True to his word, Cam arrives at my apartment at 7:30 on Saturday night. I barely managed to get Gen and Mel to leave. I had to tell them a girl I'm talking to is coming over so they'd agree to go. The last thing I wanted to tell them was the truth. If they knew Cam was on his way to the apartment, they'd freak out. They know about my rule and they know my original intentions with him. They'd make the assumption and wouldn't let me say otherwise.

"Will Mel and Gen be joining us for dinner?" he wonders as he follows me up the stairs to the second floor.

"No." I push open the door and let him trail in behind me. I watch as his eyes admire the feminine decorations around the apartment. Gen and I both gave Mel free reign over designing the apartment. All we did was chip in money. This resulted in an assortment of vibrant decorations being tossed around the apartment. The kitchen is bright yellow; the bathroom is a popping turquoise; the living room is bold red; everything in our apartment looks like it's straight out of a pop art portrait.

"Are they here?" He peers around as he follows behind me.

"Does it matter? I'm not sleeping with you either way," I reply jokingly as I lead the way to the kitchen. He offers up a short laugh as I shake my head and motion to the front door. "They're hanging out with our friend."

"Interesting." He sheds off his jacket and I'm pleasantly surprised to find that he's not dressed in his usual attire- a hoodie and jeans. Instead, he has a plain white t-shirt on and black sweatpants. I sigh to myself as I mentally drool over how good he looks. If only he was a normal college guy, then I'd be able to admire him up close and personal in my room with less clothes.

"So what's on the menu?" My lips curl into a suggestive beam and he assesses my face while laughing.

"Well, did you defrost the chicken like I asked?" I point to the poultry that I set out earlier per his request. He nods in approval before approaching the sink to wash his hands. "What do you want?"

I fight the desire to let out a quiet groan as I stare at him. Oh boy. I know what I want. I clear my throat and shrug as I pull myself onto the counter. Mel would have a heart attack if she saw my bottom on the marble. "Whatever you can make," I insist while admiring his muscular forearms as he shakes the water droplets from his hands. "I'm not picky."

"Oh, I know." His rude comment paired with a teasing laugh earns a lemon to the chest. He watches it fall to the ground before picking it up and rinsing it off. "Stop throwing fruits."

"Would you prefer I throw knives?" I motion to the wooden block of sharpened silverware to the left of me.

"Sure just make sure they stick the landing." He searches my cabinets for ingredients and slowly takes them from the shelves. "Speaking of Rex and Danny-," he attempts to start a conversation but I cut him off as I shake my head in surprise.

"I haven't said a single thing about them at all." I didn't even know he put two and two together that Rex and Danny are my "friends." He's smarter than I thought.

"I think I have a class with Rex." He finds a mixing bowl and places it on the counter beside me. "What does he look like?"

"What does your Rex look like?" I flip the question and he lets out a small chuckle.

"Tall, dark skin, skinny, ear length locs, a nose piercing," he describes Rex pretty accurately. I purse my lips awkwardly. How do I react to this?

"Yeah, that's him." My confirmation earns a slow nod from Cam.

"Is he also a finance major?" I allow my shoulders to lift and drop the over-sized sweater hanging off my torso.

"No clue." We've never really gotten to know each other, unless you count getting to know our bodies. But I don't think he wants to know about that and I don't really want to tell him about that.

"Is he a junior?" He continues with the pointless questions as seasons the meat.

"I think." He looks at me with a raised brow and I shrug once more, this one a bit defensively. "I told you. I don't really talk to them. How'd you even know their names to begin with?"

"That time Gen was drunk in my car," he confirms my suspicions. I want to groan as I watch him glide around the kitchen.

"So where'd you learn how to cook?" I blurt in an indiscreet attempt at changing the subject. He gives me a pointed glance before continuing his search for a proper pot.

"Uh..." he trails as he stares into the bowl. "Many different places. My nanny taught me. I watched cooking videos. I took a cooking class in high school."

"You had a nanny?" I pry with raised brows. My sisters and I took turns watching each other whenever my mom worked, so I was the nanny.

