Rules of Summer
Playing By The Rules: Chapter 32

I AM SUCH A DICKHEAD.

I’ve thought it a bazillion times. Said it out loud more than once, specifically to Blair. After she walked out of my apartment and didn’t bother trying to reach out to me, I was so pissed, I did the same thing to her, like a toddler on the verge of a major tantrum.

Lots of, I don’t need her. Fuck women-type chants on repeat in my head these last few days, which is stupid.

The moment I saw her out on the field, all I wanted to do was touch her. Pull her into my arms and kiss her. Tell her how much I missed her over the last few days—which is a lot. Blair Maguire became a regular part of my life that I didn’t expect, and when she disappeared, I felt the loss.

Hard.

I probably shouldn’t have told her I didn’t have it in me anymore to continue what we were doing. I saw the hurt on her face and it made me feel like shit, so what did I do? I pushed her away, which is my usual reaction. If I can’t be there for someone, I just shove them out of my life. That’s what’s easiest on me.

When I started talking to her like the awkward fuck I am, she called me a walking red flag and told me I couldn’t call her by her nickname anymore.

I’ve lost the right. And fuck all if she isn’t one hundred percent correct. I did lose the right. As soon as I told her that I couldn’t be what she wanted, she let me go. She told me she was done and damn, that hurt.

Now we’re at a restaurant together, sitting at the same table, though at least I’m on the other end and not directly facing her. I’m sitting with the guys, locked in an intense conversation with my hero, Owen Maguire, and Knox.

But I can’t stop thinking of the many ways I could possibly get Blair to see me later and explain to her exactly why I’m such a complete dickhead.

But how can I explain any of that without her rolling her eyes, calling me a red flag, yet again, and dismissing me completely? I’d deserve all of that treatment and more. Which circles right back to the ‘I’m not worthy’ statement I love saying to her all the time.

Christ. Even I’m sick of myself.

Instead of sneaking looks at Blair down at the other end of the table every chance I get, I focus on Owen. Taking into consideration his time and his willingness to share all his tips and tricks. The fact that he’s willing to share so much valuable information with me while also pushing his son into the NFL draft is huge. It shows that he cares enough that he wants to help me, and I appreciate it more than he could ever know.

I’m a lucky son of a bitch, and I tell them exactly that.

“You’re not lucky,” Owen says with a faint smile. “You’ve more than proven yourself. You’re worthy of the chance.”

I blink at him, absorbing his words, while Knox continues talking. Maybe Owen is right. I am worthy. I worked really hard to get where I am, and now I should reap the possible benefits. I might not get drafted, but what if I do?

My entire life will change. I won’t take the opportunity and toss it aside. I’ll continue working, striving toward being the best that I can be. I will lead a new team and hopefully replace success again.

“I think I’m gonna head out,” Knox announces about halfway through dinner, pushing back his chair.

Owen stops mid-conversation, his gaze going to his son. “We just started eating.”

“And I’m already done.” Knox points to his empty plate. The guy is always starving. I’ve never seen anyone eat as fast as him.

“Let him go,” Chelsea Maguire says, a fond smile on her face as she studies Knox. “He probably wants to go see Joanna.”

“I do.” Knox doesn’t even hesitate with his answer. Just leaps to his feet, an anxious expression on his face. “Do you guys mind if I leave?”

“You should go,” his mother says without hesitation.

“What about Cam?” Blair asks.

I’m shocked she’d even say my name. She hasn’t acknowledged me since we showed up at the restaurant.

“Do you mind giving him a ride home, Blair?” Knox sends his sister a pleading look. “Mom and Dad are just going to walk across the street to their hotel after dinner, right Dad?”

“I can leave with you now,” I start to say but Knox shakes his head.

“I want to go straight to Joanna’s. Something’s wrong. She won’t answer my texts.” He sounds worried.

“You really care about her, don’t you?” his father asks.

“I do,” Knox says solemnly.

A sigh leaves Owen and he sends his wife a look. “When you know, you just…know. Go to Joanna. Tell her we’re sorry we didn’t get to say goodbye to her.”

Knox hesitates, his gaze shifting between his mom and dad. “Are you sure I can leave? I know you’re flying out tomorrow.”

“We’ll take an Uber,” Owen reassures him.

