stereo.”
“Temper,” she tsked.
“How about Anne and I go out for burgers and you and Cam can share a nice intimate dinner over chicken spaghetti casserole?”
Tate sobered. “Not funny.”
Her dad grinned. “Put on some Marvin Gaye?” He started swaying in his chair and snapping his fingers. “I’ve been really tryin’, baby,” he crooned.
“Oh God,” Tate groaned and glanced up and down that empty aisle.
Her dad kept singing. “Let’s get it on . . .”
“I’m your daughter and this is super inappropriate.”
“Let’s get it on . . .”
“I’m leaving.
She stomped off down the aisle with the sounds of her father’s laughter behind her.
ALMOST A WEEK since that night at the bar, Cam still hadn’t made any plays in Utope. He checked every morning and every night. He saw that Tate had signed in on her end. But neither of them seemed willing to make the first move.
It was an awkward virtual standoff. Both too stubborn to admit they’d both been out of control and immature. At least that’s what Cam was telling himself.
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