Читать книгу Dare Me - Jo Leigh - Страница 12

4

FOUR A.M. As he stared at the ceiling, thoughts of Molly and what they could have been doing kept Cam up, pissed that he couldn’t turn off his brain.

Since the date had ended earlier than he’d expected, he’d gone down to the bar to help out after his shower. The plan had been to get some relief then hit the sack, but that hadn’t worked out, either.

Sunday through Thursday, they were open till two. As soon as their last customer left, Cam had helped the Sunday night crew clean everything. He’d made an excellent favor swap with Solomon, their senior bartender. Solomon now owed him a weekend night off for scrubbing the floors in the kitchen and subbing in behind the bar. The physical exercise and focus had been a good distraction from thinking about Molly. Unfortunately, the distraction had stopped working as soon as he had.

He’d tried to convince himself he was tired enough to sleep. After lying in bed as the minutes marched on, he went for one more round with his right hand. It didn’t take long to get hard, not when he could picture her so clearly. Shit, he could still practically feel her breast under his palm.

If this didn’t do the trick, he’d get out his notebook and work some calculus problems. Those had always put him to sleep.

* * *

MOLLY SQUIRMED IN her bed, unable to find a comfortable position. She wouldn’t look at the clock. Not again. Every time she did, she was compelled to figure out how many hours she had until her alarm went off if she immediately fell asleep.

The last reading had been at two-fifteen. Her alarm would go off at five-thirty.

All because she was the most horrible person in all of New York. And New Jersey, and probably Connecticut and, what the hell, Rhode Island, too.

The look on Cameron’s face when she’d pulled the emergency cord. She might as well have slapped him across the face. What she’d actually done was probably worse for a guy.

She’d been having this internal debate since she’d walked into her apartment and turned on her computer. She’d gone straight to The Four Sisters Brewpub’s website. It was an impressive site with lots of history about the place, including how many blue ribbons Cameron’s beer had won in the past. But none in the past five years.

They’d barely scratched the surface of each other’s lives. She had questions. Far too many for a brief encounter of the sexual kind. Where had he gone to school? What did he do when he wasn’t crafting beers, or was he like her, obsessed and never truly away from his career?

The world of wine was very competitive. Very few made any kind of splash at all, and barely a trickle became internationally noted.

She wished Phillip and Simone had planned on coming to New York for Friday’s ceremony. But it was understandable that they couldn’t just drop everything for one banquet. Bordeaux to New York was a major trip, and they were so busy with the vineyard and the business. Simone had mentioned a possible visit in the fall, so that was something to look forward to.

In the meantime, if Molly had Cam on her arm, no one would wonder where her parents were. Of course, Phillip and Simone weren’t her real parents; she’d known them for only twelve years. But they’d brought her into their incredible home, into their lives. It had been a rebirth, the only one that mattered to her.

She’d have liked to introduce them to Cameron. He’d have gotten on well with Phillip especially. Phillip enjoyed a cold beer from time to time, although you would never guess it. But he’d have liked that Cameron was the brains behind his brews.

And now here Molly was, unable to sleep, her mind still chock-full of Cameron. Which wasn’t wise. She barely knew him, and best-case scenario, she’d be with him from Friday evening through Saturday morning. If she was very lucky, maybe they’d have breakfast together, but that thought, that hope, was already crossing a line.

She’d lived on fantasies most of her life. Only one had ever come true. Phillip and Simone hadn’t actually adopted her, but that was okay. Just the odds of finding an amazing foster family as a teenager were off the charts.

Her thoughts veered back to the most vivid of tonight’s fantasies. Cameron, taking off her clothes. Slowly. Kissing all the places he uncovered. Calling her beautiful, even though she knew she wasn’t quite. It was easy to picture him without his shirt. Not so easy to imagine what was under his jeans. At least in the front. She’d already gotten a great look at his butt with the way the denim hugged him.

He did have big hands, so... That didn’t necessarily mean he was well-endowed, but for now, she’d go with it. What the heck, right? In for a penny. Having already used her vibrator once, she let her fingers do the work this time. Once they were underneath her panties, she knew exactly what to do. Her imagination was vivid and well practiced. He’d be on this very bed, the covers tossed aside. His kisses were easy to recall in perfect detail. From there, she could extrapolate what his lips would feel like on her nipples. How he’d lick his way down until he reached her button.

She winced at the word, the old word that she’d learned from the other kids. When they’d whispered after lights-out. The button. It had taken her years to figure out what they meant. She’d thought it was a real button.

