Close to You

  “Hey Jake,” I say, shaking the other man’s hand firmly.

  “Good to see you, man,” he replies. “Are you gonna stick around to hear my set later?”

  Jake Keller, or Jake Knox as the rest of the world knows him, is an international rock star who stepped out of the limelight to focus on producing and writing, and as of about six months ago, started focusing on our Addie.

  “I don’t know, I have to go house-hunting today.” I shake my head mournfully.

  “I like looking at houses,” Addie says.

  “I don’t,” I reply simply. “It’s boring.”

  “What’s boring?” Cami asks as she walks out of her office and joins us. My eyes immediately zero in on her feet—not in sneakers this time—and the mile-high gray boots she’s wearing. My eyes travel up her body, taking in her stylish black-and-gray outfit, and sexy-as-hell body, and when I reach her eyes, her head is tilted, and she’s gazing at me with a mixture of humor and reservation.

  This is what interests me.

  “Landon hates looking at houses.”

  “I’ve mostly been looking at apartments,” I reply, still holding Cami’s gaze with my own. “But I have appointments to see three houses this afternoon.”

  “Good luck with that,” Cami says, and turns to leave, but I catch her wrist before she can walk away.

  “Come with me.”

  “Excuse me?” She glances down at my hand and I pull it away, immediately missing the contact.

  “Come look with me.”

  “I’m at work.”

  “I told her to leave two hours ago,” Addie says helpfully.

  “I’ve been busy,” she replies with a frown. “The damn tills from yesterday were off.”

  “By a lot?” Addie asks.

  “No, it was probably a mistake.” Cami sighs and shakes her head. “I guess I could use a break.”

  “Perfect,” I reply with a grin. “Looking alone is torture, Cam. If I have to look at another bathroom, I’m going to . . . Well, I don’t know what I’ll do, but it won’t be pretty.”

  She blinks at me, then finally shakes her head, mumbles something under her breath that I can’t quite hear, then chuckles. “Well, we can’t have you not being pretty.”

  “Great. Let’s go.” I gesture for her to lead me out the door, but she rolls her eyes.

  “I need my jacket and handbag. I’ll meet you outside.”

  “You might want to change your shoes too. We’ll be walking a lot.”

  Both Cami and Addie laugh. “These are my walking shoes,” she replies as she walks back into the office, then returns less than thirty seconds later with her bag, jacket, and shiny lips.

  Great. Now I can’t stop staring at her lips. I’m pretty sure women do that on purpose.

  “Call me if you need me,” Cami says to Addie, who just waves as we walk out of the restaurant and to my car. I open the door for her, then walk around and lower myself into the seat and pull out my phone.

  “I have the appointments, with the addresses, in my calendar,” I say as I pull the information up and hand the phone to Cami. “You be the navigator. Where are we going?”

  She rattles off the address, then sits back silently as I drive to the first house. Cami and I have never had an uncomfortable silence in the twenty years I’ve known her, and I refuse to start now.

  “How’s business?”

  “Great.”

  “How are you?”

  “Can’t complain.”

  She smooths her hand down her skirt and shifts in the seat, but doesn’t elaborate.

  “I like your nail polish,” I say, nodding at the pink on her fingers, and for the first time, that dimple in her cheek winks as she smiles, just a little bit.

  “Thank you.” She points just ahead. “That’s it.”

  “Got it.” I pull up to the curb, and before I can tell her to wait, Cami shoves out of the car and walks up the sidewalk to the front door, where a Realtor is already waiting.

  “Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Palazzo.”

  “I’m Cami LaRue, a friend of Mr. Palazzo’s,” Cami says immediately. The women lead me into the home.

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Lacey. This is a 1956 Craftsman-style home,” she begins, and leads us through the small house that probably hasn’t been updated since the eighties.

  “It’s too small,” Cami says when we’re back in the car and pulling away. “And the pink master bathroom is so not you.”

  “We agree on that,” I reply with a nod. “I don’t need a huge place. It’s just me.”

