Stand and Defend (Lakes Hockey Series Book 4)
Stand and Defend: Chapter 42

I’m in my room responding to emails, mostly documents against Bryan, screenshots of his text messages. My lawyer is asking for information regarding the way our funds were shared. We’ve got a meeting later today with Robert, my finance manager. Bryan and his lawyer are being difficult, getting him removed from my bank accounts was a pain in the ass. He’s not making anything easy.

I didn’t tell them about Bluetower, the company H&H took on, the one they’ve been touting to investors with lucrative returns that aren’t possible. It’s my golden ticket to fucking up his life. Unfortunately, the way I obtained my information isn’t exactly on the up and up—and Bryan has always been good about covering his tracks. He’s brazen but always has a backup plan. So I’m leaving no trace as well.

The next order of business is getting my own place. Now that I’ve got money in my account from some of my investments, and lawyers are in place to get the rest, it’s time I sit down with Cam and explain that I’m safe enough to move out. This isn’t the time for us. Maybe someday we’ll get our chance.

As I hit send, there’s a knock on my door. I open it and see Cam standing there shirtless with a pair of scissors, clippers, and half a head of cut hair. Oh god.

“Can you cut hair?”

As a teenager, I used to cut my grandfather’s hair when he was in hospice, but that was a decade ago. I cross my arms and lean against the doorframe with an amused smile. “What happened?”

“I got an email from PR, they want us cleaned up for some photoshoot later this week. I was feeling lazy and overestimated my skill level by about two and a half barbers.”

“Come on in.” I push off the door. Stealing a chair from the table in the kitchen of the apartment space, I place it in the bathroom in front of the large mirror. It’s a tight fit for him to sit down, but we make it work.

I place a towel around his neck, and my fingers skim his shoulders. It reminds me of all the times I’ve grabbed his shoulders before.

“So, what are we doing today?” I jest.

“You’re giving me the best haircut I’ve ever had.”

I scrunch up my nose. “Let’s set some realistic expectations.”

“I’m getting a haircut from the hottest stylis⁠—”

I turn on the clippers, drowning him out. He bites his lip, and my cheeks flush. First, I even out the damage he’s done and clean it up. My gaze bounces back and forth from his reflection in the mirror to him in front of me, focusing on making sure everything looks uniform. Except for the times my body betrays me and we make eye contact. Because he won’t stop staring.

His gaze makes every inch of me feel alive, and I hate it. It makes my heart ache. My masochism wins out, I know I can’t have him, but I still want his attention, no matter how much it hurts. My stomach twists. I turn off the clippers and set them on the countertop, then pick up the scissors.

“How long do you want it on top?” I hold up some hair between my index and middle fingers. “About here?”

“Yeah, that’s good.”

Normally the silence between us isn’t awkward, but it feels so heavy now. I can’t stand it.

“Oh, I meant to tell you, I’ve decided to spend the holidays with my parents in Monaco.”

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“Yeah, I spoke with my mom this morning. They’re staying in Cape Martin for a few more months. It doesn’t really make sense for me to stick around here.”

He hums. “Oh. I guess I’d assumed you would come with me to my parents’ again . . . But I understand you wanting to spend it with your own family. How long will you be gone?”

“Three weeks.”

“Three weeks?!”

“I might as well, it’s not like I’m rushing back to a job or anything. You’ve got a lot of away games coming up anyway, it makes sense to stay in Cape Martin.”

He nods hesitantly.

Standing in front of him, I wet his hair. When I begin trimming, there’s such little space that I have to keep one of my legs on either side of his. We’re uncomfortably close, his scent surrounds me and causes a lump to form in my throat. Camden doesn’t seem to mind our proximity. He cups the back of my knees, and his gaze trails higher as his palms roam up the sides of my thighs until he reaches my hips where he decides is a good place to rest them. I don’t react, even though the heat from his touch bleeds through my jeans and is doing its damnedest to distract me. I feel his eyes on me.

