“All set?” he asked from the table.
“Yeah,” I said, shrugging. “What are we up to?”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Miami and then Nassau overnight.”
Riley smiled from the counter, all set to leave for work. “Sounds like fun.” Then to me specifically, she raised an inquiring eyebrow and asked, “When will you have time to find a job with all of this fun stuff, Cam?”
Gordon stood. Trying to lighten the mood, he wrapped his arms around Riley. Maybe a little longer than he should’ve, but I knew how much he liked her. “I’ve got half a dozen friends who will make sure he’s employed before the end of next week.”
“I hope so,” Riley said, wiggling free and walking to the front foyer. The way she said hope felt like a shaving cut. “Cam doesn’t manage his time very well when he’s home with nothing to do.”
“I’ll take care of him and have him back to you tomorrow night,” Gordo promised, joining her at the foyer. “He’s yours all weekend.”
She pulled her shoes on, bending over with her ass facing the door, which seemed to disappoint Gordo a little. I shook my head and started back toward the eat-in dining area when Riley asked, “Speaking of weekends, did you have fun last weekend with Cam?”
The question stopped me in my tracks, but thanks to the wall between the kitchen and foyer, Riley would never know. Gordo backed up enough to make eye contact with me, and his eyes had question marks in them. He consulted Riley again, then stared back at me.
Don’t fuck me now, Gordo, I thought, my face burning up with the fear that he would do exactly that.
The sadistic little smirk rose up on his lips as he studied me, further intensifying the heat in my face and the fear in my chest.
“Cam,” he said, with a light-hearted chuckle that only his closest friends—AKA, me—would recognize as fake. “Didn’t you tell Riley about the blast we had?” Then, to Riley, “They say some weekends are made for building memories, but last weekend was a memory of a lifetime.” He chuckled again. “I wouldn’t trade it for the world, Riley. If it had been appropriate to have you along, you’d know exactly what I’m talking about.”
I thought I might piss my pants, but I held myself together as Riley peeked around the corner and blew me a kiss. “Have a nice time away, Cam. Remember to keep your phone on.”
As she left the house, Gordon called after her, “Where’s my kiss?” He forced his executive-salesman laugh and closed the door once she was gone. What a fucking gentleman.
I stood in that wasted space between the foyer and the kitchen/eat-in dining area, wondering if I would truly know whether I had just emptied my bladder into my pants. My entire body felt numb. Would the warmth of urine trickling down my leg be noticeable?
I thanked Gordo once he returned to the table for his coffee, then walked to the refrigerator for a cold bottled water. I needed it to cool my body panicked body temperature down, wash the heat off my face, and rehydrate my system after that sudden onslaught of sweating-my-balls-off. Fuck, that was a close call.
From behind me, Gordon cleared his throat. “What happened last weekend, Cam?”
I suspected he knew, but I lied to him anyway. “Pre-wedding jitters. Needed a bit of time to myself, that’s all.” I closed the refrigerator door, my mind already racing toward Miami and the possibilities. “Are we ready to go?”
Gordon finished his coffee in a final sip, rinsed it in the sink, and then placed it in the dishwasher, which Riley hadn’t started. Despite being a huge pain in the ass, with more money than real-life street smarts, Gordo was a decent guy. No wonder Riley liked him and trusted me to spend so much time with him.
“We’ll talk about last weekend,” he warned me as we left my townhouse and settled into his Tesla. “It better not be what I think it is.”
} i {
Chapter 46
Except we didn’t get to talk about last weekend. Once we arrived at the airport and boarded the Cessna that Landon had a timeshare-like interest in, Gordon was easily lost in the conversations about the markets, the technical analysis of grain prices combined with Asian demand trends, and a bunch of other things that numbed my ears. So while Gordon and a senior strategist from Landon’s company spoke about these things, I closed my eyes.