  “I know, but you don’t need a broom closet either,” she replies as she searches for the next address. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll snoop through your phone, look for pictures and messages from the many girls you date?”

  “Yes, I’m horrified,” I reply, my voice dry. “Contrary to popular belief, I don’t date much, and second, you’re not the snooping type. But if you do want to snoop, go for it. I don’t have any secrets from you, Cami.”

  “I was being a smartass, Landon,” she says, then gives me the address. “I don’t know where this one is.”

  “I think it’s in a newer subdivision. Can you pull it up on the map app?”

  “Newer is better. Hopefully there won’t be a pink bathroom.” She wrinkles her adorable nose and directs me where we’re going. It’s not as far away as I thought.

  “So far, so good,” Cami says as she steps out of the car.

  “I wish you’d let me open the door for you,” I say as I join her on the sidewalk.

  “Why?” She frowns and glances from the house to me. “This isn’t a date.”

  I simply shake my head and follow her up the steps to the front porch.

  “Oh, you could put a great rocking chair out here,” Cami says as I see a note on the door, telling us to come in and look around. The property manager had to rush off to an emergency at another property.

  “Let’s check it out,” I say, and lead us inside. This one already feels so much better than any of the others I’ve seen. It definitely is newer, it doesn’t smell weird, and the floor plan is open.

  “This is it,” Cami says confidently.

  “You just stepped inside.”

  “I’m telling you, that last one was haunted. This one is perfect.”

  “You didn’t say anything about that last one being haunted.” I stop and stare back at her, but she’s wandering around the living room.

  “I didn’t want to scare you, in case you decided to live there. But I would never visit you there.”

  “But you will visit me here?”

  “I don’t know, Landon; the last time I rang your doorbell, you snapped at me like I was trying to sell you on religion or vacuums.”

  My stomach clenches. “Cami, I told you, I’m sorry for that.”

  “It’s fine,” she says quickly, and walks into the kitchen, the click of her heels echoing through the empty space. “These countertops are to die for!”

  I follow her into the kitchen and nod. “It’s a big kitchen for someone who doesn’t cook.”

  “Maybe someone will cook for you,” she mumbles, not looking at me.

  Everything feels off with her today. It’s felt off since that morning when she showed up unexpectedly at my parents’ house, waking me up and looking all sexy and sweet, and I didn’t have my wits about me.

  I fucked up. I seem to be the king of fucking up lately, and it’s starting to piss me off.

  “There’s a lot of cabinet space,” she continues, then opens a door in the back of the room. “And there’s a large pantry here.”

  “Let’s check out the rest.”

  We see two average-sized bedrooms, a nice guest bath, and then wander into a massive master bedroom, with a large closet and bathroom as well.

  “Wow. Swanky,” she says, that dimple winking at me as she grins. “You could get a lot of shoes in this closet.”

  “That’s exactly what I was worried about.”

&nbs
p; “Hey, I’m just saying.” She saunters into the bathroom. “Holy shit, you could host a party in this shower!”

  A two-person-party-with-Cami-boosted-up-against-the-wall-with-me-inside-her party sounds just about perfect.

  I don’t dare go in there.

  “Don’t you want to check it out?”

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “But it’s pretty.”

  “I believe you.”

  “Landon . . .”

  I pop my head in and take in the spacious bathroom, see that the shower is indeed larger than the one in my last apartment, and turn away. “Yep, great bathroom.”

  “This is the house,” she says confidently as she follows me out and back to the car.

  “We have one more to see.”

  “No.” She shakes her head and hands me my phone. “You don’t need to see more.”

  “What if it’s better than this one?”

  “It won’t be. You’re sick of looking, Landon, and this house isn’t too big, isn’t too small, and is newer. And it’s not haunted.”

  “I don’t think that other house was haunted,” I reply, agreeing with her. I like this house. I pull away and head back to the restaurant.

  “Why are you renting instead of buying?” she asks.

  “Because I don’t know where I’ll end up,” I reply immediately, and slam on my brakes as we’re almost T-boned in an intersection. “It’s a four-way stop, asshole!”