“Look straight ahead, not up.”

He’s basically eye level with my breasts.

“Happily,” he says.

I give him a small slap on the cheek with my comb.

He turns up the corner of his mouth. “Brave girl.”

His hands push my shirt up, and he leans in and bites my stomach, I jerk back, hitting the countertop. I attempt to grab the surface for balance, but he pulls me down so I’m straddling his left thigh. When I look at him, he’s got his tongue pressed into his cheek with a smug look, and I ask the universe why he has to be so attractive. The longer we continue to sleep together, the more difficult it is to compartmentalize our “situationship.” Especially if I’m not the only one sharing his bed.

Clearing my throat, I use his shoulder for leverage to stand.

“I had scissors in my hand, I could’ve cut my finger off. Don’t bite me. I need to finish your hair, or you’ll look like a rooster for your headshot.”

“At least the carpet will match the drapes.”

I crack, he gets a laugh out of me, and I shake my head. “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

The awkward silence returns, expanding from wall to wall. It’s deafening.

I continue trimming, hoping I appear more unaffected than I am, but his hands find me again, and I gulp. My eyes burn, and I’m too scared to look down. I didn’t fight my way to my new bad-bitch self to be taken down by Camden Teller. It’s hard enough that I’ve developed this attachment to him. I don’t think either of us thought we’d become such close friends. And I’m guessing nine out of ten therapists would agree that jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire isn’t a healthy strategy.

Stepping behind him, it’s easier to breathe. I comb his hair to check my progress. My fingers slide into his hair, and he shivers.

I draw up the hair with the previously cut strands and trim the length to match, cutting into the ends to make it look as natural as possible for his photo.

“Why have you been pulling away from me?”

His question causes me to freeze.

If I don’t pull away, you’ll reel me in again, and my heart will attach itself to something that doesn’t exist.

“We’re literally touching.”

“You know what I mean.”

I blow out a breath. “I’m protecting my space. The lines feel like they’re blurring between us.”

“Blurring into what?”

I purse my lips before I go back to trimming. He knows what.

“I like you, Jordan.”

Forcing a smile, I return the sentiment as casually as I can. “I like you too, Cam.” Which is why this sucks so much, because I really, really like you. And hearing another woman answer your phone gutted me.

Migrating to his other side, I trim around his ears using the comb and shears.

“No. Stop for a second.” He huffs out a breath and tugs me close. “I like you.”

Nope, nope, nope. I say the first thing I can think of. “Okay.” What an articulate response, Jordan. Those communication credits are finally paying off.

He’s staring straight into my soul, making me flustered. “Will we be arriving at your point in the near future, or should I pack a lunch?”

His grin grows; he’s got a terrific smile. “This isn’t working for me anymore,” he says.

The floor feels like it’s dropped out. I knew we had to stop our arrangement as soon as I heard that girl through the phone, but hearing him end it first hurts more than I expected. I don’t let an ounce of emotion show. Instead, I nod. “I get it. Let’s go back to being platon⁠—”

“No.” He cocks his head at me, and his brows knit together. “I need more than friends with benefits.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why?” Hurt flickers in his eyes, and I wince.

“I don’t want to risk our⁠—”

“I swear to God, if you say friendship, I’m gonna lose it.”

“It’s true!”

He scoffs at me. “You’re being a coward.”

I gape at him. “I’m trying to set a boundary! I was fine being your plaything—but I’m done now. Because I like you and I’m not going to compete with other women for your attention. I don’t think you realize the things you would have to give up. Have you ever even been in a relationship?”

“I mean . . .”

“See?”

He removes the comb and scissors from my hands and sets them on the counter, wraps his fingers around each of my wrists while his thumbs brush my pulse. “What can I do to change your mind?”

I laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“It sounds like some shitty sales pitch. What do I have to do to get you on this penis today?” I exaggerate my voice.