Until Landon dropped into the seat next to me, which was a little awkward because there were plenty of other seats available on the jet. I glanced up at Josh, who was reading the newspaper in the rear-facing seat across from me. The glance he gave me justified my curiosity in Landon’s sudden seating change.
“Hey, Cam,” Landon said, keeping his voice low. “Want a blow job?”
I nearly jumped, which made the flamboyant trader laugh so loud, even the pilot turned around to cast us a questioning glance.
“Just fucking with your head, Cam.” He patted my leg and wiggled his eyebrows at me to pique my interest. “I made two-point-five million last year. I don’t know if Gordon shared that with you, since I ask him to keep that shit to himself, but you never know.”
I shook my head and swallowed hard because I was a little nervous about where this was headed after the blowjob comment. “No, he never mentioned it.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter because I’m telling you anyway. But this isn’t a conversation about how big my dick is.” He shoots me a cocky wink. “This is a conversation about how I can help you out.”
“With my dick size or my unemployment earnings?” I smirked sideways, impressed with my wit given how nervous he made me.
Landon thought that was funny, and the pilot glanced back at him yet again. “I know you’re sitting on a bit of cash, Cam. What if I could turn your Harris severance into a million dollars? Would that make you hard?”
I couldn’t help but shift a little in my seat. With a million dollars, I could do a lot of things. Including avoid employment while I fixed my head and heart after Hope disappeared on me. Yet, somehow, images of Bernie Madoff and his wild and crazy Ponzi schemes floated through my thoughts.
Landon reached into his pocket for a business card. “I’ll show you how I do it. It’s high-risk derivatives stuff, but it’s how I got started in college.” He shrugged again like it was no big deal. “Gordon says you’re a smart guy, but you’re way over-qualified for what we need. If you take what I teach you and make a go at it, maybe you can start trading.” He patted my leg before standing up. “Think about it, Cam. It’s a lot of money.”
He returned to his seat, and I couldn’t help but stare out the window at the clouds beneath the wings. Not that I expected to find answers there, but they offered no hints as to what I should do with Landon’s invitation to turn my severance into a million dollars. I wondered at the risk—he had mentioned there would be some risk involved. And then I started planning on how I could survive off a million dollars while convincing Hope to run away with me.
These daydreams of a life I couldn’t imagine for myself led me to my iPhone. And a Google search for Hope McManus in Miami. I found half a dozen addresses before finally tapping the one link I had wanted to avoid entirely: Facebook. I scrolled through the photos, taking note of the landmarks in the background, ignoring the big smiles she shared with that dickhead she had been eating lunch with last week.
And then I had my answer—a pic of a two-seater Mercedes convertible, the SLK, in the driveway of her house. Alone, the pic meant nothing outside of the fact that Hope drove an amazing vehicle and lived on an expensive suburban street. In the background, however, I found a street sign. Once I zoomed in on that street sign, I knew where she lived because I recognized the name from the White Pages directory.
I didn’t realize it right away, but tracking her down had made me happy enough that I discovered an imposter’s smile on my face. Across from me, Josh watched with a foreign interest. But when I raised my attention to him, he glanced back to the newspaper. Although I wanted to pat myself on the back with a cheer for this minor victory, I stayed quiet, rested my head back, and close
d my eyes. I plotted the next few hours in my head, everything from getting out of Nassau to lining up a rental car in Miami, Hope’s hometown. And how, before sunset, I would be standing outside the house that I located on my phone.
For now, I needed to concentrate on and script what I planned to say to her.
} i {
Chapter 47
The marina, where Landon had rented a race-worthy Donzi, had an attached hotel. We checked into a suite, using Landon’s credit card, and had lunch brought up. I didn’t eat much, so when the call from the concierge arrived that the boat was ready for us, nobody challenged me when I told them I didn’t feel so hot. Well, Josh and Landon had no issue. Gordo seemed skeptical.
While the others changed into their fancy swim trunks, shirts, and donned sunscreen, Gordo approached me, keeping his voice low as he asked me if my sudden illness had anything to do with last weekend.
