Personal Growth

He chuckled, relaxing. "My numbers," he winked, "are excellent."

"Jesus Christ." I decided it was safe to let him see me smile at that. He was looking at my legs again. Men love my legs. They like most of me, but my legs are special. Only my eyes top them. Cam pursed his lips. "What's on your mind?" I nearly shuddered when, stirring, he dragged his eyes slowly up my body. It was an undressing glance, a cruelly invasive one. He smiled lazily when he got to my face.

"Nothing much. Grooming." He pinned my eyes with his, nodding just once as I went crimson. He got to his feet, and I was proud of myself when I didn't glance down to see if he was hard. Growth, you know? "I bet your boss made you take this trip."

"Yep." I brushed my bobbed straight hair back. "What about yours?"

"Nah." He made a dismissive flapping gesture with his hands. "Mine got mad at me. Didn't want me to leave."

"Your numbers are excellent," I muttered. My coffee was almost gone. I started the stove again for the next batch.

He nodded. "I make her look pretty good. But she's totally dependent on me." He shrugged crookedly. "So she never stops me when I want to bust out of town for a bit."

I laughed. "On a family trip," I nodded. "Here. To the back of beyond. With one of the most annoying women ever."

He suppressed a wider, more devious grin. "Well. She makes up for it in other ways, you know?" He strode off toward Denise's old room, his feet loud even in slippers. "See you," he nodded over his shoulder.

"Yeah," I called after him. "You too." The nerve. Grooming.

If he only knew.

* * *

They were gone all afternoon, Denise showing him the Quaint Sights of Our Picturesque Town, which pretty much just consisted of an old mill and a couple of postcard views of Grapnell Lake with an old-school pumphouse by the dam. There was a restaurant in there, where they probably ate because they sure as hell weren't back for my mom's dinner. "Pass the green beans?" I asked, my parents trading a glance. It was the most I'd eaten all week, by far.

"Cam helped me with my car today," Dad said carefully, eyeing Mom. "Not much, you know. I don't know that he's got that much mechanic in him. But he did what he could."

"Oh." My mom sounded Mojave-dry. "Goody."

My dad gave her a flinty glance. He did that kind of thing well, that air of inscrutability; he'd gotten it from his mother. I'd loved Grandma Hirono, and not just because she was feisty and took no shit from my grandpa. No, I liked what she'd given me. Her genes kicked ass; being one-eighth Japanese had gotten me an awful lot of dick over the years. She'd given me a lot of things men wanted, but mostly the eyes. He turned to me. "What do you think of him, Anna?"

I just chewed placidly. "Girl code, Dad," I told him, shrugging apologetically. "I can't talk about her boyfriends to anyone but her, you know?"

"Okay," he tried again. "Hypothetically?"

"Hypothetically? He's a guy with a scar." I laughed with him. I could see that he was happy to hear me do that. I'd been moping since the moment I'd arrived. Even Mom stirred, smiling a little. "Guys with scars get lots of attention. And your daughters are always pretty willing to pay attention."

"You can say that again," Mom tutted, whatever moment of warmth she'd just felt overshadowed at once by her usual maternal spite. She'd earned it, though, on this subject; both Denise and I had gotten ourselves into more than our share of penis-related trouble over the years. Mom knew about relatively little of it, but what she did know was more than enough. So I just kept my mouth shut, which was handy since I was still chewing anyway.

A dark, snowy evening found me on the loveseat with Denise planted firmly in Dad's recliner, the two of us chatting carefully about subjects neither of us was likely to be offended by. We'd always done that kind of dance, and both of us were relieved that we fell right back into it after all these years. But it did mean we ran out of things to talk about, which is why Cam looked quizzically at the two of us when he came in. "Wow. You two are real balls of fire."

"Shut up, hon." Denise didn't take her eyes off the TV. "Bring me a Coke? Pretty please? With sugar on top?"

"You seriously want him to add sugar to a Coke?" I waited for someone to laugh at that, but I was disappointed. So I just glanced up at Cam, who stood incongruously in a t-shirt and a pair of Star Trek boxers. "Bring me a glass of wine, please?"

"I'm not a waiter, ladies," he grumbled, but that didn't stop him from bringing a generous glass of Malbec. I thanked him with a smile. "All your folks have is diet, babe," he shrugged to Denise.

"Fuck that shit." She was feeling cross, but Cam didn't bother taking offense. He just took the far end of my loveseat and started nursing a beer.

Around eleven I looked up from my book, a sports show droning aimlessly on the screen like a picture hanging on the wall. I looked over at Denise, snoring hard on the other couch, then glanced at Cam. "She's fucking toast," I observed, rolling my eyes. "She always does this kind of thing." My phone vibrated as a text slipped in.

"She naps an awful lot," he agreed, hitching one shoulder in a sardonic shrug. I leaned back into the soft couch, my legs stretched far out ahead of me. He smiled over at Denise. "It's the only time she shuts up."

I laughed, a wide-open braying laugh, then glanced guiltily across to make sure Denise was still out. Oh yes. Her mouth was wide open. "You can say that again," I muttered. I was buried in my phone.

"Sorry if I skeeved you out, earlier," he smiled. "About your legs."

"Hmm?" I was paying no attention at all. The text was from Julian, a guy who'd played with me about seven or eight months ago, letting me know in no uncertain terms that he was interested in playing some more. I hid a grin, but I couldn't stop a fleeting spasm from my pussy; Julian had been an excellent lay. "What's that?"

"This morning." He nodded toward my legs. "I'm sorry if I freaked you out, commenting on your shaving."

