Chapter Fourteen

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Adalyn

This was it. I was done. I really was.

I let the screwdriver I’d bought at Cheap Moe’s fall to the floor and absently wiped my hands on my legs, leaving twin trails of dirt on the fabric of my leggings. I looked at my tank top. Also filthy.

Not only did the parts of this monstrosity of a bed seem to be held together by some kind of super powerful dark magic, but now I was covered in dirt and sweat and I’d ruined the only casual items of clothing I had.

Grabbing my sandwich and fruit salad from the kitchenette’s counter, I tucked my phone under an arm, walked out to the sad and grisly porch that consisted of a single step, and plopped down. Something sharp pricked my ass, but I felt so helpless in that moment, so done, that I didn’t even bother moving. The leggings were dirty anyway. And it wasn’t like I could drop them in the washer because, turned out, there wasn’t one in the cottage, so whatever.

So whatever. I didn’t recognize myself.

With a sigh, I unwrapped my dinner and looked ahead as I chewed on the sandwich. I contemplated what was supposed to be the peaceful and beautiful expanse of nature before me, and saw this place for what it was. A few hills. A bunch of trees. An ugly cabin. A chip of rotten wood under my ass.

A gust of wind picked up, making me curl my legs closer to my chest. I took a new bite, recounting the winter clothes I’d packed: zero. I didn’t even own more than the one winter jacket that I hadn’t used in… years. Which was one of the things I loved about Miami.

I shook my head, deciding not to think about that. I’d make do with what I had. The nights and early mornings were growing cold the closer we got to October but it’d be fine. I’d have to be fine.

My phone pinged with a message, providing a welcome distraction, so I shifted my sandwich to my left hand and held the device up.

MATTHEW: Bad news.

Alarm surged in my belly as I typed my answer. I’d talked to Matthew on Sunday night, but besides providing him with a good laugh at the image of me, doing yoga—with goats, and without Cameron, who I still hadn’t mentioned to Matthew—there hadn’t been any developments on the #sparklesgate front.

ADALYN: It must be really bad if I’m not getting a goat gif.

MATTHEW: It kind of is.

A link followed that. I tapped on it with my thumb, and I was redirected to the site of an energy drink. I didn’t recognize the brand, so I scrolled down, wondering if he’d sent me the right thing.

That’s when the animation kicked in.

A colorful can rolled in, a slogan flashing underneath it in bold letters: CHOOSE ENTERTAINMENT OVER DIGNITY. The can shook then, trembled, as if about to burst, and poof, something materialized at the front.

With a disbelieving blink, I stared at the logo that had just been stamped on the container.

It was a simple illustration, but even that way it was impossible to miss the similarities. I knew what I was seeing. I recognized it. By now, I had watched the clip so many times that I could probably summon my face, jaw unlocked and expression unhinged, if I closed my eyes.

It was my Lady Birdinator face.

And turned out, I was on a can.

Dread and shock swirled inside me, making the few bites of turkey I’d taken turn sour.

MATTHEW: I’ve done some research. It’s a new energy drink company. Pretty small. Vegan. Miami based. Targeting Gen Z for the most part. They have been very smart about it. You wouldn’t make the connection if you haven’t watched the video. But…

ADALYN: But millions of people have seen it.

MATTHEW: I’m sorry.

A wave of nausea hit me straight in the gut at that I’m sorry. I didn’t want anybody’s pity. Not even Matthew’s. Because that… That made it all worse. I swallowed, trying to push down everything that was bubbling up in my throat.

MATTHEW: You think you can sue?

ADALYN: I’ll talk to my father. I’m sure he’s already seen it and is taking legal action to protect the franchise.

MATTHEW: I’m more concerned about you.

ADALYN: I’m part of the franchise.

I stared at my own words, that sensation in my chest intensifying. But I was still part of it, wasn’t I? I was his daughter, and employee, as much as I’d been temporarily suspended from access to my account and banished. My father would protect me. I knew he’d done that in the past, I now knew that he’d—

One of the bushes across from me moved, capturing my attention.

It moved again, making me narrow my eyes, and then, before I could prepare, something charged out of the bushes.

My phone and sandwich were startled straight out of my hands, and I even heard myself yelp as I shut my eyes, bracing myself for whatever that thing was. A bear? A ravenous rabbit? I’d read about several species of rattlesnakes in the area that were deadly. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t be worse than being claimed as the image of an energy drink whose marketing campaign was based on my demise and lack of dignity.