"Yes," it comes out in the form of a sigh as he blinks in thought. "My dads were always busy so they hired a nanny to take care of me. This was before they adopted my younger siblings, which is when they decided to just work less."

"Wow..." I trail as I stare at the ground in slight amazement. "Are you close to them?"

"My dads?" he questions and continues once I nod, "yeah. Their names are Peter, who I call Dad, and Joe, who I call Pa. I'm closer to Peter, only because he's cooler. Joe is also cool but is very over-protective."

"Over-protective?" How could he be overprotective? Cameron doesn't do anything. 

"He doesn't like me going to parties and he's given me numerous lectures about alcoholism and the negative effects it has on your body;" eye roll, "I'm sure every parent does it but he goes overboard and starts talking to me like I'm a doctor. Don't even get me started on his drug lectures."

I let out a quiet laugh as I imagine Cam being scolded about drugs and alcohol. "He cares about you."

"I don't doubt that," he mutters before letting a matching grin fall onto his lips. Before he can change the subject to my family, whom I'm not sure I want to talk about just yet, I decide to interrupt.

"Entertain me. Pretend this is your cooking show," I insist as I motion to my kitchen. "Pretend like you're," I struggle to think of a chef, "Gordon Ramsay and you're teaching me how to cook."

He smiles hesitantly up at me. "You want me to degrade you?" Maybe, I think, but I opt for scoffing.

"Not like that," I roll my eyes, "you know what I mean."

He gives a slow nod. "Okay, so first, we have to gather the ingredients." I grab a chair and drag it to the entrance of the kitchen. I pull my legs onto it and watch him dance around. He rummages through my cabinets, listing off the spices he picks out and plops them on the counter.

"This is the most boring cooking show ever." He blinks at me with a sassy smirk on his lips as I pretend to lift a remote and click through the channels.

"We could make this more interesting," he insists as he peers into one of the cabinets he has open. He reaches in and takes out a familiar bottle of wine, which gets an entertained glance from me. I was under the impression that he doesn't drink.

"Oh, you've found our special wine," I note as he holds it out for me to see.

"What makes it special?" He skims the label curiously. It's nothing expensive. It's the only good wine we can afford that tastes half decent.

"We drink it whenever we have a girl's night, which happens about once every few months. It's a night where we sit down on the couch, put on sad chick-flicks, and cry about the state of our lives." His brows inch up on his forehead as he slowly nods at me. "Open it up."

I watch as he retrieves two glasses and gives them a little shake at me, like a mother sneaking around at night while the kids are asleep. I let out a giggle as he generously pours into each cup. Once the glasses are filled, he carries them over to the counter nearest to me and hands me one. "Here you go," he says with a small bow towards me. I fight off my grin as I glance back at the meal he's currently attempting to make.

"Just to be clear, you want to cook and drink at the same time?" I watch him twist the cup in his hand. "That doesn't sound dangerous to you?"

"By the time it hits me, I'll be done cooking," he assures me as he motions to the food around him. He holds up his glass to me. "Cheers?"

"To what?" I wonder and he grins widely.

"Cheers to...two players trying to better themselves." I sigh and clink my glass against his. He takes a sip as he returns to the cutting board.

"I thought you don't drink." I stare at him and watch as his shoulders bounce up and down.

"I don't really," he mutters, "I'm not opposed to drinking. I just don't do it. My friends make you drink until you're absolutely wasted, especially me because I never do it. I don't like looking goofy so I just don't do it. But I don't think you'll make me drink to that point, right?"

"Definitely not," I conclude with a wide grin. "You're already too much for me to deal with sober."

"Nice one."

"Come on, are you having a conversation with your audience? What a shitty host." I watch as he takes another sip of his drink. He pulls it away mid-chuckle.

"Hey, you changed the channel!" I pat around with my free hand and sigh.

"It seems as though I've lost the remote," I mutter before magically finding it. I hold it up and pretend to press a button.

"Back to our scheduled programming..." he trails as he holds up his glass. I smile and watch him vocalize his actions for the next half hour, finishing my current glass and taking on another. He eventually serves us the meal as I drag my chair back to the table, excited to try the food he just made.

