His mouth quirks into a grin. “What’s wrong with Carly Rae Jepsen?”
“Nothing. I just didn’t have you pegged as a bubblegum-pop guy.”
“Then you’re not paying attention.” He tilts his head, eyes glinting. “Especially after watchingA Walk to Rememberon the airplane.”
The way he smiles back at me and the state of his bareness have my heart tumbling in the scariest way possible.
Which means it’s time to go.
I clutch my laptop tighter and dart past him.
“I hate to miss the encore,” I call behind me but definitely don’t look back, “but I have to get to work.”
Saved by adulting.
Thankfully.
Hess
“Hi, honey!”my mom says on the other end of the line. Ever since she found out about my marriage, she’s been calling me every day, checking in. The phone calls always end the same way, with her giving me some kind of not-so-subtle marital advice. Normally, I’d get annoyed by Anita Taylor’s invasive phone calls, but since nobody else in my life knows about my marriage, I haven’t minded talking to someone who does. “How are you and Camila doing today?”
Me and Camila?
Is there a me and Camila? Some days, I feel like we’re making progress, getting to know each other, then other days, she avoids me like a public railing in the New York subway.
It’s a very hot and cold marriage.
But I kinda like it.
I like earning her trust in whatever small way I can.
“We’re good,” I answer. “Camila’s been working a lot.”
“She works too much. Don’t you ever get lonely?”
“Her job is who she is, and she really loves it, so I don’t mind. I have tons of things at the ranch to keep me busy.”
“When are you coming over for steaks?” my dad asks in the background.
“We’re not, Dad.”
“Who doesn’t want a free steak?” he snaps.
“Bart, don’t push them. Camila will come over when she feels ready.”
She may never feel ready.
“Once she tastes my steaks, she’ll want to stay in this family.”
“You put way too much seasoning on your meat. Maybe we’re glad Camila hasn’t come over yet. You’ll scare her off.”
“I season my steaks to perfection!”
My head falls back, and I glance at the ceiling as I listen to my parents bicker.
“Shh, Bart! I’m on the phone.”
“Then why are you talking to me?”
