His lips trail down 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 does. And I feel it. For a long...
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C A M I L A
Hallowed Grounds swirls with freshly ground coffee beans, vanilla and cinnamon, and welcomeness. But Noah and I smell like antiseptic and exhaustion.
Ah, well.
Charlie shifts in the bag I've got shoved under our table, letting out a soft, tired sigh. His little legs stick out, one wrapped in a bright pink cling from the IV drip. The vet we visited this morning gave the all-clear, but my little guy's still groggy. He's okay, though.
My wallet, on the other hand, took the hit. The last of my savings drained faster than this triple espresso I'm about to shoot. The rent's due in two weeks, and I've got nothing left.
I add that to my list:
- make rent by any means necessary
"Cam, take a breath," Noah mutters over his coffee mug, dark circles under his eyes. He looks about as wrecked as I feel, but he's still trying to play the role of calm, collected boyfriend. Bless him. And fuck, he's still gorgeous.
Isn't it so cool we can just kiss and have sex whenever we want?
He kicks me under the table.
"Ow."
"Stop."
"Stop what?" I say.
"Fucking me with your eyes," he murmurs, sipping his coffee, looking out at the winter wonderland, the kids playing in the street.
"Was not," I grumble, shifting in my cushy bench seat.
I was.
Clearing my throat, I scribble furiously on a post-it note I stole from the counter at the vet.
- get a job (Skyfall? CIA?)
Money is power and I need a hell of a lot more of it right now. Noah tried to pay the vet bill, but I shot him down hard. I don't need another reminder that I can't handle my own life, so that's what I told him. He was pissed, but not so much that he couldn't understand.
- buy Charlie collar
- figure out what to do with Charlie
The boys' apartment doesn't allow pets, and boarding him is out of the question—he hates other dogs and cats and cages. And it's too fucking expensive.
Everything circles back to getting a damn job.
"Cam, baby, it's been a lot in one day. Please eat something." Noah nudges my plate closer—cranberry turkey sandwiches on one of those stupid wooden boards they love here. The macros are horrible, but the food's good.