"It looks good..." I trail as he places some of the buffalo chicken pasta onto my plate.

"Try it," he insists as he takes the seat beside me. I take a forkful into my mouth and sigh in delight as I chew it.

"It tastes really good." I continue to chew it and savor every second of it. Once I manage to get it down, I grin at him. "You know how to cook."

"I do." He tilts his head at me as I grin back, letting my gaze flit from both of his dark eyes, which are laced with what I can only assume is happiness. "Are you drunk?"

"A little," I admit as I take another bite of the pasta.

"What a lightweight." He chuckles at me as he nurses his glass.

"I had way more than you," I acknowledge before narrowing my eyes at him. "Was this your goal? To get me drunk?"

"Of course not." His head bobs from side to side and I narrow my eyes threateningly. I shift in my seat and try to pull my leg onto my chair. Because I'm uncoordinated, I accidentally brush my foot against what I'm assuming is his thigh by the way he shifts a bit. "Are you trying to seduce me again? I'm still not going to sleep with you."

I roll my eyes at him before letting out a sad and dramatic sigh. "Yeah, I know," I grunt, which gets a loud laugh from him.

"Are you stringing me along just to sleep with me?" he wonders as he stirs his pasta with a fork. As my eyes skim his face, I can see past the joking tone to his voice. He seems genuinely curious and a little nervous for my answer. I scoff and shake my head.

"No," I retort before letting a small smile fall onto my lips, "because I don't even want to sleep with you. Now can you shut up and just let me eat?"

"Done," he concurs with a curt nod.

Once the meal is finished, after I went back for seconds and he watched with an entertained grin, I drag him from the kitchen. He insists on washing dishes despite my dismissal of his requests. I only manage to get him out when I grab him by the hands and tug him towards the living room. Realistically, I don't do much dragging. He walks reluctantly with me and takes a seat on the couch, where I join him urgently. I sit across from him and watch as he takes a slow sip of his drink.

"So what now?" I wonder and he stares back at me with a thoughtful expression on his face. Once he comes up with a decent enough answer, he purses his lips and then opens his mouth.

"Tell me about your family," he insists as he presses his glass to his mouth. He doesn't lift it though and I can only stare at him anxiously. 

"Uh...my family isn't like yours." I awkwardly twiddle my thumbs as I think about my family in comparison to his.

"What, you're telling me that you don't have two dads?" Despite his teasing tone, I feel the need to explain.

"No, I mean, your family seems...normal...healthy," I mumble. "Mine isn't."

"I understand that not everyone has the same background as me." His eyes follow mine as he assures me. "And I'm not going to judge you. Or laugh. Or anything slightly asshole-ish that you seem to be scared of."

I sigh as I stare at him. He sounds convincing enough and for some reason, I feel like opening up to him and letting him know things about me. Maybe then he won't believe that I'm only sticking around to get in his pants. "Well, all of my sisters are close and we talk about everything together. We fight sometimes but at the end of the day, they're my main support systems. If I had to choose, I'm closest to Nola. who is a year older than me in case you don't remember our ages. Sometimes, I forget."

"I remember the order." He offers me with a confident grin. "What about your parents? Are you close with them?"

I hesitate a bit as I contemplate my answer. I could say 'yes' and leave it at that. Maybe he'd ask a follow up question or two and that'd be it. Or I could be honest with him. I swallow nervously as I hoist my legs up onto the couch. "Kind of." I wrap my legs around my knees. "My mom and I have an average relationship; we argue sometimes but are cordial most of the time. She supports all of my endeavors as long as I'm not an idiot. My...dad and I were really close."

He notices my uncertainty and scrutinizes my face, which I've forced a smile onto. "What was your dad like?" His tone is hushed as if speaking any louder might trigger a pool of tears to be released. I watch as he raises his drink to his mouth again and takes a longer sip.

"Like me," I blurt as I stare at the hard wood floor of the living room. Memories pour into my mind like water from the faucet and a genuine but sad grin makes its way to my mouth. "My mom says that out of all of the girls, I'm the most like him.  He was a smart-ass. He used to annoy the hell out of my mom; it was fun to watch. They loved each other so much that it makes me sometimes wonder if soulmates and all that crap is possible."

