The Long Game (Long Game, #1)(100)

“Mami, no.” I was not going to discuss Cameron’s possibly hidden tattoos with my mother.

“You’re no fun,” she said with a shrug. “Then tell me if he’s the reason you didn’t go back to Miami. Does he treat you like you deserve?”

My whole face flushed all shades of red. “He…” I trailed off, suddenly lost for words. Does he treat me like I deserve? My heart pounded in my chest with the answer. “Yes. He treats me like no one ever has.”

My mother blinked once, twice, three times. And to my utter shock, she broke into laughter. “Dios mío, hija.”

I felt the tips of my ears burn.

“I’ve never seen you like this.” She patted her chest, one last chuckle rolling off her before she sobered up. She pinned me with a serious look. “You have it just as bad.”

“Just as bad?”

“As him, mi amor.” She jumped off the stool and came to stand in front of me. She cupped my cheeks. “I’ve been in town for two hours, and every single second of the time he’s been in front of me, he’s been looking at you like you’re un pastelito he wants to eat.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I was joking about the banging earlier. I wanted to see if he’d react in a way I didn’t like.” My eyes widened with horror. “Don’t worry, he passed my test. Now, really, have you kissed him yet?” My jaw fell to the floor. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

Cameron’s words echoed in my head, I could fucking eat you right now. Then the memory of his lips against mine. His hands, all over me. The way I’d—No. I couldn’t think of that with my mother, apparently a witch, here.

“I like you like this,” she said, so softly I barely heard her. “You’re shining.”

Show me how fucking bright you burn.

My heart leaped in my rib cage, and a chuckle left my mother’s lips before she wrapped her arms around me, enveloping me in Maricela Reyes’s tightest hug. “This is all I wanted. Making sure that you were okay. Now that I know that, I will be here for just the night.” She sighed, but it wasn’t sad. “I know that man is not going to touch you as long as I’m here and, hija, you need to get—”

“Mom. Jesus, please stop,” I begged. But this time, it was with a laugh.

And to her credit, she did stop. Although not without telling me, “I don’t think we want to bring Jesus into this particular conversation, mi reina.”



* * *



I couldn’t sleep.

There was too much noise in my head. My conversation with my mother had left me… unsettled in both negative and positive ways. For one, I felt like I understood her, now more than ever. And I wished we’d talked about this before. That I wouldn’t have shut her down so many times in the past and had given her the chance to tell me these things. I also felt bad for not taking her side more. Horrible. Guilty, for allowing my father to claim he cared about her when he could never back up those words with actions.

It wasn’t the only reason I felt restless. There was this constant hum at the back of my head. One that had been there ever since I’d met Cameron. Growing louder with every day that passed. With every second spent in this roller coaster our relationship had been. A hum that had shifted tonight. A hum that batted its wings when I thought of every day preceding this night. Or the way I felt with him. Or how I’d never been looked at like he looked at me. Even at the beginning, when we’d clashed, disagreed, and bickered, I’d never felt invisible when it had been him in front of me. He’d always, always given me his full attention. For better or worse.

And now… now I wanted more. I wanted more than just his attention. I wanted to feel like I’d felt tonight. Seen. Connected. Not to someone, but to him. Cameron.

Without really knowing how, I rolled off Cameron’s large bed, and my bare feet padded over the hardwood. I made it to the living room and immediately zeroed in on his shape.

He occupied most of the couch, and the blanket that had once covered him was bunched up at his waist. The urge to go to him doubled. The need to wrap myself around him and cover us both. It wasn’t a sexual thing, even though I knew the moment I touched him, my blood would once again swirl with need. No, this was something else.

I walked to the couch. There was barely any space by his side, but I didn’t care. I felt vulnerable, as if I’d been torn inside out, my rawest parts on display. I set a knee by his hip, and slowly curled beside him.

A grunt left his throat, and in a swift, smooth motion, his arms were around me and he was on his side. He looked down, eyes half-open, and pulled me into his chest.

“Hi,” I whispered.

He hummed, and I felt the sound against my belly and breasts. “Can’t sleep?”

I gave him a small shake of the head. Without a word, I moved my hands, reaching the hem of his sleeping shirt. Not breaking eye contact, I slipped my fingers under it. I set my palms against his smooth and hard skin, letting the warmth travel up my arms and down my spine.

Cameron let out a shaky exhale. “Love,” he said, and I knew it was a warning.

“I just need to touch you,” I confessed, moving my hands up, pressing the tips of my fingers into his skin. “I need to feel you close.” His eyes darkened, and his mouth pressed into a line. He was looking at me so seriously. So stern. As if my plea was a life-changing event. “I want you as close as anyone has ever been.”