The Long Game (Long Game, #1)(74)

Or maybe you should simply stop thinking of Cameron naked, a voice screamed in my head.

I discarded all thoughts involving Cameron and continued my hopping. There was music coming from the far end of the hallway, so I veered that way and encountered the kitchen and living area.

Catching my breath, I braced myself on the white marble island and took a break to let my gaze roam. A cream-colored chaise longue laid right in the middle of the space, rustic and minimalistic décor scattered on shelves, timber beams crossed the ceiling, gorgeous windowpanes let the sunlight in, a half-naked man did a handstand, the table—

My eyes retraced their trajectory a step, snapping into focus.

Whoa.

There were very few instances in life that I’d been as shocked, as wholly and completely befuddled as I was in that instant. Was I imagining this? No, there was no way my mind could summon such perfection. My imagination really sucked. So Cameron had to be there, at the very end of the living room. Gloriously shirtless.

And he hadn’t lied.

Cameron Caldani wasn’t just good at yoga. He excelled at it.

And I apparently excelled at getting hot and bothered watching him.

Because all of my blood was rushing to my face at the sight of him shirtless. With his elbows on the mat, legs up. In a pair of loose workout shorts that gravity was pulling down his beautiful quads. My eyes got lost in there for a second, in that muscled section of his thighs shining with sweat. I could make out the edge of a design there. A thigh tattoo? Oh God, I didn’t think I could take that. It was bad enough that the arm he had covered in ink was now flexed. That his pecs—one of which was also covered in beautiful designs—were bunched up like I’d never seen muscles bunch in real life. It was…

“Ouch,” I yelped, the moment the foot I’d kept up in the air unconsciously touched the ground.

Cameron’s eyes blinked open. And before I could prepare to say anything, to do anything but gawk, his large, glistening, and ridiculously flexible body was toppling to the floor. Sideways. Landing on the mat with a loud thud.

I gasped, starting for him.

But he grunted from the floor, “Don’t move.” And I froze on the spot.

“Are you… okay?”

“Jesus fuck,” he half growled, half sighed as a response. “I was unprepared.”

I opened my mouth to ask unprepared for what, but a dash of orange shot past me, distracting me from my words.

“She’s going to give me shit for that,” Cameron said when I glanced back at him. He sat up with a groan. “That was Pierogi. She likes to lie down at the end of my mat when I work out.”

Pierogi. His other cat. Yeah, I think I’d like to do the same thing, considering the views. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

His jaw clenched and when he looked up, his eyes fell on my chest. Shoulders. Legs. His gaze was all over the place, as if he couldn’t decide where to look next. He swallowed. “No point in denying that seeing you in my jersey sent me tumbling to the floor.”

My eyes widened. His jersey. “I didn’t mean to sleep in this. Matthew sent it so you would—” I stopped myself. “I didn’t tell him about you. He found out accidentally. With a picture I took. He’s such a huge soccer fan, he recognized you from your profile. I—”

“I’ll give him a signed jersey,” Cameron offered. Simply. Curtly.

“He will appreciate it. No, he will love you for that.” And I had no idea why, but I remembered in that exact moment that I was wearing no underwear underneath. I tugged at the hem. “I… think we should probably talk? Last night was kind of a mess, and you must have questions.”

“Will you?”

I frowned in question.

“Appreciate it,” he said, standing up in a swift motion. He crossed the distance to where I stood in long determined strides and stopped right in front of me. Our eyes met. “Because I’m only offering for you.”

I honestly didn’t know what to do with that information. “Yes,” I heard myself say. “I would appreciate it.” I already did. More than he knew.

Cameron nodded. “What do you want to talk about, then?”

Everything, I should have said. But he was standing so close, with all that beautiful inked and glistening skin on display, looking at me so… intently, that I just babbled the first thing I could. “I owe you an apology. For last night.”

Cameron’s head tilted to the side. “You don’t, not really.” His arm rose and the back of his hand brushed my forehead. “How’s the pain, darling?”

My lips parted at the touch. The question. “It’s… I’m okay,” I mumbled. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

A hum climbed up his throat. “I wonder who made you believe you don’t deserve to be fussed over,” he said so simply and honestly that I could only blink. “I was worried last night and I am worried now.” His brows knotted. “In fact, I might be a little mad, too.”

“You might?”

The pad of his thumb moved, grazing my jaw very briefly. I felt myself melt under that featherlight touch. “You should have called me.”

The word left me in a whisper. “Why?”

“Because you needed me, and I wasn’t there with you, and I hated that.” His lips bent down, and my heart resumed at double pace from the weight of his words. “Then I get a trail of messages and I go to you and find you in my shirt. That some other guy sent you.” He dropped his hand. “And I was never a jealous man.”