"What'd you guys do together?" I try to mentally list things I could tell him. Which memory could portray my father best?

"My parents used to own a bakery and he'd open crazy early. Instead of waking up with my mom and sisters at 7, I'd get up and eat breakfast with him at 4 and watch the sunrise." I recall the years of routine. "There's also the time I crashed his car."

"That's a good memory?" I stare at his small smile for a few seconds before averting my gaze back to the floor. I trace circles on my calves as I vividly remember the day it happened.

"Yeah. I was 15 and he was illegally trying to teach me how to drive. He told me not to tell my mom for obvious reasons. When she asked about the scratches, he told her that someone had hit the car with a shopping cart. I later realized that he only wanted to teach me because he knew he wouldn't make it until I was 16. It was one of my last real memories with him." I feel Cam staring at me and I can feel the question floating around in the air. How'd he die? I can also sense that he doesn't want to overstep his boundaries by asking so I decide that since I've told him this much, I might as well tell him the rest of the story. My stomach clenches as if I'm back at my dad's bedside in the hospital and I clear my throat to relieve the incoming nausea. "He had...he had lung cancer. He, uh, had it for a while. It all happened so fast, really. One week, he was still working long hours and the next he was in the hospital. We all knew it was coming but...not so soon."

"When?" he wonders in that same silenced tone and I let out a long sigh.

"The end of 10th grade." I tug my hand through my hair before indiscreetly wiping my eyes. Tears had formed in the corners and if I had waited a second more, they'd have fallen. "It was hard. It still is hard sometimes...all the time. I miss him every day. I wish he could see what I was doing now."

"I think he'd be proud of you," he announces after a few seconds of silence.

"He was always proud of me. All he wanted was for me to be happy," I tell Cam, who tilts his head.

"Are you?" His question is genuine and curious and I bite my lower lip. I blink down at my knees before looking up at him.

"I don't know. Sometimes," I answer before letting out a quiet huff. I press my fingers to my tear ducts and wait for the lump in my throat to pass. "Can you tell me more about your family?"

"What do you want to know?" he asks as he lightly nudges my foot with his. I squint up at the ceiling in thought.

"Anything." He falls into stories about his siblings and we go back and forth, sharing the good memories and laughing wildly at embarrassing recounts. It's comforting being able to talk to him about my family. I never really talk about them with anyone other than Gen and Mel, and even then it's short and condensed. He seems interested, which makes my lips pull up into a large grin that I find hard to fight off, even though my eyes are still red from the tears that almost fell earlier.

My phone cuts off our conversation by ringing from the kitchen table. I heave myself up to get it, knowing that if someone's calling at nearly 11 at night that it must be important. I press answer when I see that it's Mel. "Hey, are you done hanging out with that girl?" she asks and I stare at the floor in confusion before remembering my lie.

"Uh no, but I can be," I trail as I stare at Cam, who watches with an intrigued look on his face. "Why?"

"Gen and I are coming home. The parties got shut down," she responds meekly. "We're twenty minutes away."

"Okay." I hang up and turn my attention back to Cameron, who's staring at me with a patient expression on his face. Again, for the fifth time tonight, I'm realizing how good he looks. I shake the thought from my head before pointing at the door. "Mel and Gen are coming home soon."

"So that's my cue," he announces as he stands up. "We should hang out again. This was...fun."

"Yes." I grab his jacket from the back of the kitchen chair. I hand it to him and find a hopeful smile on his face.

"Really?" he asks with raised brows.

"Sure, why not?" I mutter as I walk with him to the door. "Do you want me to walk you home?"

"No, I want you to stay here and get some sleep." He hesitates before nibbling his bottom lip. "And thank you...for talking to me."

For a second I'm confused. Then I realize he means my father. "Thanks for listening," I mutter. He surprises me by reaching out and ruffling my hair.

"I'll see you soon, Flizzy," he says as he opens the door. I offer him a nod before backing up and heading back to the living room. Now to get rid of the evidence...