As she exchanged hugs with her friends and followed Zach out of the restaurant, Camila noticed how his easy mood from earlier had darkened.
Camila could murder Liam.
Sure, that charming accent lent plausible deniability, but she knew he’d wanted to get a rise out of her and the guy she wanted to flirt with. She would deal with him later. Even though she was glad they were on good terms again, they were due for a conversation about boundaries.
Zach frowned at her, like he was confused what she wanted, why she’d followed him out. “Did you want me to walk you to your car?”
She tilted her head to the left. “I parked right here. Sure you need to head out so soon?” Camila asked, taking a step toward him.
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “No, I’m not sure.”
“So there’s this ice cream place I love right around the corner. Wanna go? You could sober up before you go. I doubt that shot before the song has even kicked in yet.”
She watched him debate this. “Sure. Chicken on a stick, whiskey, dessert. That’s a full adult menu for a day.”
“Hey, if you paid your grown-ass money for it, then it’s an adult menu.”
They walked to the dessert shop and got in line. A table had cleared out once they’d gotten their treats, hers a cookies and cream cupcake, his a wasabi ginger ice cream sandwich. The staff was slammed, so Camila took a napkin and wiped a mint chocolate chip drip off the table.
She wrinkled her nose at Zach’s choice.
“Wow. I can’t believe you’re really eating that. Is it good?”
He chomped off a big bite, filling his cheek like a chipmunk. “It’s not bad. I think if you hated wasabi, this would be disgusting. But I’ll try anything once,” he said. Then, quickly, “Any food.”
“I think I’d say I’ll try anything once, except for any food,” Camila said.
“That sounds promising,” Zach said, and Camila felt herself blush. “I kind of had to learn to be adventurous with food. I spent a year abroad until I had to move back home.”
She was so interested in this new detail about him she’d unlocked.
“I have been to one place outside of Pittsburgh and State College, and that’s just to visit my grandpa in the Dominican Republic. Where did you travel to?”
“Greece, Morocco, South Africa, France,” he said, ticking them off on his fingers. “I was going to Singapore next, but that got derailed.”
“That’s incredible,” she said. “OK, this is a nosy question, but how did you do that? Like, how did you afford it, how did you do everything logistically?”
He told her how he’d worked in marketing and events at an art museum in Philadelphia since college, and saved up every penny he could for a decade to fund the dream he’d always had of exploring the world. “I was lucky,” he said. “My dad and I have never been close, but the one way he shows affection is with money, so he helped me pay for college and I graduated without too much debt. I had roommates a lot. And,” he said, taking a swig from a water bottle, “It’s easy to save money when you don’t do anything interesting in your day-to-day.”
Camila frowned. “I find that hard to believe. You kind of strike me as a good-time guy.”
“I don’t think I am,” he said, sounding confused. “I think I’m boring.”
“Everyone thinks they’re boring,” Camila said. “But no social life? I mean, didn’t you, you know, date?”
“I might have seen some people,” he said. “But nothing serious recently. Last guy I dated wasn’t the ‘take an international sabbatical’ type. But anyway, back to the money.” She granted him the subject redirect, but filed that away to probe later. “I still did some remote work for my old job on a freelance basis,” he said, “and I booked through a lot of tour companies that have structured itineraries and book hotels for you. Lots of riding in buses with boomers and having scheduled pee breaks. It’s not as cool as it sounds.”
“It’s so cool!” Camila protested. “I’m jealous. So running the store must be a big change from that?”
Zach nodded, and she noticed the tension in his jaw. “I helped out at the store when I was in high school, of course, but it’s different having to be in charge. How about you?” he asked. “With being a therapist, do people just start confessing stuff to you?”
She smiled beatifically. “You just did.”
“That whiskey is kicking in now, so I’ll blame that. Give me another drink and I’ll tell you anything. Social Security number, first pet’s name.”
“Not necessary,” she said, laughing. “But yeah, I went to grad school right after undergrad, and I’ve been licensed for a few years. I do cognitive behavioral therapy, which is what most people think of when they think of therapy. And I like to work with other modalities. Like, virtual reality is really interesting to me for treating phobias especially. And EMDR, which is using eye movements for reprocessing trauma. And I’m really passionate about working with people who have been diagnosed with personality disorders, so I do a lot of continuing education around dialectical behavior therapy, which is basically CBT plus mindfulness.” She caught her breath. “I’m rambling.”
“You’re fascinating,” he said.
Her cheeks flushed pink under her golden tan. “I’m really not.”