  “Nothing wrong with your reflexes,” she says, and pushes her hair off her face. “So you don’t plan on settling down in Portland?”

  “I probably will,” I say, and shrug. “I mean, the family is here, and I don’t have any job offers elsewhere, but I want to keep my options open for a while, you know?”

  “No, not really,” she replies, and I glance over at her. “I like it here. I’ll always be here.”

  “Well, especially now that you have the restaurant, I can see that.”

  “With or without it, this is home.”

  I shake my head. “Haven’t you ever wanted to live anywhere else? I mean, you’ve been here your whole life. Now that you don’t have family here—”

  “Steven is here.”

  Her voice is hard as she reminds me of her nephew and when I glance at her again, her face is taut and lips pursed. I’ve pissed her off.

  Again.

  “I’m sorry, Cami.” Shit, I don’t know what else to say. I should know that Cami’s always done what feels safe to her.

  “You can drop me off at home,” Cami says, and blows out a breath.

  “You don’t need to get your car?”

  “No, I rode in with Riley this morning.” She sighs and crosses her legs. “I think I’ll actually take tonight off.”

  “Good for you,” I reply, and drive the short couple of miles to her house, pull in her driveway, and glance over to see that she’s fallen asleep. Her face is relaxed, her breathing even, and her lips—those amazing, plump lips—are slightly parted. I want to kiss her so bad I ache with it.

  Instead, I get out of the car, and before she can climb out herself, I open the door for her and take her hand, helping her to her feet.

  “Sorry I dozed.”

  “You’re tired.”

  She nods and leads me into her house. “It’s been a busy week.”

  “How many hours a week do you work?” I ask as she plops her bag on the table inside the door and toes off her shoes, instantly shrinking at least four inches. She looks so small.

  So sexy.

  “About sixty,” she replies, and shrugs as if it’s no big deal. “It’s better than the eighty I was working before I stopped working for my other clients. I’ll make dinner.”

  “No.” My voice is calm, but firm. The thought of her working herself to the bone sets a fire in my stomach that I can’t explain. “You worked your ass off this week, and I just dragged you all over Portland to look at houses.”

  “It was two houses,” she says, and rolls her eyes.

  “I’ll order in Chinese.”

  Her eyes sharpen at that suggestion.

  “That got your attention.” I grin and reach out to tug a lock of hair, and this time she doesn’t move away.

  “You know it’s my favorite.”

  I grin. “Of course I do. Sit.” I point to the arm of the couch where Scoot has just jumped. He’s sitting, his tail flicking back and forth, his eyes narrowed, watching us.

  “I’m not a dog.”

  “Not even close,” I agree. “Have a seat. Please.”

  “Since you said please,” she says primly, and sits next to Scoot, who curls up next to her. “He won’t get in my lap, at least not like he does you, and if he does, he won’t let me pet him. He’ll sit next to me like this, and he purrs, but he still won’t let me pet him. He’s the weirdest cat.”

  “He likes you,” I murmur as I sit at the opposite end of the couch and dial the number for Cami’s favorite Chinese place. After I order, I glance over to see that Cami’s eyes are heavy. Her head is tilted back, leaning on the couch. Her bare feet are on the ottoman, crossed at the ankles.

  I need to get my hands on her. But when I move to scoot closer, she flinches and eyes me warily.

  I hate this. Did I fuck up that badly? Did I hurt her feelings that morning so bad that she’s placed me directly in the friend zone? And I’m talking the don’t-touch-me friend zone.

  I hate that place, especially with Cami. I know that we’ll never be like we were when we were kids, and hell, I don’t want to be. I want to be close to her. I want to get to know her again.

  “How is Steven?” I ask, trying to fill the silence. She smiles sweetly.

  “He’s great. He’s living with his girlfriend, but he checks in with me often, and we try to get together for dinner once a week. He’s a good kid.”

  “You’re close.” It isn’t a question.

