the meantime, if Molly had Cam on her arm, no one would wonder where her parents were. Of course, Phillip and Simone weren’t her real parents; she’d known them for only twelve years. But they’d brought her into their incredible home, into their lives. It had been a rebirth, the only one that mattered to her.
She’d have liked to introduce them to Cameron. He’d have gotten on well with Phillip especially. Phillip enjoyed a cold beer from time to time, although you would never guess it. But he’d have liked that Cameron was the brains behind his brews.
And now here Molly was, unable to sleep, her mind still chock-full of Cameron. Which wasn’t wise. She barely knew him, and best-case scenario, she’d be with him from Friday evening through Saturday morning. If she was very lucky, maybe they’d have breakfast together, but that thought, that hope, was already crossing a line.
She’d lived on fantasies most of her life. Only one had ever come true. Phillip and Simone hadn’t actually adopted her, but that was okay. Just the odds of finding an amazing foster family as a teenager were off the charts.
Her thoughts veered back to the most vivid of tonight’s fantasies. Cameron, taking off her clothes. Slowly. Kissing all the places he uncovered. Calling her beautiful, even though she knew she wasn’t quite. It was easy to picture him without his shirt. Not so easy to imagine what was under his jeans. At least in the front. She’d already gotten a great look at his butt with the way the denim hugged him.
He did have big hands, so... That didn’t necessarily mean he was well-endowed, but for now, she’d go with it. What the heck, right? In for a penny. Having already used her vibrator once, she let her fingers do the work this time. Once they were underneath her panties, she knew exactly what to do. Her imagination was vivid and well practiced. He’d be on this very bed, the covers tossed aside. His kisses were easy to recall in perfect detail. From there, she could extrapolate what his lips would feel like on her nipples. How he’d lick his way down until he reached her button.
She winced at the word, the old word that she’d learned from the other kids. When they’d whispered after lights-out. The button. It had taken her years to figure out what they meant. She’d thought it was a real button.
She’d learned, of course, that it was her clitoris. But some habits were harder to break than others, and dammit, she didn’t want to think about anything but Cameron and how he’d know just what she liked. How he’d go slowly until she couldn’t stand it, and how he would care more about making her happy than just taking for himself. Hey, it was her fantasy, so she didn’t care that men like that didn’t exist in real life.
She’d call him on Tuesday. Give him enough time to rent a tuxedo, if he didn’t own one. Would he be insulted if she offered to pay for the rental?
Pulling her hand out of her pants, she gave up. She was never going to get to sleep if she didn’t stop projecting wildly about a man she barely knew.
All she had was a feeling.
Cameron Crawford would come through for her. For one perfect night. Was that too much to hope for?
Sighing, she avoided answering her own question and started counting the seconds, determined to get to five hundred or fall asleep trying.
She reached eight hundred and nine.
* * *
“I’M GONNA CALL HER.” It was Tuesday afternoon and Emmy was prepping condiments while Cameron worked at the small table in the corner of the bar’s kitchen. “As a friend,” he said. “Just, you know, make sure she’s okay.”
Emmy was quiet for so long, Cam looked up. She wasn’t looking at him. In fact, she was standing at the sink washing limes, but there was no doubt she was judging him.
“I’m not going to make a big deal out of it. Besides, I’ll hear it in her voice if she doesn’t want to talk to me.” Hell, she probably wouldn’t even answer. Stupid caller ID. There weren’t any surprises left in life.
“You sure that’s a good idea?”
He glanced down at his newest recipe for a cream ale. Although he hadn’t gotten nearly enough sleep last night, at least he’d come up with what he thought was a viable design for a unique brew. But his mind wasn’t on the new ale. It was stuck on all the things he wished he’d said to Molly.
What the hell? Last time he’d checked, he wasn’t a teenage girl.
Closing his eyes, he let his chin drop to his chest. “I should go back to bed. Fifteen minutes is all I need. I read an article. Fifteen, twenty minutes is supposed to leave me refreshed but not groggy.” He looked at his sister again. “It sounds like torture. Maybe that’s why it works. I’ll end up so pissed off that I couldn’t enjoy my nap, it’ll knock that groggy shit right out.”
Emmy laughed. Turned off the water. “What’s gotten into you? You must have really liked Molly, because you never mention women you go out with. Even the ones that keep you out all night.”
He wasn’t about to tell Emmy how the date had actually ended. Way too much information, and just...no. “We didn’t really finish our conversation, that’s all. She was nice. Interesting.”
“Your conversation. Uh-huh.”
“I’m tired. Leave me alone. Actually, talk to Jade. She’s trying to set me up with someone from her gym. I told her about the trading cards, but I could tell she’s got something cooking.”
“Fine. I’ll talk to her. Just do me a favor. Don’t call Molly. You sound pathetic.”
“Thanks a lot.” He was supposed to finish writing this damn recipe, then go help pitch the yeast into the wort. Eric was running the floor in back, and the crew would do just fine without him, but an extra hand was never turned away. They’d all helped him with his small-brew experiments. Yeah, that was part of what they got paid to do, but it never felt like that, not in the brewery or the bar. You made the payroll, you became part of The Four Sisters family.
“Don’t forget to talk to Jade.”
“Yes, sir.” Emmy turned back to her prepping, and Cam left the kitchen. Left the bar. Only to go upstairs to his apartment.
His dad had had this addition built. There’d been plenty of times that a place to crash had been a blessing, and Cam was sure everyone would be relieved when he went back to Syracuse. Fridays and Saturdays the bar was open until four in the morning. A lot of people had crashed in the bed upstairs.
It wasn’t even that noisy. The contractor had previously worked on sound booths and editing facilities, and he’d made sure not much noise bled upstairs. Nothing they could do about the vibrations, but Cam was used to the pulse of the jukebox.
Halfway up, his cell phone rang, and when he saw it was Molly, he hurried up the rest of the stairs. He didn’t answer until he was inside the apartment with the door shut behind him.
“Hi. It’s Molly.”
“I know. How are you?”
“I’m fine. Good. I mean, I’m completely stuck on this column I’m writing, but other than that, everything’s fine.”
“I’m glad. Not about being stuck. About...” He took a deep breath and let it out