I faked a surprised look. “Not at all, Gordo. I was in Chicago the entire time, and I’m feeling a lot better now.”
He hemmed and hawed.
“I’ll be here the entire time,” I lied. I would have told him I’d be performing open-heart surgery if it meant getting him and the others out of here. “Call whenever you want.”
Landon called after Gordon to hurry up. They were ready to leave.
At last, Gordon patted my back and said he hoped I felt better. “I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon when we get back, and then we’ll talk about last weekend.”
“Looking forward to it,” I said, and this time I meant it because between now and then, I’d have Hope in my arms, and nothing he could say would matter.
Once the guys left, I stepped out to the balcony and watched them below as they headed through the secure gates to the dock. Someone else greeted them and brought them on board to explain the vessel. The owner instructed Josh, who was arguably the most familiar with navigating the seas. Within half an hour, the engines were rumbling and Josh guided the boat out of the marina.
Returning to the room, I called the front desk and asked about obtaining a rental car.
“Give us thirty minutes,” the concierge promised.
I retreated to the bathroom, showered, and fixed myself up. I had definitely lost a bit of weight since last weekend; I could see it in my reflection. My stomach looked flatter, gaunter with such a thin layer of skin that my abdominal muscles began to stretch through, and I could see a cleaner jaw line in my face. Although I wasn’t unrecognizable, I figured Hope would notice the slight difference, just as Gordo had.
In the hotel lobby, I saw they had set aside a Mustang convertible for me.
“Will this be charged to the credit card we hold for the room?” the concierge asked.
Grinning, I confirmed that it would, and then grabbed the keys. After programming Hope’s address into the GPS, I set off. Forty minutes later, I was parked across the street from her house. I spotted the FOR SALE sign immediately and wondered why they were selling. The Mercedes from her Facebook picture was the only car in the driveway. The garage door was also wide open, and I saw that there was no other vehicle parked inside.
Hope was home. Alone.
I considered getting out of the car and walking to the front door, but some kind of fear held me back. Was it the rejection from this past weekend that haunted me? Was that causing this sudden bout of gun-shyness? I pounded the steering, sitting in this open-roofed Mustang, across the street from Hope’s house.
Without question, I looked like an idiot.
Then I felt her. I stopped abusing the rental car and stared back across the street at Hope’s house, and there she stood outside her front door. She wore tight jogging shorts and a form-fitting running top.
Her eyes were locked on me.
I could barely breathe her name.
Slowly and carefully, I opened the car door and stepped out onto the road without looking. I didn’t dare avert my eyes for fear that Hope might start running. And as much as I had enjoyed tackling her outside of the community center in the rain, I really didn’t want to be tackling her in this neighborhood. Plus, I wouldn’t be able to compete with the high-end Asics she wore.
Raising my empty hands to show how defenseless I was, I crossed the street and stepped across her front lawn to the front porch. There were two steps and roughly four feet separating us.
“Hope,” I said, a little breathless thanks to the nerves.
“Cameron.” Her hazel eyes seemed distrustful, surprised and relieved, all at once.
And then we had one of our famous staring contests.
She blinked first.
“Why?” I asked, and the hurt spilled out of my mouth.
Her chin quivered. “You,” was her answer, and I didn’t know what that meant, but I erased the distance between us with two leaping steps and kissed her. Hard.
She hooked an arm around my neck and fumbled for the door, twisting the knob after several attempts, and then she kicked it open; the wall stopped it with a thud, and we hurried inside, in case the neighbors were watching.
In the foyer, I tried to force her up against the door once I closed it, but she twirled around and shoved me against the door. She was strong, and the force kicked the wind out of my lungs.
I didn’t care, though. I wanted her. I needed to have her, now.
“I missed you,” I said between breaths, but she was pulling her tight top over her head and kissing me before she could utter a response.