“Bullshit,” he said.
They were quiet for a few bites. “So going back to what you said about dating. Just so I don’t misread…” Camila started.
“I date women, too,” he said. “If that’s what you were wondering.”
“I didn’t want to assume,” she said. “But that’s very good to know.” Camila munched the cookie garnish and pondered how to broach the topic she’d been wondering about all day. “So, at the festival, I heard you telling Seth why you moved back. I’m really sorry to hear that. Are you OK?”
She didn’t have to take her eyes off her cupcake and observe his body language to know he tensed up. “Yeah. I’m OK. But yeah, I wouldn’t have moved back otherwise, except for my sister, Irene.”
“What about your dad? I mean, I know you said you aren’t close.”
He gave a stiff shrug.
“My folks had a brutal divorce when Irene was a baby. I’ve seen my dad maybe five times since — he lives in Los Angeles. The funeral was the first time I’d seen him in years, since my college graduation. He offered to move Irene out to California, but she’s about to be a senior and I didn’t want to overhaul her whole life. He calls once a week, pays Irene’s private school tuition. I guess that’s him trying.”
“Sounds like you were promoted to parent. Were you and your mom close?”
Zach laughed then, a cold sound that caught her off guard. “You’d have to charge me double whatever your office fee is if I got into all that.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.” Then she added, “I do it all the time, though. It’s a problem.”
“No, you’re good. Maybe I’ll tell you about her sometime. So, doc, do I get to ask a question?”
She relaxed. “I’m not a doctor. I’m a licensed clinical social worker. Master’s degree. And you can ask me anything. Doesn’t mean I’ll answer.”
“Why’d you keep your ex’s last name?”
She’d been expecting a question about her marriage, just not this specific one. “Practical reasons. I got married in college and it’s on all my degrees.” She scooped up some frosting left on the wrapper and licked it off her finger. “Plus I hate paperwork.”
“Makes sense. When was the divorce?”
“I think about five years ago? God, I can’t believe it’s been that long. I know it’s the kind of milestone date I should remember, but we were separated for a while. Things blend together.”
He hesitated. “You obviously still care about each other.”
“We do,” she said, slowly. She considered her next words carefully. “But that only gets you so far. We had radio silence until very recently, and it turns out we are much better at being friends than we were at being married. It’s easier now that I’m not his problem.” She regretted that last bit, knew she had said too much.
“So what’s your maiden name?”
“Jimenez,” she said, using the correct Spanish pronunciation and not the anglicized version she’d often use for everyone else’s ease. “Isn’t that phrase so weird? Maiden name? Makes me feel a bit like a medieval lady-in-waiting.”
“I dig it,” Zach said.
“Medieval ladies?”
“No, your medieval lady surname.”
“Oh yeah? You approve?” she teased.
“Screw my approval. Is it still my turn or have we switched back?”
“I’ll let you have another. Make it a good one.”
“Why’d you invite me out tonight?”
She smirked. “Seth invited you.”
“And you agreed with him,” he countered.
“I had absolutely nefarious reasons,” she said gravely.
“Are we talking murder or seduction?”
She giggled. She loved and hated where his head was at. “Why not a little of both?”
He leaned back in his seat. He was so close, close enough for her to take a good, long look. “I’d call that a good death.”
The lust that surged inside her made her feel transparent. It was impulse fogging up her brain. Everything she constantly had to subdue in herself was being triggered by this man. Pull back pull back pull back.
“You don’t want me seducing you,” she warned.
“Don’t I?” he said. “Have you heard me say a safe word?”
She needed to regain control of this, steer this somewhere safer. She put on her best nonchalant laugh. “I’m nothing but trouble, Private School.”
“Sounds fun to me.” He was shaking his knee under the table. She wanted to put her hand on it and stop it, then trace that hand higher, higher...
“So, what do you like to do here, other than karaoke?”
Screwing in a parked car sounds pretty good right now. “I’m at the gym taking classes a lot. I go to the movies. I listen to podcasts.” She chuckled, apologetic. “I’m thrilling.”
“Which podcasts?” he asked.
“Um, let’s see. I listen to a lot of current events and storytelling. There’s this one political podcast I love hosted by two women. And of course The Shuck-Ups.”
He brightened. “I’m a big fan of theirs.”
“You listen to The Shuck-Ups?”
“Oh yeah. Stand-up is the closest I get to religion. I worked at the ticket booth at the Improv one summer and I’ve been hooked ever since.”
