“I play to win,” she whispered back—just for him.
He gripped his camera and turned to Luca. “You need a ride?”
“Okay. Yeah, sure!” Luca said, bouncing slightly on his heels.
At the door, Campbell halted, tipped his head to stare at the ceiling, as if debating with cracked plaster was a thing. When his gaze swung back to her, amusement flickered alongside some pointed emotion she couldn’t quite name. “There’s a party tomorrow at the Rise. It’s a ridiculous idea of John Nelson’s, but?—”
Luca punched his arm. “Since when is yourbirthdayridiculous? Best party ever! I’m developing pictures in a darkroom with some kid named Kit!”
She gave her gloves a hard twist.
Worst. Timing. Ever.
Now was not the moment to notice the rip in the butt of Campbell’s jeans or the teeny-tiny hint of green peeking through. Her brain screamed:He’s wearing green underwear.
She forced herself to breathe slowly and ask rationally, “Birthday?”
His lips twitched, gentle enough to reveal only a single dimple. “You know, those annoying yearly occurrences that move us closer to death.”
“Gross,” Luca mumbled, making a face as he stumbled out the door.
Campbell’s gaze dropped to his camera as he adjusted a setting she was pretty sure didn’t need adjusting. “I just thought…” He motioned inanely, sighed—for the second time in recent memory—then stepped toward the door. “Never mind.”
“I would love to come, if that was an invitation,” Fontana whispered, trying to keep her eyes off that rip.
He scrubbed his hand over his jaw. “It was.”
“Then, yes, I’ll be there.”
He looked up then, his eyes overflowing with too many emotions to gather—like a basket of flowers she couldn’t quite get her arms around.
She had no answer for everything she saw in them.
“See you tomorrow, Hellcat.”
“You bet, Atlanta.”
With a laugh, he pointed the camera at her. “Don’t forget to bring your fiancé.”
The joyful glow that hit her as she watched him walk out stayed with her all night.
chapter
fourteen
Across the Sea–Weezer
CAMPBELL
He should have been happy.
Birthday. Family. Friends. Food. Drink. Emergency cigarette in his coat pocket.
Women.Plural.
When he only wanted one.
Number one stood across the room, wrapped in a surprisingly delicious lacy froth of a dress that screamed,Take me off!Meanwhile, number two—Rhonda, his high school lab partner—stood beside him in a silk sack, whispering pointed, increasingly graphic suggestions in his ear. Another martini—and John Nelson didn’t fuck around when he made one—and Rhonda would start tearing at his clothing with her teeth.