When seconds ticked by and I wasn’t attacked, I opened one eye.

The chicken in front of me clucked.

Her head bopped forward, in the direction of the food, as if telling me, Now it’s mine.

The thing clucked, scratching at the floor.

Cameron’s pet chicken bobbed her head before pecking at the bread.

And naturally, just like always, my spine straightened in response to that voice. My cheeks also flushed—a relatively new development.

Cameron’s boots moved the gravel around as he walked closer to me, making me wonder if he, too, had come out of the bushes. He stopped in front of me, and when I looked up from his feet, the first thing I saw was the humor dancing in eyes.

That was also new. Cameron apparently did something besides grumbling and storming off places. He also laughed.

My gaze dipped, trailing down his body. Another of those outdoorsy fleeces hung off his wide shoulders, zipped up to his throat. And he was also wearing a pair of those pants with zippers and pockets he favored so much. They were dark gray and the fabric clung to his legs. His wide and strong thighs. Which I seemed to be fixated with.

I nearly choked. “Sorry, what?”

The tiniest of smirks hid beneath his beard. “A cock,” he repeated, and I still blinked, feeling my whole face heat. “Not a hen. The shape of the comb is a dead giveaway.” He pointed at the top of his head with one of those large fingers. “But when in doubt, roosters also have sickle and hackle feathers.” He paused, pushing his hands inside the pockets of his jeans. “Hens don’t.”

Oh. Oh? I cleared my throat. “Thanks for the poultry anatomy lesson, Attenborough.”

Cameron’s lips twitched. “He’s also not my pet.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Were you spying on me? How long were you standing there?”

He shrugged. “Josie came to me with some ideas for a coop. Apparently, someone told her I had a pet chicken and she has decided I should have a brood.”

The thing clucked and batted his wings, as if acknowledging Cameron’s words.

I flinched back. “I don’t know how I feel about having more of these around.”

Cameron closed the distance to where the rooster and I were, then kneeled down and started picking up the mangled remains of my sandwich.

I remembered his warning from the morning he’d found me sleeping in my car and felt like I needed to explain myself. “I wasn’t feeding it my dinner, by the way. I’m not stupid. I dropped it when—”

I knew a backhanded compliment when I heard one. “Thanks.”

Cameron put the food leftovers he’d collected inside one of the pockets of his pants and then checked his watch. “A bit early for dinner, isn’t it?”

Yes. But I’d been exhausted from unsuccessfully disassembling that bed in order to yassify the stupid cottage. And I’d had nothing else to do. Today was a Tuesday, and without practice to occupy myself… “I was hungry.”

I shot him a bland look. “Don’t you have anything else to do?”

Cameron shifted closer, and before I knew what was happening that large body of his was plopping down beside me, providing the answer to my question.

My breath caught at the sudden closeness, just like it did last night, when he’d caught me in the air after that miserable trip. Or Sunday, when his hands had been all over my body. Because there it was, his scent again. There was a hint of perspiration in there, as if he’d just come from a walk or maybe a run, but he still managed to smell so… good. Like outdoors and musk and—

I shook my head.

Sweaty men were something that I usually had to make myself tolerate. Live with and try to avoid. That was why I never set foot inside the changing rooms after games or practice unless extremely necessary.

Glad for the distraction, I thought back to the mess I left behind. “It’s going great,” I lied. I caught Cameron giving me an inquisitive look over his shoulder and I looked away. Was I flushed? My face felt warm. “How do you know I’m renovating?”

I fought the urge to touch my hair. Brush my hands over my top. I swallowed. “You really love to continuously complain about me, huh?”

I glanced at him in time to see him shrug. “It’s hard to focus on anything else.”

The warmth covering my cheeks intensified.

Right. “Well,” I said, willing my expression to remain as indifferent as possible. “Luckily for you and your very delicate eardrums, I’m done with the renovation until further notice.”

Cameron’s eyes roamed around my face, making me… self-conscious, exposed, for a lot of reasons I wasn’t ready to pick apart at that moment. I brought my knees up, hugging them to my chest.

I clasped my hands over my knees. “We’ve already discussed that.”

I stared at the man sitting nothing but a handful of inches away from me, surprised by his choice of words. That was… a loaded question. One that I didn’t know how to answer without giving myself completely away. Because for some bizarre reason, Cameron didn’t know what had brought me to Green Oak. He hadn’t seen the video half the country was mocking. I remembered him asking if I’d had a reason for whatever I’d done and being content with my answer. He didn’t want the whole story. And perhaps I was fine with that.