She’d learned, of course, that it was her clitoris. But some habits were harder to break than others, and dammit, she didn’t want to think about anything but Cameron and how he’d know just what she liked. How he’d go slowly until she couldn’t stand it, and how he would care more about making her happy than just taking for himself. Hey, it was her fantasy, so she didn’t care that men like that didn’t exist in real life.

She’d call him on Tuesday. Give him enough time to rent a tuxedo, if he didn’t own one. Would he be insulted if she offered to pay for the rental?

Pulling her hand out of her pants, she gave up. She was never going to get to sleep if she didn’t stop projecting wildly about a man she barely knew.

All she had was a feeling.

Cameron Crawford would come through for her. For one perfect night. Was that too much to hope for?

Sighing, she avoided answering her own question and started counting the seconds, determined to get to five hundred or fall asleep trying.

She reached eight hundred and nine.

* * *

“I’M GONNA CALL HER.” It was Tuesday afternoon and Emmy was prepping condiments while Cameron worked at the small table in the corner of the bar’s kitchen. “As a friend,” he said. “Just, you know, make sure she’s okay.”

Emmy was quiet for so long, Cam looked up. She wasn’t looking at him. In fact, she was standing at the sink washing limes, but there was no doubt she was judging him.

“I’m not going to make a big deal out of it. Besides, I’ll hear it in her voice if she doesn’t want to talk to me.” Hell, she probably wouldn’t even answer. Stupid caller ID. There weren’t any surprises left in life.

“You sure that’s a good idea?”

He glanced down at his newest recipe for a cream ale. Although he hadn’t gotten nearly enough sleep last night, at least he’d come up with what he thought was a viable design for a unique brew. But his mind wasn’t on the new ale. It was stuck on all the things he wished he’d said to Molly.

What the hell? Last time he’d checked, he wasn’t a teenage girl.

Closing his eyes, he let his chin drop to his chest. “I should go back to bed. Fifteen minutes is all I need. I read an article. Fifteen, twenty minutes is supposed to leave me refreshed but not groggy.” He looked at his sister again. “It sounds like torture. Maybe that’s why it works. I’ll end up so pissed off that I couldn’t enjoy my nap, it’ll knock that groggy shit right out.”

Emmy laughed. Turned off the water. “What’s gotten into you? You must have really liked Molly, because you never mention women you go out with. Even the ones that keep you out all night.”

He wasn’t about to tell Emmy how the date had actually ended. Way too much information, and just...no. “We didn’t really finish our conversation, that’s all. She was nice. Interesting.”

“Your conversation. Uh-huh.”

“I’m tired. Leave me alone. Actually, talk to Jade. She’s trying to set me up with someone from her gym. I told her about the trading cards, but I could tell she’s got something cooking.”

“Fine. I’ll talk to her. Just do me a favor. Don’t call Molly. You sound pathetic.”

“Thanks a lot.” He was supposed to finish writing this damn recipe, then go help pitch the yeast into the wort. Eric was running the floor in back, and the crew would do just fine without him, but an extra hand was never turned away. They’d all helped him with his small-brew experiments. Yeah, that was part of what they got paid to do, but it never felt like that, not in the brewery or the bar. You made the payroll, you became part of The Four Sisters family.

“Don’t forget to talk to Jade.”

“Yes, sir.” Emmy turned back to her prepping, and Cam left the kitchen. Left the bar. Only to go upstairs to his apartment.

His dad had had this addition built. There’d been plenty of times that a place to crash had been a blessing, and Cam was sure everyone would be relieved when he went back to Syracuse. Fridays and Saturdays the bar was open until four in the morning. A lot of people had crashed in the bed upstairs.

It wasn’t even that noisy. The contractor had previously worked on sound booths and editing facilities, and he’d made sure not much noise bled upstairs. Nothing they could do about the vibrations, but Cam was used to the pulse of the jukebox.

Halfway up, his cell phone rang, and when he saw it was Molly, he hurried up the rest of the stairs. He didn’t answer until he was inside the apartment with the door shut behind him.

“Hi. It’s Molly.”

“I know. How are you?”

“I’m fine. Good. I mean, I’m completely stuck on this column I’m writing, but other than that, everything’s fine.”

“I’m glad. Not about being stuck. About...” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He could do better. “I was impressed when I saw that you blocked out time on your calendar for writing and stuff.”