  “Well, given the age difference between me and Steve’s mom, he’s more like a brother to me. He’s nineteen going on thirty. Were we that eager to grow up?”

  I chuckle and rub her pinky toe. “You always seemed very grown up.” I look up into her green eyes. “You acted so much older than your age.”

  “That’s what happens when your parents are middle-aged when they have you, and your siblings have one foot out the door to college.”

  But did you ever get to just have fun? I don’t ask it aloud, but I’ve often wondered if Cami is content playing it safe because being responsible was expected of her at such a young age.

  The doorbell rings, saving me from my thoughts.

  “I’ll get it.”

  When I turn, after paying for the food, Cami’s no longer on the couch, but walking back from the kitchen with plates and silverware. We sit in our normal, comfortable silence now, dishing up food and eating until we’re stuffed. When the white boxes are empty and our dishes set aside, I surprise us both by pulling Cami’s feet into my lap and digging my thumb into her arch.

  “Oh, sweet Jesus, don’t ever stop doing that.”

  I grin and watch as I knead her feet. Upon closer inspection, I see that they’re callused, and despite being nicely painted, they’re a bit of a mess.

  “I hate my feet,” she murmurs softly. “They’re rough and callused and horrible.”

  “I don’t mind,” I reply honestly. “But you should spoil yourself sometimes and go get one of those froofroo pedicures.”

  “I do. But I wear shoes that are bad for me, and I hate socks, so this is what I’m stuck with.” Her eyes slit open to watch me as she shrugs. “I don’t care. My shoes rock.”

  “I’ll rub your feet for you anytime you want.”

  She grins softly and I want to pull her in my lap and hold on tight. I want to kiss her madly and lay her back on this couch and uncover her body, inch by inch, discovering what makes her moan and what makes her sigh.

  I want to do all of the things I’ve fantasized about for longer than I can remember.
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  Instead, I sigh and pat her ankle, then stand. “I’d better go.”

  She stands with me and follows me to the door. “Thank you for dinner. You didn’t have to do that.”

  “Yes.” I turn to her and push her blond hair back over her ear. Scoot is winding his way through my legs, purring. “I did. Thank you for today.”

  Before she can push me away, I lean in and press my lips to her forehead, breathing her in, and wanting to stay.

  “Are you going to get that last house?”

  “If you promise to visit.” I pull back and see her bite her lip, then firm her shoulders.

  “I’ll visit.”

  I nod and leave her before I do something stupid like scoop her up and take her up to her bedroom to spend the rest of the weekend with her.

  She’s not ready for that. I’m not sure I’m ready for that, which shocks the fuck out of me because I’ve never had a problem with carrying a willing woman off to a bed to have my way with her.

  But this is Cami, and a fun romp on a mattress isn’t the only thing I want with her. Not that I really know what I want with her.

  I do know that she deserves more than a weekend in bed, and the thought of someone else giving it to her makes me crazy.

  Chapter 3

  ~Cami~

  What in the ever-loving hell was that?

  I stare at my now closed front door, where Landon just left, and frown. This whole day has left me in a big bucket of confusion. I’d done so well all week, not seeking Landon out, keeping busy, truly believing that my girlhood crush was over and under control.

  “And then he sought me out,” I say to Scoot as I turn the lights off downstairs and head up to my bedroom. “Today was not my fault. He practically made me go with him to see those houses, and then he just didn’t leave.”

  I peel back the covers on my bed and scowl at Scoot, who jumps up and promptly begins giving himself a bath.

  “You’re not supposed to be on the bed. Or in my house, for that matter.” No response from the feline, so I shrug, shed my clothes, and get under the covers. Scoot climbs up on my belly and begins to purr.

  “What was that kiss about? Like, was he kissing me as a brother? Because it didn’t feel brotherly, but we all know that my hormones are ridiculous around that man.” I reach up to scratch Scoot behind the ears but he lets out a low growl. “Sorry. I won’t touch you. And what was up with him rubbing my feet? My good sense just leaves when he’s around, and suddenly I’m sixteen again. It has to stop, Scoot.”