“I love the Improv here,” she said. “I always fantasize about doing their open mic night but I don’t have the nerve.”
“You don’t have the nerve? I just watched you perform. I doubt that.”
She laughed. “Appearances can be deceiving.”
She watched him look at her lips after she dabbed them with her napkin, wiping away any last trace of sugar. He’d just polished off the last of the wasabi ice cream, but he didn’t look like a man who had sated his hunger.
There was a line out the door. “We better free up the table,” she said.
“Want to go for a walk?”
“Sure,” she said.
She turned on location and texted Era that she was still hanging out with Zach. She made sure to steal a glance at his butt as he led her out of the building. For a skinny guy, he was kind of double cheeked up. She wondered how much weight he could hip thrust. Probably not as much as her. She’d been training hard.
* * *
They walked past the darkened storefronts of Steelers memorabilia and bars booming with music, through parking lots and under overpasses. He’d lost track of time talking to her. Now they were headed up a set of stairs to look at the river. This was his favorite view of the city, the one that actually made him feel like he was home. He liked seeing the topography of the city this way, layers on layers of metal and rock and water overlapping and intersecting, liked the way you could look right through them like an infinite drawing you could keep zooming into.
The hot wind whipped through Camila’s curls as she leaned over the rail. She fought them, angling herself so the long tendrils blew behind her, then turned to face him. She was gorgeous. But that wasn’t all of it. She had this presence that warmed him like basking in a patch of sunlight. He was certain he could find her while he was blindfolded, could feel that light, could smell her perfumed skin and hair.
He knew how this would go, a flip book of closing distances and questioning touches. He knew she wanted him because everyone wanted him.
That had been his problem. He was easy to project onto. A guy who could show you a good time but not stick around for a long time. Even when he’d wanted to stay, people had a tendency to tire of him.
He pushed all that longing and rejection aside and hooked her brown eyes with his, letting his lips soften. She leaned back, elbows against the railing, taunting him. I’m not moving, she seemed to say. You’ll have to come to me.
He stepped one leg between hers and bracketed her upper body with his, gripping the railing.
“You’re beautiful,” he said.
She laughed breathlessly. “Tell me more.”
“I’m talked out,” he said. “Aren’t you?”
She shrugged. Their faces were so close.
“Are you going to kiss me or what?” she asked. Like she was losing her patience. Like she had somewhere to be. She barely finished the last word when his mouth crashed into hers. She was overwhelming — the violet taste of what was left of her lipstick, the fists of curls he was careful not to frizz out tickling his palms, her hands pulling his hips into hers by his belt loops.
Their height difference was fucking bullshit. He wanted to press his hardness between her legs right here. He settled for slipping a hand across the front of her shorts. She welcomed it, rocking into his hand, moaning in his ear as he trailed kisses down that neck that smelled and tasted like pralines.
This wasn’t going to be enough. Maybe he could maneuver an orgasm out of her right here, but the way they were trying to devour each other was going to require more privacy.
And then his phone rang.
“Are you kidding me?” Camila asked. “Why wouldn’t you silence your phone?”
Zach took a shuddering breath to steady himself. “I did. It’s my sister’s ringtone.”
“Shit,” Camila said. “Shit, I’m sorry.”
“I have to get this.”
“Of course,” Camila said. He was fumbling for his phone in his back pocket and she was resetting her clothes like he hadn’t just been trying to get under them.
“Irene?” She was screaming at him. “Slow down. I can’t understand what you’re saying.” Once he could understand her story, he just had more questions as he paced.
“You just left?” he asked incredulously. “You called her a what?” he asked. “Wait, where are you? No, you’re fucking not. Turn around and go back to her house. Irene. I said go back to the house. Thanks for the reminder that I’m not your dad, good look on you. Look, just, fuck! I’ll call Becky’s mom and tell her what’s going on. Go sit in the living room and I’ll come get you.”
He hung up and for a second it was like he’d forgotten where he was. The look of panic on Camila’s face brought him back.
“I’m really sorry,” he said. “My sister is sleeping over at a friend’s, and they got into some argument, and she stormed out and started walking. She said she’d call an Uber, but I really think I need to go get her.”
“Of course you should,” she said.
“My car’s closer to here than where we were. I can drop you off where you parked.”
“Yeah, sure. Hey, it’s OK,” she said. He realized how flustered he must look.
“I know, I’m just … I’m sorry.”
“It’s OK,” she repeated. “Let’s just go find your car. It’s getting late anyway.”