“I just wanted people to know that I have office hours. That it would be better not to call when I was working.”

“Do they anyway?”

She laughed. “All the time.”

“It was worth a try, though, huh?”

“Yeah.”

He could hear the smile in her voice.

“I’m still awfully sorry for how I left things,” she said, using her serious voice again. “It wasn’t very nice of me.”

“It’s okay. It really is. Especially now that you’ve called back.”

“Right. About that rain check.”

“Say when.”

She was silent for several beats—enough time for him to realize he’d jumped the gun again. Why couldn’t he wait for the punch line with her?

“Well, actually, I was thinking about Friday night. Except there’s a catch.”

He sat down on the one really comfortable chair in the apartment. The place wasn’t big. A round table and chairs next to a tiny kitchen that wasn’t much more than a cooktop, a dorm fridge, a microwave and a sink. There was also a bathroom—shower only, no tub—and a queen-size bed. The good chair wasn’t huge, just comfortable. “I’m listening,” he said, wondering what the catch could possibly be.

“There’s a thing I need to go to. A banquet, actually. It’s a wine thing, so there’ll be fantastic drinks and food. But it’s formal, so yeah, a tux would help, and there’ll be some speeches, so that won’t be fun. Except when I say there’ll be great wine, I mean it. All the top vineyards send their best stuff.”

“A banquet?”

“Yeah. For the industry. Wine writers. It’s an international association, and people come from all over to attend. I don’t think you’ll be too bored. There’ll be nice people at our table. Really nice people. Like Donna. My editor. She’s the editor in chief of the magazine, and she’s hilarious. She’s completely New York and doesn’t give a damn who likes her or not, so she never holds back. I know she’d like you, too.”

Cam should stop her. He’d already decided to go. Hell, if she’d asked him to accompany her to the moon, he’d have rented an astronaut suit. A tuxedo was nothing.

“It sounds great and the tux isn’t a problem. You just tell me what time and where to show up.”

“Really?’

He grinned and stretched out in his chair, putting his free hand behind his head. “Really. So, is this a mandatory work thing, or is this something you like doing?”

“I’m always amazed I get to go, although they usually charge for a place at the table.”

“What’s unusual about this time?”

She cleared her throat, although it was muted, as if she’d moved the phone away from her mouth. “Well, I’m getting an award.”

“No kidding? What for?”

“Emerging wine writer of the year.” He could picture her so easily, the way she’d look down, then back up at him through her lashes.

Now he was even more pleased that he’d said yes. “That’s very impressive. I imagine there was a lot of competition for that award. I’m going to have to read all of your columns now. I only sampled a few, but they were excellent. Huh. It’ll be like going to the Oscars with Jennifer Lawrence.”

She laughed. “It’s so not. Not by a mile.”

“You can have your fantasies and I’ll have mine. At the very least, I’ll be with the prettiest woman there.”

“You make me blush. But I’ll give you a hint. You don’t have to do that.”

“What?”

“Compliment me so lavishly.”

He shook his head. “I’m not. I mean what I say.”

“Right.”

“Next time you see Emmy, you ask her what I’m like. I’m not prone to exaggeration. Honest to a fault, and I mean that literally. I say too much, too often. Probably because I had four older sisters to compete with. But how come you know you’ve won? Aren’t these things supposed to be a surprise?”

“Not really. Some of the recipients live far away, so they let them know in advance.”

“I wish they’d do that in beer competitions, but I suppose they can’t. I hate the nerves that come before they announce the winners.”

“I really want to talk to you about beer,” she said. “I want to know about the brewing processes and the subculture and what the politics are like.”

It was clear she meant it, and he loved that she was interested, although it was such a huge topic that he had no idea where to start. “But I can’t. Not right now. I’ve got a meeting in a few minutes. I sort of planned it this way. I wanted an excuse to end the conversation quickly in case you said no.”

“You could have made something up,” he said, wishing she didn’t have a meeting.

“I’m honest to a fault, too. Although not as a statement or a philosophy. I’m just a lousy liar.”

“Another reason to look forward to Friday night.”

She sighed, and he wanted to kiss her. “Thank you. I’ll be in touch.”

“Great.” After the call ended, he thought about what Emmy had said and wondered what it was about Molly that had him so wound up. Probably the fact that she didn’t want a relationship. He’d hated those family setups. The only thing he was looking for while he was in Queens was a good time. No strings, no complications. Luckily, that appeared to be all that Molly wanted, as well.