“Why do you keep reducing our relationship to what we do in the bedroom?” he sneers.

I flinch at the severity of his voice.

“This is the second time you’ve chalked up what we are”—he gestures an imaginary circle between us—“to sex. And while we’re on the topic, don’t ever cheapen what you mean to me by calling yourself a plaything.” He’s angry, and I can’t help but become overly aware of how much bigger and stronger he is.

I bite my lip and nod.

His shoulders relax and he continues, “The sex is great—fuck, it’s amazing—but we enjoy being around each other. You understand my thoughts better than anyone. You have this weird knack for reading me. And I’ve been trying to get to know you more, but every time the conversation shifts to something heavy, you deflect or shut down. I’m not going to pretend to know what you were like with Bryan, but I would bet a signing bonus that you were just as closed off to him as you are with me. So, before you start saying I don’t know how to be in a healthy relationship—with all due respect, Sunshine—you first.

“Our past relationships don’t matter, I’m asking for the future . . . We’ll work at it. Jordan, you’re my favorite person to be with, and I like that you hold me accountable. You couldn’t care less about my money or fame or want anything from me other than my company. And that’s all I want from you. All my life I’ve been pushing my limits to get a rush, to feel something—sex, fights, drinking, speeding, buying material shit I don’t need. Since you’ve been around, I’ve never felt more content. You are my rush.”

“Until I’m not there, then you get your rush from someone else.”

“I would never do that to you.”

I curl my lip in disgust. “You already did! The woman you were with last night answered your phone, Camden. I called you and another woman answered. She said you weren’t in your pants. It was humiliating. I even called you back and you declined it. Do you have any idea how that feels? I’m not going to be some side piece. Which brings me to another point, I think it’s time I move out.”

His eyes widen. “I lost my phone last night. I wasn’t with any girl, I swear.”

I roll my eyes. “That’s such a lame excuse.”

“It’s not an excuse! Whatever you think happened, didn’t happen. Is that why you’ve been so weird since I got home?”

“I’m not being weird, I’m taking a break from this.” My voice cracks as I gesture between us.

He drags me closer. “I don’t want a break. Jordan, we’re good together. Look, this is me laying it all out on the line for you, I have never shared my feelings like this with anyone. Know why? Because you’re a safe space for me. Let me be that safe space for you.”

“You are my safe space,” I assure him. He’s the only safe space I’ve ever had.

“Then stop pulling away every time shit begins to feel real—our connection exists whether you want it to or not, we owe it to each other to at least see if there’s something here.” He slumps into the chair and rubs the back of his neck. His hand drops to his lap while he waits for me to respond.

He’s not wrong. About any of it. He’s got me pegged, and I’m ashamed of the accuracy. I am closed off. It’s why I can’t figure out what to do with him.

“Who was the woman that answered last night?”

He retrieves his phone from his pocket and dials Barrett, putting it on speakerphone. I notice it’s slightly different. Maybe an upgraded model . . .

“I see you got your new phone working,” Barrett answers.

Cam points at the phone as if to say see?!

“What happened last night at the bar?”

Barrett scoffs. “Right?! That shit was nuts. Thanks for helping me pull Colby off that guy. It’s shitty you lost your phone in the process.”

“I think you were right when you said it was stolen, Jordan said some woman answered it last night.”

“Probably those girls sitting behind us.”

“Maybe. Hey, who did I share a room with last night?”

“Me . . .” Barrett answers. “Oh, shit, does Jordan think you had a girl over? Jordan if you can hear me, I swear Cam only touched my balls once and it was because I asked him to.”

“Charming. Bye.” He ends the call and stares at me. “Sunshine, there are so many things I like about you. You are strong and fearless. You handle the worst challenges with grace. You’re smart and observant. You can read me so well, it’s spooky. You’re funny, playful, wild, and sexy. Not to mention drop-dead gorgeous.” His head lolls to the side, and he shrugs. “You make me fucking crazy. Why would I want anyone else?”