I sit there uneasy, while Knox hugs his parents and eventually takes off. Leaving just me and the Maguires and Blair, who still won’t look at me. Not really. Everyone is still eating, but my appetite is gone, and I push my plate away from me, checking my phone real quick.

Derek is blowing up my line, sending endless text messages about me showing up at Logan’s later. I send him a response.

Can’t. I’m having dinner with the Maguires.

Derek proceeds to send me a long string of emojis that include eggplants and peaches and the one that looks like something is blowing up. I figure out quickly that he’s asking in emoji-speak if they know I’m banging their daughter.

The fucker.

I send him a single emoji in response.

The middle finger.

I pocket my phone, glancing up to replace Blair watching me, her gaze filled with an unfamiliar emotion. She looks away the moment we make eye contact and disappointment floods me. I hate that she doesn’t even want to look at me. That I’ve ruined everything that was good between us.

We finish dinner in strained silence and the Maguires bail on us after paying the bill—I tried to hand them money to pay for my dinner, but they refused my offer. They head back to the hotel after hugging and kissing on Blair for a few minutes. All while I stand in the entrance to the restaurant and pretend I’m scrolling on my phone.

It’s painful, pretending like what’s happening doesn’t matter. When all it does is matter—so damn much.

The moment her parents exit the restaurant, I make my offer.

“I can replace my own ride home.”

She visibly flinches, like my words hurt her. “No way. You’re stuck with me.”

“More like you’re stuck with me,” I remind her.

An aggravated noise leaves her just before she pushes her way out of the restaurant and into the cold, dark night.

I follow after her, jogging to keep up with her hurried pace across the parking lot. I don’t say a word, worried I might say something to piss her off and I’m not in the mood to feel the full wrath of Blair.

She unlocks the car and slides into the driver’s seat, without hesitation, and I jog around the back of the car, entering on the passenger side. The moment the doors slam shut, I’m assaulted with her scent. That one I keep sniffing covertly from the travel-sized perfume I bought a while ago that I keep in my nightstand like some sort of creeper.

I have issues and every one of them begins and ends with this woman sitting in the driver’s seat of her car.

We drive in silence to my apartment, the only sound is the music coming from the stereo. She’s got a Spotify playlist on and the moment a certain song starts with the gentle tinkling of a piano, she cranks it up, listening to it at full blast, singing along with every single word.

The screen says the song is called “Mad Woman” by Taylor Swift.

Fuck. I’m doomed.

There’s nothing like a mad woman, the lyrics say.

Tell me all about it.

She pulls into a parking spot close to my building, throwing the car into park and turning down the music, glaring at me.

“You know what’s infuriating about you, Camden Fields?”

I brace myself, about to respond when she talks right over me.

“Your ‘oh poor me, I’m not worthy of you’ bullshit that you always spew. Like I’m supposed to feel sorry for you? Or just agree with you and leave you alone? It’s like you can’t see yourself for what you really are, and I’m tired of trying to convince you of it.”

Inhaling deeply, I try to come up with something to say, but her words are a jumble in my brain, hard to decipher. Hard to make sense of.

“I know what you’re thinking. By me saying I’m tired of convincing you is exactly what you want to hear. It feeds into that whole ‘see, I told you I’m not good enough’ crap you’ll spew next. Well, guess what?”

“What?” I whisper, slowly turning to face her.

God, she’s beautiful, especially when she’s mad. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are wild, and she looks like she wants to strangle me.

“You’re right. You’re not worthy. You don’t deserve me. I’m pretty fucking great and if you can’t see that, then that’s your loss. You may win at football and you’ll probably get into the NFL and make a bazillion dollars and have this amazing career. As a matter of fact, I’m positive that you will do exactly that. Women will make thirst-trap posts about you on social media and everyone will think they want you, but they won’t know the real you and that’s a good thing. Because you’re awful. And so fucking blind. You wouldn’t know the love of a good woman if she slapped you in the ass and called you sexy.”

I almost laugh at her slapping my ass comment. What the fuck is she even saying?

Wait a minute. Did she just admit that she’s in love with me?

“I believe in you more than you believe in yourself, and I don’t know why I waste my time. You don’t care about me. Not really. You’re too wrapped up in your own shit to see what’s really happening right in front of your face.”

“Blair—”

“No, don’t bother trying to talk your way out of this. My mind is made up. I’m done with you, Cam. I’m tired of wasting my time on someone who is so blind that he can’t see—”

“Can’t see what?” I interrupt her.

