Kiss Cam (With A Kiss Book 1) Page 3

  “Riley,” George said with a great big smile. “Long time, no see.”

  “Same to you,” I said, returning his smile. “I decided to stop by and make sure the place was still standing.”

  He grabbed a rag and wiped down the wooden bar top. “We’re still here, just waiting for you.” He winked and my smile broadened. “What can I get you? Hef, like always?”

  “Like always,” I replied with a nod. I hauled myself onto a barstool and smiled at George as he passed me my beer. “What’s new?” I asked before taking a sip of the ice-cold beer.

  “Annalise is pregnant.” His wide smile turned proud, and I could have sworn his shoulders pushed back too.

  “What? No way. That’s amazing, George. Congratulations.”

  His smile beamed as he used a rag to dry off a glass and place it on the shelf behind him. “Due in February.”

  “That’s amazing.” A few years ago, before I’d started adulting regularly, I’d come down to Tank with my college friends. The beer was cheap during happy hour, and they were always playing some awesome movie on the big screen or doing a fun trivia night. I watched George and Annalise start dating and fall in love. She was a Portland transplant, and he was a very doting tour guide. She’d come in on the nights he was working and do her homework at the bar, making lovey eyes at him. She was a doll and he was a lucky man.

  “When are you gonna settle down? You look pretty sophisticated in your fancy work clothes. You growing up on me?”

  “Never,” I gasped.

  “Oh, good. I’m not the only one overdressed for this place.” I heard his voice and my insides grew warmer; every part of me was heating up. I swiveled on my stool only to see Camden’s perfect body wrapped up in a three-piece-suit bow. He’d looked fantastic casual the night before, but standing before me looking all Armani model, it was a low blow.

  “Camden,” I breathed, then chided myself for letting him have such an effect on me. I took a drink of my beer, then said with more conviction, “You found me.”

  “What kind of a stalker would I be if I couldn’t find you?” He sat on the barstool next to me, winked at me, then ordered a Hef for himself.

  “You like Hef?” I asked, hopeful for some reason.

  “Never had it. I usually drink darker beers. But it’s your favorite, so I might as well give it a try.” The idea that he was going to drink something completely opposite of what he liked, just to see if he liked it, for me, was cuter than I wanted to give him credit for.

  “You drink that and I’ll try one of your favorites,” I offered.

  He tilted his head a little and narrowed his eyes at me, then said, “You’ve got yourself a deal.” He stuck his hand out, I placed my palm in his, and we shook on it. Just then, George slid Cam’s beer over to him. I watched with rapt attention as he put the rim of the glass to his stupidly luscious lips and took a sip. His eyebrows shot up and the corners of his mouth turned down as he nodded his head. “Not bad, Smith.”

  “It’s the best ever,” I said, rolling my eyes for dramatic effect. Just then, a loud group of people entered the bar, all of them wearing either too much black or too much plaid. It was a toss-up in Portland: lumberjack hipsters or emo hipsters. “You’re right. We’re totally overdressed for this place.”

  “But there’s two of us, so we’re not completely out of place.” His eyes wandered over my body and he didn’t even try to hide it. “This is a far cry from Chucks and jeans.”

  “The day job pays the bills and it requires a certain dress code.” I shrugged one shoulder.

  “You like your job?”

  “Most days. Party planning is always fun, it’s dealing with the uptight parents or bridezillas that gets old. But at the end of the day, when that same bride is dancing with her new husband, and she’s not worried about one single thing, that’s the real reward; watching people enjoy the big moments of their lives instead of worrying about whether there’s enough food or if the cake has arrived. It’s a good job.” I sighed a little then took a drink of my beer. “And you like your job?”

  “My job is pretty boring.” He laughed.

  “It can’t be all bad, though. An entertainment lawyer, right? So, you’ve worked with some celebrities and stuff?”

  “Not many you would have heard of. Mostly local actors and recording artists. It’s not glamorous or anything though. It’s just contracts.”