I blink at him. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.” I swipe under my eyes, and he smiles.

“You can cry around me, you know.”

“You’re a really good guy, Cam.”

He groans. “But?”

I raise my eyebrows and shake my head. “But nothing. I wish you would let more people see this side of you.”

“I don’t need anyone else to see it. It’s yours.”

But I don’t want it to only be mine. I don’t want to be a secret.

“If I say yes to this, I want people to see it.”

I vowed that the next man I get involved with will treat me like a queen, and Camden Teller is no exception.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not going to be some quiet girlfriend on the side that other women think they can step over to get to you. I don’t want to be yours behind closed doors. I’m not a delicate princess—I’m a fucking queen. If you want me, that’s how you’re going to treat me. Leave your ego at the door, I want everyone to know that you kneel at my feet.” I cross my arms, waiting for his response, and mentally pat myself on the back for demanding my worth.

“Yes, Your Highness.” His grin spreads across his face until he’s beaming at me. “I’m so goddamn proud of you.”

My arms fall to my sides. “Thank you.”

He pulls me into his lap, pressing my chest to his. His mouth finds my neck, he sucks on my skin and bites. I let out a small moan, and he whispers behind my ear, “But in the bedroom, you kneel for me.”

I wrap my arms around his neck. “I can agree to that,” I mumble against him.

He holds me to his chest, and I rest my head on his shoulder, breathing in his clean scent. I didn’t think I’d ever hand my heart over to another man, but this is Cam. He makes me feel alive. He draws down one of my arms and presses his lips to my wrist before kissing me.

“You’re my best friend,” I say.

“You’re my best friend too.”

“Our families will talk.”

“Let them.”

I smile and sit up, cupping his cheeks and bringing his mouth to mine.

“Are you still going to Monaco?”

Sigh. “I told my parents I would. They want to see me . . . I’m sorry.”

He nods, and his hands travel under the hem of my shirt. “Don’t apologize. Just know you can always come home early if you need to.” His fingers slide behind my bra clasp.

“Wait, wait, wait!”

He stops kissing me and blinks.

“I have to finish this haircut.”

He rolls his eyes. “Topless.” He finishes unhooking my bra and peels my shirt over my head. “Much better.” He sucks a nipple into his mouth and pops off. Fuck. “What are we doing after this?”

“Actually, I’ve got a meeting with my lawyer and financial adviser in an hour, after that, I’m all yours.”

“Good. We’ve got nearly five days to make up for, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about all the ways we’re going to do it.”

Sean, my lawyer, stands, stuffing papers into his briefcase. We had a successful exchange with Bryan’s lawyers, he’s starting to cooperate, even my attorney is suspicious.

“Okay, well, as long as your financial status is back in order, do we have any other business?”

I look over at Robert, my portfolio manager. “I need to withdraw more money.”

“Sure. How much?” He places his hands on the keyboard and begins typing.

“Twenty thousand in cash . . . Also, I need a sixteen-million-dollar anonymous donation to Minneapolis PD.”

Robert’s typing ceases, and Sean’s head falls backward, and he stares at the ceiling before slowly dropping his gaze to me. He tosses his hands in the air. “What the fuck?”

“It’s unrelated.”

“Ha!” Sean laughs without a trace of humor and stands. “I’m leaving before I hear something I shouldn’t. Jordana, reach out when you’re ready to press those assault charges.”

I nod. After he leaves, Robert stares at me for a moment, then rolls back in his chair. With steepled fingers against his lips, he looks me head-on.

“Jordana, my job is to manage your money. But this . . .? It’s not my place to ask, but is there something going on I should know about?”

“I like you, Robert. You’ve worked for my family a long time, but you’re right, it’s not your place to ask.”

We have a miniature stare down before he sucks his teeth and returns to the keyboard, making the necessary wire transfers.

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