THE WRONG KIND OF TROUBLE

Chapter 8

"I guess I deserved that."

I snapped out of my subconscious state, only realizing that Cameron was standing barely an inch away from me. His palm was cupped over his left cheek, which was now turning a deep shade of red.

I exchanged glances with Liz and Wes, who stood on either side of me, their eyes wide with shock. A hush had settled over the area. The partygoers near us had abandoned their conversations and turned their attention toward the scene I had just created. The weight of their stares made my skin prickle with discomfort.

I couldn't believe I had slapped Cameron. I should be glad—I had been dying to do that for months. Maybe it was the rage I had bottled up inside me, the festering wound he had left behind, that finally pushed me to act. But now that it had happened, there was no satisfaction. Not even a sliver of it.

Instead, I watched him rub his cheek with an almost amused smile, and something inside me twisted, like an arrowhead digging deeper into my gut. I sucked in a sharp breath, holding it in my lungs for a millisecond before letting it rush out. A hand landed on my chest. I turned my head. Liz.

She was gesturing at me, mouthing something, but I couldn’t make out what it was. My mind was too clouded, my body too tense.

The music had stopped. Everyone was watching us.

Before I could say anything, a familiar voice rang out.

"Well, that was awkward."

Jennifer.

She giggled, a fake, saccharine sound that sent my blood boiling. My fingers curled into fists at my sides, resisting the overwhelming urge to rip that smug look off her face. Instead, I dug my nails into my palm.

Mercifully, the DJ restarted the music, a mashup of an ’80s classic with an early 2000s dance track. The party slowly resumed, people returning to their conversations, their laughter, their dancing.

I saw Cameron glance toward the DJ booth and give a subtle thumbs-up. The DJ nodded back.

Then, without hesitation, Cameron grabbed Jennifer’s wrist and hauled her away from us. She whined in protest, trying to wrench herself free, but his grip was firm.

I exhaled a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Finally, it was over. I could move on and enjoy the party with my friends. But I should have known better.

Cameron returned.

Jennifer stomped off in a huff, her heels clicking angrily against the floor as she disappeared into the crowd. He was rubbing the back of his neck as he approached—a nervous habit I knew all too well.

Wes cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah. I think I saw Daniella over there." He gestured vaguely to the right. "I'm gonna go talk to her."

He patted my shoulder before making his grand escape.

"Oh, Gustin's calling," Liz suddenly announced.

My brows furrowed. "Wait. Gustin? My brother Gustin?"

"N-no." Liz rolled her eyes. I could tell she was lying.

"Why is my brother calling you?"

"This isn’t your brother. There are a lot of Gustins in the world, okay?!" She flailed her arms defensively.

I blinked, surprised at how obvious she was being.

Her phone continued to ring. "I really need to get this. Sorry."

Before disappearing, she turned back and muttered, "Good luck."

Not helpful at all.

Cameron cleared his throat, bringing my attention back to him. I shot him my best "get-away-from-me" glare. He didn’t budge.

Ugh.

"Let me start over," he said, extending his hand toward me. "Hi, Samantha."

I hesitated before accepting his handshake. His palm was warm, soft, despite the years of strumming guitar strings and pounding

drumsticks. The familiar contact sent an involuntary shiver up my spine.

"I'm glad you could make it," he added.

The music was loud, making it hard to hear him. I leaned in slightly, our faces coming closer than I would have liked. My skin prickled with heat.

"Why are you talking to me?" I shouted over the music.

He just smiled. Annoyingly. Jennifer is going to murder me.

He chuckled. "She's not going to kill you."

Oh yeah? How do you know, you two-timing, guitar-strumming i***t?

I hadn’t seen her since Cameron dragged her away. Where was she now? Plotting her next evil scheme?

"I want to talk," he said, his voice barely audible over the bass. "In private."

My jaw slackened. So did my pulse. Before I could protest, he took my wrist and led me upstairs. I knew where we were going before we even got there.

His bedroom.

The moment he closed the door, the pounding music dulled. It was still loud, but muffled enough that we could hear each other clearly. Cameron removed his guitar and placed it gently on the bed. I stayed by the door, arms crossed.

Why did he bring me here? He could have chosen any quiet corner of the house. Any hallway. Any balcony.

But no.

He brought me here. To the place where I had once given him all of me. I swallowed the lump in my throat and glanced down, instinctively placing a hand over my stomach. He took a step closer. I took one back. He moved forward again. I retreated.

"W-what do you want, Cameron?" I stammered, my back now pressed against the door.

His golden eyes locked onto mine, and I felt my knees go weak. He leaned in, his arm resting against the door beside my head, caging me in. My breath hitched. The air between us had grown thick, heavy. His free hand tilted my chin upward, forcing me to meet his gaze. I fought the urge to melt under his touch, to let my emotions betray me.

I pressed my palms against his chest, pushing weakly, but he didn’t move.

"Samantha," he whispered, his breath warm against my lips.

A shiver ran down my spine. My entire body was trembling, but not from fear.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice barely above a breath.

And then, before I could process what was happening—

His lips touched mine.

The world around me is blurred. The noise of the party, the weight of our past, the months of anger and heartbreak—everything disappeared.

All that remained was the familiar taste of him, the warmth of his body, the ache in my chest.

I should have pushed him away. I should have slapped him again.

But instead—

I kissed him back.