She’s breathing hard. Glaring at me. Her chest rises and falls, her eyes are wide and she blinks at me, like she can’t answer my question.

“Me,” she finally whispers. “You’re so wrapped up in your negative thoughts, so focused on your faults, you can’t see the good things that make you who you are. And you can’t see me. I’m right here, Cam. Waiting for you. And you still can’t see it.”

Her disappointment is thick, filling the close confines of her car, making it hard for me to breathe. I don’t even think when I make the next move.

I lunge for her, cupping her beautiful face, tilting it up and forcing her to look at me. She’s trembling, her lips parting, surprise flaring in her gaze. Just as I dip my head and kiss her.

The kiss is wild. Fucking feral. Our tongues do battle and she’s shoving at my chest, like she wants me to stop, yet she keeps kissing me like she can’t get enough.

I feel the same way. The need to push her away yet pull her in close. It’s fucking confusing.

She tastes amazing.

Feels even better, despite the layers of clothing she’s got on. The puffy black coat, the sweatshirt, her jeans, all of it is denying me access to what I really want, but I’m a determined motherfucker and I’m not going to stop until I can touch actual skin.

My fingers eventually replace her waist and when I press them into her warm, smooth skin, she sighs into my mouth, melting into me.

That’s it. That’s all it takes. I help her get rid of her jacket and she’s shoving my coat off. I tug on her, encouraging her to come over to the dark side and she does exactly that, crawling over the console, her lips never slipping from mine, until she’s in my lap. A warm, sexy bundle who’s straddling me, her hands in my hair, my hands under her sweatshirt, my fingers skimming over the lacy bra covering her breasts.

“I hate you,” she murmurs against my lips at one point, when I’ve got her jeans unzipped and my fingers are pressed against the front of her panties. “I do.”

“I don’t hate you,” I return, sliding my fingers beneath the cotton to replace her wet and hot and ready for me. “I couldn’t hate you if I tried.”

She curls her hand into a fist and lightly socks me on top of my shoulder. “We shouldn’t do this.”

I go completely still, pulling away slightly, so I can stare into her eyes. “You want me to stop?”

I refuse to force myself on any woman, especially this one. She means too much. I respect her too damn much.

Blair says nothing, but I see the way she swallows. The uncertainty in her gaze. I start to withdraw my hand from her panties, but her own hand shoots down, fingers curling around my wrist and stopping me. “No,” she whispers, her head bent, so I can’t see her face anymore.

With my other hand, I slip my fingers beneath her chin, tilting her face back up so our gazes meet once more. She tilts her head to the side when I slide my fingers up her cheek, and she leans into my palm, closing her eyes. I press my fingers against her plump lips, whispering, “Come inside with me.”

She slowly shakes her head. “I can’t.”

I frown. “I don’t have a condom with me.”

A shuddery breath leaves her and she’s quiet for too long.

“I don’t have the heart to go through with this,” she finally admits. “I can’t do this again.”

She’s quiet for a moment and then she adds…

“With you.”

I withdraw my hand from her panties, but she doesn’t crawl off my lap. Instead, she presses her forehead against mine, a ragged sigh escaping her, and then I feel it. Wetness.

Her tears.

“I’m tired, Cam. I can’t be with you like this, giving more of myself to you while knowing you’re just going to push me away yet again when we’re done. I refuse to be your consolation prize.” Finally, she climbs off my lap, falling back into the driver’s seat. She grips the steering wheel, staring straight ahead, the tears now flowing freely down her cheeks.

“Blair—”

She turns on me. “Go. Come back to me when you’re ready, because I think you’re close. We could be so good together. So good for each other. But I’m not going to wait forever. The clock starts now. Think you’ll figure it all out in time?”

“I don’t know,” I croak, needing to be honest with her.

Her eyes close and she leans her forehead against the steering wheel for a moment, like what I just said tore her completely apart.

It probably did.

“That’s what I thought you’d say.” She waves a dismissive hand. “You need to leave.”

I get out of the car, leaning my head back in before I shut the door. “You’re stronger than you think.”

I don’t know why I said that, but I wanted her to know that she doesn’t need me to be any stronger than she already is. She was a badass with that speech she just gave me, even if it fucking hurt to hear her say the words.

“So are you,” she murmurs. “Too bad you can’t see just how strong we’d be together.”