  “Well, I’m sorry, but your stock just drastically declined.” I tried to keep a straight face, but when he seemed to be taking my comment seriously, his brow furrowing and lips parting slightly, I realized he hadn’t picked up on my sarcasm. “Cam,” I said, resting my hand on his forearm, “I’m only kidding. I’m sorry. That was a terrible joke.”

  I watched as the tension left his face and a smile replaced it. “Damn, Riley. For a minute I thought you were just like all the others.”

  “The others?”

  “The ones like Sophia, who only date me because of my name or my connections.” He was smiling when he said the words, but I could tell the idea bothered him. It only made me feel worse.

  “I’m sorry, truly. I would never want you to think that was why I was here. I couldn’t care less about all that.”

  “It’s fine,” he said with a sincere smile. “I’m just going to have to get used to talking to someone with a personality.” He winked at me and my heart started waving a white flag, tripping over itself. “So,” he continued, unaware of the way my heart was thumping in my chest, “is this your normal hangout?”

  “I came here a lot in college, when I was young and carefree. It’s close to my apartment, and, the best part—there’s Skee-Ball.” I gave a nod over my shoulder toward the back of the bar and watched as Cam’s eyes followed.

  “Ohhh.” He laughed, drawing the one tiny word out over a few chuckles. “You’re going down, Smith.” The smile on his face was blinding, and for a moment, it was all I could see.

  Pushing all the stupid feelings he was causing away, I managed to retort, “You like Skee-Ball?”

  “I’m a Skee-Ball master.” He was completely serious.

  “Them’s fightin’ words,” I said, hopping down from my barstool. “Care to make a wager on your Skee-Ball skills?”

  “You wanna bet? On Skee-Ball?” His eyebrows rose, but he looked intrigued.

  I shrugged. “Why not? Afraid you’ll lose?”

  He smiled. “No, sweetheart. I’m not afraid I’ll lose.” The look he was giving me was so intense, it made the hair on my arms stand up and the bottom of my stomach drop out. “What’s up for grabs?” And there went the shiver along my spine.

  “If I win, you have to take me to a Renegades game, Mr. Season Ticket Holder.”

  He laughed again, this time rougher and under his breath. “And if I win, you have to come back to my place tonight to try one of my favorite beers.”

  I weighed my confidence in winning against possibly being roped into going back to his place. I liked him, more than I’d liked someone in a long time, but I didn’t want to give him the wrong impression. I wasn’t going to sleep with him. “Listen, I’m going to win—there’s no doubt. But in the event that there’s a major earthquake during my turn and I end up losing, I’m not going back to your place to have sex. I’m not that kind of girl.”

  He held up both his hands like he was surrendering. “The thought never even crossed my mind.” His eyes never left mine and he looked sincere.

  “Liar.” I laughed.

  “Okay, honestly? You’ve crossed my mind a lot in the last twenty-four hours, but I’m not interested in a one-night stand. It just so happens that my favorite beer is back at my place, and I’d love to share it with you.”

  I held his gaze for a moment, believing his words even though my heart was throwing up caution flags. “Lead the way,” I finally said, waving my hand to the back of the bar where the Skee-Ball was located. He grabbed his beer and walked toward the game, reaching in his pocket and pulling out a few qu
arters. There was only one lane, so we’d have to take turns. He held out his hand to me, dropping two quarters into my palm when I opened it for him. “Ladies first,” he said with another wink. Damn him.

  I deposited the two quarters and then smiled when I heard the familiar rumbling of the balls rolling down the track. That sound brought back a million memories. Most of them hazy. I reached for a ball, rolling it around in my hand. “I swear I’ve put $500 worth of quarters in this machine.”

  “But you mainly played when you were drunk, right?”

  I shot him a halfhearted glare. “I wasn’t always drunk.”

  He laughed. “I’m just saying, maybe we should get a few more drinks in you to make it fair.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him, but then turned and concentrated on my game. I let out an exhale, lined my right shoulder up with the track, stepped forward with my right foot, then my left, and then sent the wooden ball soaring down the lane toward the backboard. It rolled up the track and landed directly in the fifty-point bucket at the top. I resisted the urge to turn back to Camden and stick my tongue out at him.

