Wait For You, Trust in Me: 2-Book Collection. J. Lynn
said, “Yeah, sure. Come over.”
Cam arched a brow. “Wow. Calm down before you get too excited.”
“I am excited.” I shoved him in the shoulder. “When are you coming over?”
“How’s seven?”
In the pit of my stomach, a nest of butterflies were born and began drinking energy drinks. “Works for me. See you then.”
I made it onto the sidewalk when he stopped me.
“Avery?”
I turned. “Yeah?”
His lips formed a crooked smile. “See you tonight.”
My stomach flopped. This was going to be a long afternoon.
The nest of butterflies had moved on from energy drinks to smoking crack. I alternated from feeling like I was going to hurl to wanting to run around my apartment like a lunatic.
I was totally overreacting.
According to Cam, this wasn’t a date. Just two friends hanging out. Not a big deal, nothing to get overworked about. It wasn’t like it was the first time we’ve hung out. It was just the first time he asked before coming over.
I took a shower—second of the day.
Cleaned up the apartment and then changed my outfit three times, which was really stupid, because I ended up settling on a pair of yoga pants and a long sleeve shirt. Then I spent an ungodly amount of time coaxing my hair into manageable waves that fell down to the middle of my back. I put some makeup on, scrubbed it off entirely, and then reapplied.
By the time there was a knock on my door, I wanted to slam my head through a wall.
Cam looked like he always did as he stepped into my apartment—absolutely, disgustingly divine. Dressed in worn jeans and a shirt with some long-forgotten band name on it, he had the baseball cap on, pulled low. In one hand was a stack of DVDs and in the other was a bag that smelled like Chinese.
My stomach grumbled. “Oh! What you got in there?”
“The stuff dreams are made of.”
Making grabby fingers, I grinned. “Shrimp stir fry?”
“Yep.” He handed the bag off and I rushed into the kitchen like a starving kid. “I brought a couple of movies over. Had no idea what you’re in the mood to watch.”
Pulling out dishes from the cabinet, I glanced over my shoulder. Cam took his cap off and ran a hand through his hair. The dark waves were an adorable mess. He caught me looking and his lips tipped up on the side. I looked away, flushing. “So, um, what did you bring?”
“Let’s see…. We’ve got a good selection here. In the horror movie genre, I’ve got the last two Resident Evil movies.”
“Two movies?” I placed the plates on the counter.
He chuckled. “You’re not getting rid of me easily.”
“Damn it. What else do you have?”
“In the comedy department, I have the latest Vince Vaughn and Will Ferrell movies. For action, I have a James Bond flick and another where a bunch of shit blows up. And I have The Notebook.”
I whipped around, almost dropping the silverware. “The Notebook? You own The Notebook?”
Cam stared at me blankly. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Oh, nothing is wrong with that. Its just such a… uh, chick flick.”
“I’m confident enough in my masculinity and sexuality that I can say that Ryan Gosling is just dreamy in this movie.”
My jaw hit the floor.
The blank expression slipped away and he started laughing. “I’m joking. I don’t own The Notebook. Never watched it. Didn’t bring any romance movies.”
I rolled my eyes. “You douche.”
Cam laughed again.
“I’ve never watched The Notebook either. Not big on romance flicks,” I admitted, opening the huge cartons.
“Really? I thought every girl has seen that movie and can quote it at a drop of a hat.”
“Nope.”
“Interesting.”
“Not really.” I grabbed a spoon. “How much do you want?”
“Get what you want and I’ll make do with whatever is left over.” He walked up behind me, and I stiffened. Tiny hairs rose on the back of my neck. I shifted so I was standing sideways. He tilted his head to the side. “You are so jumpy.”
“I did not jump.”
“It’s a figure of speech.”
I slopped a heaping of fried rice and shrimp on my plate. “It’s a stupid figure of speech.”
Cam looked like he wished to say something else but changed his mind. “What movie do you want to watch?”
“Let’s go with Resident Evil.”
“A girl after my own heart.” He picked up two DVDs and headed into the living room. My gaze followed him. “Zombies for the win.”
Sighing, I shook my head. I dumped most of the stir fry on his plate and then carried them out to living room, putting them on the coffee table. Cam was over by the TV, messing with the DVD player. I turned the lamp on, giving him light in the shadowy room. “What do you want to drink?”
“Do you have milk?”
“You want that with Chinese food?”
He nodded. “Need my calcium.”
My stomach turned, but I got him a glass of milk and me a can of Pepsi. “That’s kind of gross, you know?” I sat on the couch and tucked my legs under me. “Weird combination.”
He sat beside me with the remote in hand. “Have you ever tried it?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know it’s gross?”
I shrugged and picked up my plate. “I’ll go with my assumption that it is.”
He cast me a sidelong glance. “Before the end of the year, I will have you trying milk and Chinese.”
Not bothering to respond to that, I sat back and dug into my food. Cam got the movie started and settled on the couch, his thigh pressed to my knee. We were about ten minutes in when he said, “Question?”
“Answer.”
“So, it’s the zombie apocalypse, right? Zombies are coming out of the ass, running amuck through buildings and streets. You’ve already almost died three times by this point and have been mutated by the T virus twice, which appears to be painful. Would you take time in your obviously hectic daily routine to do your hair and put makeup on?”
A laugh burst from me at his absurd question. “No, not at all. I’m not even sure I’d take the time to brush my hair. And another thing. Have you noticed how everyone has a blinding white smile? Society collapsed like six years ago. No one is going to the dentist. Yellow their teeth.”
Cam finished off his stir fry. “Or how the one chick’s hair changes color from one movie to the next.”
“Yes, because in a zombie apocalypse, there’s a lot of down time to get your hair done.”
He chuckled. “Still love these movies.”
“Me too,” I admitted. “It’s