Cameron shook his head, as if that wasn’t the answer he was expecting.

I frowned. What did that even mean? “I’m not a lonely, sad workaholic,” I felt the need to say. “I have a life,” I repeated. “I listen to podcasts. True crime. I have an impressive memory, too. I can recite the complete roster of the Green Warriors to you right now. Or Green Oak’s activity brochure, point by point. I could even enumerate every—”

Every single thing you’ve accomplished. Award and trophy you’ve won. Championship you’ve played. I can even recite the number of saves you made in the last World Cup you played. That was how good my memory was.

That was also how much I’d read about Cameron by now.

God. I really needed a hobby.

Amusement entered his expression. “Listening to podcasts is something you do while doing something else, like home renovation—if you were really into that.” He glanced at my hair and gave me an unimpressed look. “And having good memory is a skill, not a hobby.”

His eyes roamed around my face slowly, and for a moment I thought he wasn’t going to answer. That he would stand up and leave. It wouldn’t be the first time he got skittish after I brought his career up.

But to my surprise, he said, “I hike. Camp. I love the outdoors. And I do yoga, too. Not the kind we did on Sunday.”

And just like that, hundreds of mental images of Cameron were flashing behind my eyes. I’d never had much of an imagination, but it didn’t take one to picture Cameron on any of those instances. All those outdoorsy clothes on him, skin dripping with sweat, lost somewhere on a trail. Or the muscles I’d seen firsthand flexing as he did a plank. I…

Cameron barked out a laugh, the sound traveling all the way to the bottom of my belly. Ugh. “I meditate, too,” he offered.

More images came, floating freely into my mind. “You meditate?”

I swallowed, now suddenly frustrated by this man who apparently was full of surprises. “If you tell me you also knit, I will stand up, leave, and never believe a word you say.”

I could have said that I knew how little patience he had, but I was busy taking the chance to inspect that hand up close. In detail. Without needing an excuse to. Just like I’d glimpsed in the past, he did have long and strong-looking fingers. Rough-looking, too. And his middle one in particular was crooked, like I’d seen the day we’d met, as if he’d broken it and it hadn’t healed right. The signet around his pinky sparkled under the last rays of sun.

I felt myself swallow. “I don’t do that,” I said, but my voice was pitchy. I was whining. I seemed to be constantly doing that and I hated it. “I’m perfectly able to take my mind off things and relax. I could try any hobby I wanted and be excellent at it, too. I could beat you at yoga if…” Your hands hadn’t been all over me. “I practiced enough.”

Cameron’s lips twitched again. “You really are a fiery, competitive thing, aren’t you?”

I scoffed. “Don’t call me a thing.”

I opened my mouth to ask what he could possibly mean.

But his hand reached out for my face. His outstretched palm brushed my cheek, making my breath catch, and then, the pad of his thumb grazed my skin. It skimmed softly along the line of my jaw, making my lips part and a wave of static blanket the skin of my face.

Quickly, like gunpowder lighting up, it spread down my neck. My arms. It tingled and traveled all the way down to my toes.

Cameron touched me, and I couldn’t do anything but remain still, so very still, while the rough feel of his thumb brushed against my face.

Chest pounding, I watched his eyes dip down, inspecting that spot on my jaw that now was buzzing, burning, flaring under his touch. “You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep this up,” he said so softly that I couldn’t make sense of his words. “You’re in shambles, darling,” he murmured, green eyes returning to mine. “I can hardly see you underneath the mess.”

I should be moving away. But Cameron’s touch—the physical tie I was feeling to him—was so powerful, so sudden and intense, that I was being sucked in. Like an energy field or a vacuum. I was trapped.

His hand cupped my jaw in a tender gesture I didn’t understand or expect, and my eyelids fluttered closed. He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be touching me like this, gently wiping dirt from my face like he cared it was there. And I—it shouldn’t be feeling this good.

I jerked back.

Physically removing myself from his touch and whatever it was doing to me.

When I opened my eyes, Cameron didn’t seem bothered by my reaction. Not at all. If anything, he looked curious. As if he’d seen something he wanted to examine up close.

Probably all the dust and dirt.

I couldn’t do anything but furiously pat at my face with the hem of my shirt, outraged and confused, focused on showing him I didn’t need anyone to do this. I only needed myself.

Cameron hummed deep in his throat before standing up, and only then he said, “Perhaps we’re not so different.” The green in his eyes darkened. “Maybe I’m also trying to prove a point.”