Page 71 of Never Bargain with the Boss
“Well, it should be,” he declares. “Come on. Let’s hop in the shower… again.”
It endsup being after twelve o’clock before Grace texts. Late enough that Cameron and I shower, clean the kitchen from last night’s fun, and make and eat brunch while shooting each other sexy-eyed smirks.
“Are you going with me to get Grace?” Cameron asks.
I want to. Desperately.
Because I want this fantasy to continue. But when he picks up Grace, it won’t. I know that. I even understand it. We’ve had one night, and no matter how fabulous it was, we can’t spring something like this on Grace until we know what it is. If it’s even anything.
Cameron has said a lot of things that make me feel hopeful, but things said while dick-deep and on the verge of coming are categorically not to be used against someone once the moment’s passed. I think that’s actually in some rule book somewhere.
“No, you go get her, and I’ll get groceries. We can meet back here later.”
It’s a completely logical plan, even coming from the most illogical person ever. But Cameron doesn’t seem certain, his brows dropping over doubt-filled eyes. “You sure?”
“Yeah,” I tell him breezily, going so far as to pat his chest and press a kiss to his now-smooth cheek. “Divide and conquer. I’m thinking chicken and dumplings for dinner tonight.”
“Sounds delicious.” Every word is right, but I think we both feel the hesitancy in them as space grows between us.
It’s a weird situation. We had sex, but we also live together and are completely entwined in each other’s lives. There’s no awkward walk of shame—not that I’m ashamed of anything we did—but we also can’t immediately jump to ‘living together’ and skip a bajillion steps along the way. Especially the one where we figure out what this means before Grace learns about it. That’s the most important step of all.
“Okay,” Cameron says, grabbing his keys.
A few minutes later, I do the same, slipping my coat on and heading to the grocery store. I feel a bit adrift, though there’s no reason to. It was a great night, and Cameron gave me no sign that he has any regrets… yet. For now, it’s business as usual.
Business. Because he’s still my boss.
I try to remind myself that he flat-out said he doesn’t want a bang nanny, and I believed him, so shocked at his use of the term that I’d stared slack-jawed at him and saw his distaste for the very idea of it. That’s not what this is. At all.
It’s two people who feel something, taking their time to define what that might be and not rushing into something willy-nilly when kids are involved. It’s… mature. That sort of feels new, and good.
I’ve got one earbud in as I make my way up and down the aisles, putting various things in my cart. My chicken anddumpling recipe is a tried-and-true classic I can do with my hands tied behind my back, though I’d rather not try it.
Actually, that could be fun. Maybe we can do some sort of chef game that way tonight. I bet Grace would get a kick out of that.
And maybe later, Cameron and I could use the ties for other things. Or hell, still for tying hands… that’d be fun too, especially when there’s no cooking happening.
I’m so distracted by the idea that I almost run into someone at the end of the soup aisle. “Sorry,” I say quickly, looking up to meet the eyes of the one person I wish I never had to see again. “Austin?”
Shit. Fuck. And damn. What is he doing here?
I glance around like there might be someone to help me or some logical reason for him to be standing in the grocery store five minutes from Cameron’s and over four hours away from his house with Beth. With no cart, not a single item in his hands, and his eyes dropping over me in a completely non-fatherly sort of way.
I’m dressed warmly for the November weather outside in shredded black jeans with striped tights beneath them, a long-sleeved shirt, a flannel, and a vest, plus my boots and jewelry. Somehow, I still feel naked.
I’d almost forgotten how uncomfortable he makes me feel, especially since it’s been months since I’ve seen him. I’d naively hoped that this would far enough away that he wouldn’t show up at places I go the way he had when I’d been closer. It seems I was wrong.
“Hey, Rye. Fancy seeing you here. You’re looking good.”
Swallowing down my unease, I snap, “What are you doing here?” I make sure the cart is between me and him, even though I don’t think he’s going to actually try anything in the middle of the store.
He’s never laid a hand on me in any sort of way, but he still sets off every self-preservation alarm I have, and they’re finely tuned enough that I trust them implicitly despite Austin never goingtoofar.
It’s not because I don’t think he would. He’s just good enough at manipulating people—me included—that he hasn’t had to push things into the realm of actual threats and bodily injury. Yet.
“Grabbing a few things for the kids, you know. They need…” He looks at the hanging rack next to him and picks up the advertised item there. “Pop Tarts. The cookies n’ cream ones are Brayden’s favorite.”
I don’t know who Brayden is. He must be one of the current foster kids, but I have no doubt that Austin has never once fed him a name-brand breakfast pastry, especially one closer to dessert than a breakfast food.