  “Nice shot,” he said.

  “Thanks,” I said as I turned my head back to look at him, catching him staring directly at my ass. “No wonder you wanted me to go first.” I laughed, shaking my head.

  “Can you blame me?”

  I didn’t even bother answering him, I just lined up my next shot. Each ball got progressively harder, if only because I could feel his hot gaze on me. I wished I hadn’t turned to look at him because after that first shot, I was completely distracted. I managed a decent score of 540 points. Not my best, but not too shabby by any means. “You’re up,” I said with a smile. I picked my beer up off the floor next to the game and walked to stand next to him. I took a long drink, trying not to stare as he removed his suit jacket and laid it gently over the back of a nearby chair. Next, he unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled his shirtsleeves up to his elbows. The muscle in his forearms bulged and twisted with his movements and my eyes were completely glued to them. I’d even given up my ruse of drinking my beer. All eyes were on that man.

  “Like what you see?” My eyes snapped up to meet his, which were gleaming with amusement at having caught me ogling him.

  I shrugged, feigning indifference. I knew I’d been busted, but I didn’t need to feed his ego any more. Although, egotistical wasn’t the right word to describe him. He knew he was sexy as hell, and he knew I was into him, but he wasn’t all bravado. It was more like he enjoyed the fact that I was attracted to him and wanted to use it to his advantage. I got the impression he wasn’t that forward with all women. He laughed at my brush-off, but then he reached up and loosened his tie and I couldn’t watch any longer, for self-preservation’s sake.

  “Just so we’re clear, when I win, you come home with me for a drink.”

  “A deal’s a deal,” I said with a smile. How good at Skee-Ball could he possibly be? Renegades game, here I come.

  He lined his shots up in the same manner I did, concentration high, one knee bent slightly, but when he lobbed the ball down the lane, it veered left wildly, ricocheted off the side and careened to the right exactly at the perfect moment to leap at the lip and land directly in the one-hundred-point bucket in the top corner.

  That son of a bitch.

  “You’re a Skee-Ball shark! I can’t believe you!” My words were a mixture of laughter, rage, and disbelief. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  He turned, a new gleam in his eye, one of pride and amusement. “I had a Skee-Ball game in my basement as a kid. I’m very good at it.”

  “You’re a cheater,” I accused.

  “No, I very clearly stated I was a Skee-Ball master. You asked for a competition.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “You realize this makes you look like a jackass, right?”

  “Are you a sore loser?” He reached down and grabbed another wooden ball, forearms rippling, causing my breath to catch.

  “No,” I snapped, still watching his arms move, his hand palming the ball. It was suddenly sweltering in the bar. “I just don’t like being taken advantage of, or lied to.”

  Keeping the ball in his hand, he walked over to me, stopping with barely inches between us. I had no choice but to look up at him, my eyelids nearly fluttering when the forefinger of his free hand came to pull my chin up a little, forcing our eyes to meet. He still wore a slight grin, which was annoyingly cute, but he looked mostly contrite.

  “I’m sorry. I’ve never met a woman who gets as excited over Skee-Ball as I do. I couldn’t help myself. Forgive me?” His thumb took a gentle swipe under my bottom lip and I held in a whimper. Without permission, my hands came to rest on his hips and my fingers gripped him just tight enough to tell him I didn’t want him backing away.

  “I suppose,” I whispered, my eyes locking on to his lips.

  “I’m still going to try and win,” he whispered.

  “I’d do the same.”

  He leaned forward and his lips met my forehead. I exhaled while he kissed me, both excited for the contact, but irritated he was neglecting my lips. Then he stepped away, my hands fell back to my sides, and I watched as he played a perfect game. A whopping 900 points to the man in the three-piece suit, which showed off his fantastic ass, as he lobbed each ball into the hundred-point bucket in the top right-hand corner.

  “The game will never be the same again,” I joked.

  “Indeed,” he said, rolling his sleeves down again, much to my dismay. “Do you want another drink here, or shall we head back to my place?”

  “Might as well get the inevitable over with.” I shrugged, trying to appear as if the idea of being alone with him in his home didn’t excite me.