I felt her hands working at the belt of my pants, slowly stripping me in the foyer of her house. Stepping out of the pants, I massaged her breasts as she guided me backward into the vast kitchen. I trusted her directions, even though she moved her lips and tongue over my mouth, neck, and chest blindly, hungrily.
The kitchen island forced my backward stumble to a blunt stop, and Hope’s lips worked their magic below the waistband of my boxers. As she ran her tongue along my rigid shaft, the world spun, and I reached down, gripping her hair and tugging her face to mine. We kissed hard, my fingers reaching between down low. She spread her legs, opened them to provide me with greater access to her clit. I massaged her in a soft, circular motion, then dipped my middle finger inside her to see just how wet she was.
“Cameron,” she moaned quietly.
Her voice transformed me from a quiet bystander to an active hunter. Reaching down to her waist, I lifted her off the floor, spun around, and planted her on the kitchen island. Either the cold granite annoyed her, or she liked that I was taking control. Either way, Hope pulled my face to hers and kissed me with a ravenous hunger.
“I love you,” I whispered, pulling her hips to the edge of the island and rubbing the head of my cock along her pussy. And just then, she reached behind her for the exhaust vent, holding herself up and angling her hips in such a way that I entered her easily, slowly, gently at first, but at the first sound of her moaning ”Oh, Cameron!” I thrust a little deeper, a little harder, and a little faster.
She moaned a little louder, and I didn’t last long. Watching the woman I loved enjoy what I was doing to her on the kitchen island made me want her more and more.
When I was about to pull out, Hope said, “No,” and then wrapped her legs around my waist, locking me in place so I had no choice but come inside her, in sync with her own pulsating orgasm.
By the time our bodies cooled off, she released the vent and rested back on her elbows, her dreamy eyes staring at mine. We didn’t speak for a long time, but the hunger was unmistakable. She wiped at the sweat beading on her forehead.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, looking around the nice house. It was just as I imagined her house would be when I was in high school—cold without much personality, sterile but still homely enough to double as a model home.
Hope laughed. “Shouldn’t I be the one to ask that question?”
I told her that I had been “dragged” along by Gordon, an old colleague who had received a severance package on the same day as me. “Once I found out th
at he was coming to Miami, and I remembered that you said you would be back yesterday…I had to try, Hope.” I shook my head, a little embarrassed but also incredibly proud that I hadn’t “stopped” this time. I had fought for her, fought for her love, something she had never believed in. “I haven’t been sleeping or eating or breathing since I returned to your hotel Sunday afternoon and found that you’d left.” Speaking with her about this stuff while naked at her kitchen island seemed strangely therapeutic. I didn’t feel so sad now. Still, I had to know. “Why did you leave like that? You didn’t even say goodbye…” Because goodbyes are forever, I realized.
My question forced her to look elsewhere to avoid whatever guilt she felt. “I couldn’t see you again, Cameron.”
I reached down and started to pull my boxers up. “But you could’ve left without seeing me again? Without saying…goodbye?” She had known it would not be forever, that we would see each other again. Maybe not this soon, but still…
She rolled off the island and grabbed her workout gear, which was scattered in a path from the front door to the kitchen. “I’m afraid of goodbyes, you know that. The last time I watched you leave, I didn’t see you again for seven years.” She shook her head at me, her hands full as she walked past me toward a hallway. “I didn’t say goodbye this time, and now look, you’re in my kitchen, in Miami.”
I followed her into the hall, to a bedroom at the end. “Yes, I came for you. I’ve admitted that I was wrong to do what I did, so now what?” I asked.
“Now I get changed and follow you to your hotel, or somewhere else, anywhere else, because Matt will be home in half an hour.” She gave a look that promised we could talk all about this stuff later.
I reached out, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her against me. “Leave him,” I pleaded. “Come back with me, and let’s do this together.”
She seemed to consider my suggestion, but I could see she didn’t place a whole lot of weight in it. At last, she shook her head, pulled free, and headed to the walk-in closet to pack a bag. “How long are you in Miami?”
Sick Day Page 17