Testing Limits

CHAPTER SEVEN: CAMERON

Logan went out to buy groceries. Why? Because the guy shockingly only had a carton of milk and stale bread in his fridge. I'm not sure whether I'm impressed that he's been able to live like that for so long or disgusted by the knowledge that the bread has sat untouched in his fridge for over two months. However, what he failed to do was tell me that it wouldn't just be the two of us. This brings me to the very pressing issue standing awkwardly in the doorway.

Owen furrows his eyebrows upon seeing me, and I realise that he was expecting to see my brother.

Great, so I'm not the only one surprised.

"Where's your brother?"

"Not here."

The startled look on his face disappears as quickly as it appeared, and a winsome smile replaces it, before he says, "You sure had a lot more to say last night."

"And you sure had a lot less to say. What's your point exactly?" I narrow my eyes at him and fold my arms, unsure of what he's getting at. He deserved it. Ok, maybe not the excessive amount of beer thrown at him or the STD comment. But did I regret it? Absolutely not.

He outright ignores my question and stares at me expectantly, those devastatingly mesmerising hazel eyes still glinting in amusement.

"What could you possibly want now?"
"Well, it'd be nice if you let me in." The lines of his mouth form an unmistakable grin and I'm so transfixed on the movement of his full lips that it takes me a couple seconds more than I'd like to fully process his words.

"Oh." My face is suddenly hot and I'm almost certain that my embarrassment is as clear as day, my cheeks probably tinged a bright pink. Growing up, I'd always been terrible at hiding my emotions and the stubborn trait refused to go away - much to my dismay.

When I realise I'm still blocking the doorway, I feel my entire face flush red. Gosh. Pull it together Cameron.

I quickly turn around and head back to the kitchen where my laptop and unfinished sketches wait for me. Sitting down on the stool, I dive back into my work, grabbing my almost blunt pencil as I begin to roughly sketch a scaled version of the Italian Modern Diane Sofa that will be going in one of my client's living rooms. Lost in my own world of dimensions and grid paper, I don't even hear Owen close the door to the penthouse, let alone enter the kitchen.

"That's one hell of a couch." My entire body freezes and the silence that follows his statement is filled up by the rapid beat of my heart. The thumping sound continues to increase and I'm sure I'm not the only one that can hear it. So much for me not making a fool of myself again, I scoff inwardly.

"Yeah, it is." My voice comes out raspy and I'm thankful for the sound of the stool scraping against the floor, even though the interior designer in me is internally screaming at him to not risk scratching the gorgeous herringbone floor.

"So, I'm guessing you're an interior designer right?"

"Yup."

"That must be interesting." The conversation is light, but I'm increasingly self-conscious of the fact that Owen seems to be scrutinising every line I draw. Somehow, he has already managed to make me feel incredibly uncomfortable, and I'm irritated by the fact that I don't know how or why.

"It is, I love it." If I give him short responses he's bound to stop trying to make conversation. I try to suppress the smile that wishes to escape at the realisation of this small but equally satisfying victory.

"I'm glad you found a way to put your knack for drawing into an actual job. I'd be disappointed if you didn't. I mean, could you imagine it? The countless hours we spent playing crayons and paper with you all the damn time would've gone to nothing." The words leave his mouth lightheartedly and his lips curve up into a grin, the dimples in his cheeks deepening.

Nevermind. I spoke too soon.
Although, the sight leaves me breathless and the corners of my mouth curl up in spite of myself. Great, even my own face is betraying me. I warmly welcome the image of crayon drawings which still cover the walls and floor of my childhood bedroom. The drawings had been so elaborate; I remember being fascinated by whatever scene I was looking at, mesmerised by how shapes and colours - if selected properly - could work in perfect harmony, the result flawless.

I add a little more detail to the chest of the sofa, including the subtle curves and the plush velvet cushioning, trying to ignore the heated gaze practically burning a hole into the side of my face.

"Look, Cam-"

The sound of the front door opening stops Owen from saying anything further and I more than eagerly hop off the stool to help Logan bring the groceries inside. My plan is ruined when said brother enters the kitchen with the grocery bags in hand, before placing them on the kitchen island. He doesn't look surprised to see Owen, and they both greet each other with the usual hug and slap on the back. Traitor.

"Mind if I borrow Logan for a second?" It's not a question, and both of them seem to realise it too.

"Go ahead." Owen's gaze switches to his phone as Logan and I make our way to his bedroom to talk.

Logan shuts the door to his room before confusion floods his face. "What's up?"

"Why didn't you tell me Owen was coming over?"

Logan glares at me, an annoyed look suddenly etched into his face and he looks like he's about to argue with me... but thankfully he refrains.

"What's wrong with me having Owen over? It is my place." He bites out each word sharply, his tone reeking of frustration and defensiveness - the first being directed towards me and the latter to his best friend.

"No, that's not what I implied and you know it. Don't twist my words around, it's childish. All I want is to maybe have a bit of warning beforehand, that's all. I could've been indecent!" It's my turn to glare, my voice rising with each sentence that shoots out of my mouth.

Logan looks away and I watch as his jaw clenches, his entire body radiating discomfort. We don't usually fight and when we do it's often over small petty things, with him usually being the first to apologise. His obvious discomfort makes my chest feel heavy with regret over my verbal attack that was undeservingly aimed at him.

"I'm sorry." His eyes lock on mine, his voice soft. "I don't want to fight with you, Cam. You've just got here and you have no idea how happy I am that you're staying with me. I just haven't had a roommate, since, well, college. I'll brush up on my roommate etiquette though." A lazy grin breaks out on his face, and I mirror it with one of my own.
"You're lucky this roommate loves you a ton, Logie Pogie." He embraces me in one of his bear hugs and just like that, all is forgiven.

That is until he starts flicking my arm.

"I take that back, you're annoying as hell." I pull myself out of his embrace, sticking my tongue out at him and crossing my arms playfully.

We're both laughing, before we reach a comfortable silence.

"You still down to have lunch with us?"

"Don't worry about me, you two hang out. I was planning on doing some sightseeing today either way."

Logan doesn't look entirely convinced by my statement but doesn't say anything else. I'm not even sure where exactly I'll be going. However, I'm one hundred percent certain that I don't want to spend the entire afternoon with Owen and my brother. I mean, how hard could it be to entertain myself for a couple of hours?