The Return of the Bad boy

Chapter 9: Summer

PAST

I wasn't nervous. I told myself that repeatedly on the walk to Cameron's house.

I would've been just fine if the girls hadn't dropped that bomb on me earlier and then proceeded to talk about where and when I should have my imaginary wedding with Cameron.

They were getting ahead of themselves. I was sure any feelings Cameron had for me must have died in the few months that I spent with my ex.

The trip to Cam's house was only about a 20-minute walk and the most exercise I've gotten all week. Gym class didn't count, and Kenny was too busy training for the upcoming track season to drag Rosie and me on her runs or hikes.

And since working out wasn't my favorite thing to do, I had to be motivated by others or bribed to get it done.

Did I completely suck at sports? Nope. If I had wanted to join a sport's team, I could have.

Was I too lazy to get off the couch and turn off Netflix? Yes. That was always the problem with me. My hobbies included all the nerdy stuff and none of the athletic stuff.

It doesn't help that majority of my family was the same way, minus my gramps and dad. They were two of the most adventurous people I knew, who had attempted the craziest things from free climbing to cliff diving.

They inspired me to want to do something that thrilling too. But maybe bungee jumping or sky diving instead. My daredevil-ness had its limitations.

When dad was still here, I remembered he used to wake me up early on his off days, and we'd go bike riding down by the river. I used to fuss about being woken up so early, but during the ride, I'd be having the time of life and admiring the vibrant hues of the sunrise. The hour no longer mattered.

I'd give anything to have those days back. I found it hard to understand how some of the smallest actions you've missed could hurt the most. All those breakfast feasts, late-night dinners after one of his long shifts, baking a cake for every occasion, and untangling the Christmas tree lights by the fire with a steaming mug of coffee.

I've tried to do all of those things by myself, I even tried to bring mom into it, but it didn't feel the same.

My shoulder sagged with the memories weighing on my heart, and my footsteps slowed.

"Are you thinking about turning around? I promise I don't bite."

I gasped, spinning on my heel. Cam was standing at his front door in grey joggers and a hockey jersey. From here, I could see that his hair had some glossiness to it, like it was still wet from a shower earlier. My eyes traveled further down, stopping at his lips which curled up at the corners. And those biceps, he had his arms crossed, leaning against the door frame. So you could imagine how they bulged from the simple action.

Why did I have to have a thing for guys with nice biceps?

Wait a minute.

Oh crap. I was in front of Cameron's house, dragging my feet like a zombie. He probably looked out his window and thought I was a total weirdo.

I shook my head rapidly. "No. No." I said, looking from left to right in a panic. "I was just," I palmed my forehead, willing the words to come out. "Nevermind. I'm fine." I tried to laugh it off.

Judging by the expression on Cameron's face, he had questions, but he changed the subject.

Cameron's smile waned a bit as he said, "Well then. Come on in." He waved me inside.

I jogged right over, skipping up the porch. "Hi," I muttered out of breath with a stupid wave that included my palm shaking in front of his face.

Stop it, Summer, please.