His lips trail feather-light kisses down the side of my neck, sending shivers all over.
"I love looking at you," he breathes, brushing the hair off my shoulders. "Will you let me look at you?"
My heart hammers, a wild thing seeking his. "Yes."
So he...
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————————————— C A M I L A
My whole body tenses when a blanket is draped over my shoulders. Then two bodies settle down before me.
Fox a little to the left with his knees up and a red box beside him, and Noah to the right, legs crossed. Both have jackets open on their fancy shirts, and worry pulses off them.
Noah sets a plate of food on the grass between my legs. My plate. When I dare to meet his gaze, there's an entire universe there. His universe, lit by the moon's glow.
Fox, though, speaks first, the words clipped.
"They went back to eating. Don't worry about them. Adam left the table after you did."
Noah gestures to the red toolbox between them. "Fox is going to help with your hands while you eat."
My eyes well up.
Ah, fuck.
"I'm really, really sorry," I whisper, my voice barely there as I look between both of them. "It's your birthday, Freckles. I'm so, so sorry. I thought Adam was insulting you, Noah. I don't—"
My voice cracks. They let me take a second.
So many things are swimming around in my chest, clawing up my throat. Memories, fears. People.
"When I was a kid," I say, "there was a culinary day at school. My dad made three huge foil containers of tamales and brought them in for me. All the kids were gagging and pretending to throw up in front of everyone, and all the other parents. I hated all those fucking kids, but my dad—" My voice breaks again and I roughly swallow. "My dad was right there."
Noah listens, nodding. "Adam was insulting me, Cam."
"Fucking right," Fox grits out, throwing his cap to the grass with a sharp breath, raking a hand through his hair.
Noah says, "Wasn't the first time, won't be the last. I'm grateful you said what you said. It shut him up for a second."
"What do you mean it's not the first time?" I whisper, looking between them. Fox looks too angry to speak, so Noah does.
"He's thrown a few comments my way over the years. His parents are rich, conservative, and ignorant. Their son is reflective of it."
"Understatement," Fox growls.
A few boys in high school called me a spic once. Dad was gone, so I asked my mother what it meant. She just snickered and told me to forget about it. I found out eventually, and then I cried. They were attacking the side of me that I love—my dad's side.
"Cam," Noah whispers.
I close my eyes, setting my forehead on my pulled-up knees. My curls tumble all around me, the ends brushing the grass. "I want to go in there and fucking kill him."
