5

THREE

Oaklyn

Exactly one year ago, I’d told Camden I wanted him to take my virginity. The next morning, when my eyes flicked open and Hannah was curled up next to me in my bed, the urge to speak to Camden was far stronger than the guilt I was already feeling about my best friend.

I loved Hannah more than anyone in this world. She was like a sister to me and had been since we were twelve years old.

And every feeling that churned through my stomach, every alarm that went off in my chest, told me she would hate the idea of her brother and me sleeping together.

But I wanted this.

I wanted this for me.

Even though I knew how wrong it was, I silently slipped out of my bed and hurried to her room with all intentions of sneaking inside and waking him up to talk.

But the door was already open, and her bed was empty.

Camden was gone.

He’d left before I got the chance to tell him I didn’t want to wait a year.

I wanted him to take my virginity now.

When I crawled back into my bed, I took my phone off the nightstand, my thumb hovering over his name in my Contacts, debating on whether I should text him or call him later, once Hannah went to work.

But I hadn’t.

Nor had I talked to him about my new plan during any of the times I saw him following that initial night.

Maybe I’d lost my nerve. Maybe I was reminding myself that Hannah would go nuts if she found out. Maybe I was taking that time to really ask myself if I had the courage to give my virginity to the sexiest man alive.

Because, the truth was, I’d been crushing on Camden since the day I’d met him all those years ago.

Of course, I knew us becoming a couple would never be a possibility. I wasn’t foolish enough to think he was into girls like me—girls who wouldn’t immediately spread their legs, who actually wanted a relationship, who were looking for love.

Besides, as kids, Hannah had told me on more than one occasion that it would be gross if one of her friends hooked up with her brother. As we had gotten older, gross had changed to disgusting, and she’d emphasize that she’d murder him if he ever got near one of us, especially because Camden had earned himself quite the reputation.

There was a reason I’d called him an expert.

Which was why I’d been so nervous when I finally sent him the text today, telling him it was time to talk. Sure, I wanted a professional to show me the ropes. Someone who spoke the language of pleasure much more fluently than me.

But, my God, that thought was intimidating.

So was the idea of having his experienced hands and seasoned lips on my body.

What if I disappoint him?

What if I turn him off?

What if he turns me down and never writes me back?

I kept checking my phone to see if I’d missed a notification and that his reply was waiting for me in my Messages. But there was no response from him, no little bubbles on his side of the text box anytime I looked. I even wondered if the Delivered that appeared under my words was misleading, that the message was actually stuck somewhere in cyberland and hadn’t gone through.

I took another sip of my wine, a bottle I had opened after work when the nerves got the best of me. I didn’t usually drink during the week unless Hannah and I were having a girls’ night, but the hurricane storming through my head was becoming far too much.

It had been hours since I’d sent that text.

How can he not write me back?

Will he really just ignore me?

Not even having the decency to tell me he was no longer interested—

My brain silenced the second I heard the knock at my door.

A knock that I hadn’t expected.

I hadn’t ordered food. Hannah had moved in with Declan a few months ago at the renewal of our lease and never popped in, unannounced.

Could it be Camden?

I set down my wine and stood from the couch, taking a quick glance down my body to make sure I had something appropriate on. A sports bra. Yoga pants. My bright red toenails gleaming from the chandelier Hannah had installed during one of her sleepless nights.

I was about to dart into my bedroom to grab a sweatshirt when I heard another knock.

Impatient and demanding.

It had to be him.

I rushed over to the door and quickly checked the peephole, unable to hide the smile on my face when my guess was confirmed.

Hello, beautiful man.

He couldn’t reply to a text, but he could find his way to my apartment, and the small circle I was looking through showed me he was still dressed for work.

Why is it so difficult to breathe?

I slowly opened the door and was completely unprepared for the sexiness on the other side. The peephole had acted as a filter; it certainly hadn’t shown me the depth of this hot, sizzling Dalton steam.

Camden was in a navy suit and white shirt, his gold tie loose at his throat. He was holding the doorframe with both hands, putting his weight into his arms, leaning as close to me as he could get. But his head was down, like he was deep in thought. His face was hidden, his messy, short, dark, gelled hair the only thing that was pointed at me.

“Camden …”

His head gradually lifted, and his ocean-blue eyes connected with mine.

His perfect, soft, thick lips parted.

His small, sloped nose and angular cheeks and square jaw and heavy scruff were now all facing me.

Oh God.

A wave of tingles blasted through my entire body.

In a way that I hadn’t expected.

In a way that made it even harder for me to breathe.

His gaze stayed on my face for several seconds and then began to travel down my body at a speed that was achingly slow. He stalled at my chest and stomach before going all the way to my feet.

Silence continued to tick between us.

But in that moment—the period where I felt like I was naked and on full display, his watchful eyes taking in every inch of my body—I wrapped my arms around my navel and said, “Hi.” I paused, waiting, receiving nothing but a heavier gaze. “You never replied, so I didn’t think you were going to show up.”

“Surprise.” He licked across both lips. “Unless you don’t like surprises?”