  He smiled, then said, “Don’t pretend like you aren’t dying to try my beer.”

  “I’m abuzz with anticipation.” He gave me a beautiful smile, then headed toward the bar and settled the tab with George.

  “Don’t be a stranger, Riley,” George called out as we walked toward the door.

  “I won’t be. Tell Annalise I said hi. And congrats on the baby. That’s awesome.” He waved, and I waved back before walking out onto the sidewalk. The sun was beginning to set, the sky turning a pinkish-orange color. “I love it when the sky is any color besides blue,” I mused.

  “Even gray?” His question sounded completely serious, as if we were discussing our opinions on politics or religion, yet we were only speaking of the sunset.

  “Especially gray. Storms are the best.”

  “What’s so great about storms?”

  “I dunno. Something about the unpredictability and the electricity in the air. The thunder. The lightning. It’s exciting.”

  “Hmmm,” he responded, not giving away his own opinion on storms.

  “What? You don’t like a good storm?”

  “I like you, and you remind me of a little storm.” His compliment caught me off guard, which only made my cheeks pink faster. “Oh, look,” he said, gently gripping my elbow and effectively turning me toward him. “Your cheeks match the sky.”

  I had no words, so I didn’t even try to speak.

  “My car’s just over there,” he said, pointing over my shoulder. I turned and watched as a sleek sports car’s lights flashed and the horn beeped. I’d never really been a car girl—sports cars didn’t do it for me, per se. But, good Lord, watching Camden walk up to the passenger side of the tiny black car and open the door was more than I could take. I couldn’t help but giggle as I approached him.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I can’t figure you out. I can’t tell if you’re the rich lawyer guy who wears amazing suits and drinks impressive beer, or if you’re the guy who likes to go to basketball games and play Skee-Ball.”

  “Perhaps you shouldn’t try to fit me in a box, Riley.” He said the words with a smile, but his tone was serious. “Maybe I’m all of that.”

  Maybe he’s everything.

  I swallowed, trying t
o tamp down all the emotions rising inside of me, and brushed past him to climb into his tiny car. The inside was just as impressive as the outside, and I spent a few seconds simply marveling at all the buttons and screens the manufacturer managed to fit in the small space. I also purposefully didn’t look over at Camden until he was seated. I knew watching him settle in the car would be a great show, but I was done torturing myself for the evening.

  “This is just a car, right? It can’t, like, fly or anything, can it?”

  He chuckled. “Welcome to the Batmobile.”

  “You’re not joking,” I agreed. “It’s pretty impressive, but how long did it take you to remember what all the buttons did?”

  “I’m still not sure and I’ve had it a year,” he said, giving me an honest smile. “As long as I can turn it on, listen to the radio, and drive it, that’s all I care about.”

  “Then why did you buy it?” I laughed. “You could have paid a fifth of what this car probably cost and gotten a perfectly capable vehicle.”

  “Because, Riley, it’s sexy as fuck.” The car rumbled loudly as he pressed down on the accelerator. His gaze was on me and I felt it everywhere. My heart thumped wildly, my breath was uneven, and my thighs squeezed together, trying desperately to relieve the ache growing between them.

  The list of sexy things about Camden Rogers was growing rapidly: kisses, thighs, mouth, three-piece suits, Skee-Ball skills, and now his driving abilities. Hot men handling hot cars was, apparently, something I was into. Huh. Who’d have thought?

  “You lure a lot of women into your Batmobile?” I was trying with everything I had not to react to him the way my body wanted to. I didn’t lean toward him, I didn’t try and catch his scent, and I definitely tried not to look at him driving around Portland in his tiny black sex machine.

  “I don’t date that often.”

  “Sophia was an anomaly?”

  “Sophia was a disaster.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh; he was totally right.

  He drove smoothly through the streets of Portland, taking me to the west side, and I knew instantly I would be impressed with his place, and also that it would be just as fancy as his car and his suit. Minute by minute I was feeling more and more out of place. The night before, sitting next to him at the Renegades game, we’d seemed so similar—or at least comparable.