I put my phone down and stretched, still remembering Julian. "Oh! Come on now. You're almost family, bud." I shrugged. "And you were right. I did feel better. I do need to take care of myself. So." I favored him with a new smile, one of the genuine ones. "All good in the hood, Cam."

"I just didn't want you to think I was staring at your legs," he went on after a pause. "Even though, you know, I totally was."

"You totally were," I chuckled, and he smiled back. "Look, dude, you're just a man. Men like to look."

"They do indeed." He propped his feet up on the table beside mine. His thighs looked fucking great. My pussy, still fluttering from the text, fluttered some more. Down, girl! I told myself.

"So do women, anyway." He said nothing, but he did cross his legs. He understood. "Glad we cleared that up, Cam. But don't let Denise catch you. She probably wouldn't like it so much, you feasting your eyes on my ugly hairy legs."

He laughed, not even glancing at my sister. "She's got nothing to worry about," he said after a careful pause. "Hers are almost as nice as yours."

"Almost!" I put on a look of mock outrage and threw one of my mom's thickly embroidered pillows at him. He blocked, smiling. "That's a jerky thing to say."

"It's a true thing to say." He shrugged. "I call them like I see them. Hers are fucking great," he winked. "Yours are better."

"Aww. Thanks." I preened despite myself, deciding I liked Cam. That was unusual; I'd hated most of Denise's boys. "You're good at flattery. Sales background."

"You're easy to flatter." He sipped at his water bottle. "Runs in your family."

"Listen to you," I scoffed. "You're already in, dude. You don't need to lie about peoples' legs anymore. You passed out of that stage when you slipped a ring on that one," I went on, jerking my head at the sleeping Denise. "Your Princess Charming." He didn't answer at once, and when I swiveled my head toward him I was surprised to find him looking pensive. "What?"

"Nothing." He looked away. "Just kind of funny. 'Princess Charming.'" He looked back at me, all serious now. "I'm wondering sometimes if we should."

"Should?" I gathered my legs beneath me and turned to face him, perching on the couch. "What do you mean?"

"Should." He licked his lips. "Get married."

"Of course you should," I said at once, mostly because I knew I had to. "She's a great girl. You, like, seem like a great guy. You're in love." I trailed off, his face not changing. "Aren't you?"

"I think so," he shrugged, his eyes lingering on my sister. "I know so, a lot of the time."

I hesitated, wondering whether I knew Cam well enough to pry, and then deciding fuck it. This is my sister we're talking about. And, if that wasn't enough, the family drama of the eventual divorce."So," I began slowly, "why are you getting married?"

He blinked at me, genuinely surprised. "Wait. You don't know?"

"Know what?" I cocked my head. "Cam, I only come back here to visit, like, once in a blue moon. You think I waste time on the phone talking to Denise? I'm a busy woman."

"Yes, she says that about you." He arched an eyebrow. "I think the term she uses is 'cold bitch.'"

"Sounds about right," I muttered, but he was smiling again.

"Don't worry," he said. "I make my own decisions. But you don't know, though? Really?" I just shook my head blankly, so he sighed. "I knocked her up, Anna."

"Oh my god!" I couldn't stop my voice from rising. It had no effect on Denise. "No way."

"Yes way," he went on quietly, staring over to make sure she wasn't waking. "She's... not pregnant anymore. But by the time it happened, I'd already asked, and... well." He shrugged. "You can't unring that bell."

"Poor thing," I sighed. Denise had had two miscarriages that I knew about. I fingered the hem of my thin t-shirt, one of the ones I'd left here when I'd gone to college. I was proud that it still fit. "Uh. So. Yeah. You can't really dump her now, I guess," I giggled. I meant it as a joke, but he just shrugged.

"I know, right?" He glanced at his phone and then sighed theatrically. "Guess my only recourse now is just to pick up floozies and fuck them behind her back, right?"

"Well, duh," I smiled. I was having fun for the first time in weeks. "Only the really skanky ones, though. For a change of pace." He was nodding at me now, and I wasn't sure about the way he was looking at me. I kept picking at my shirt, Denise's snores filling the room. "Plenty of STDs."

"Oh no," he protested. "I only find clean chicks." He was definitely looking at me differently now, a harder look, almost bleak. "I've cheated on her," he nodded, and I felt myself going very still.

I licked my lips. "Like, how many times?"

"So far?" He chuckled, a very grown-up chuckle, my mouth falling open. "Not too many. Four, maybe."

"No shit." My voice went all hushed along with his, my eyes widening.

"Yes shit." He shrugged. "I feel kind of guilty about it. But she still loves me."

I was slowly coming around to the idea that he wasn't kidding. "Does she know?" I asked quietly.

"Hell no. She'd kill me."

"Yes. She would," I shuddered. I'd seen what she could do to cheating boyfriends. "You have to tell her."

"Why?" He gave me more of that hard-eyed look, then shrugged with a little half-smile. "What she doesn't know won't hurt her."

I went very still. "Then why are you telling me?" I asked after a few seconds.

I caught a slow grin, almost a smug one, spreading across his face. "You looked curious." He fixed me again with that stare, and I found myself nodding. "You're the type that wants to know."

He was right, dammit. "I dig. And then I hold onto things," I agreed. "She's always mocked me about that. She wears her heart on her sleeve."

"And you?" He wasn't really asking, except rhetorically. "You keep things close. You keep your secrets." He arched an eyebrow. "I can tell. You remind me of myself."

"Heaven forbid."

He laughed. "Like I said. You're just like me," he paused, "but with tits."

I found myself joining in his laugh, intrigued and, now, a little attracted to him. Down, girl. "Well," I said slowly, smirking, "I hope there are one or two other differences too, Cam."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." I was very aware, suddenly, of his boxers. "More important ones. I mean, you've got tits too."

"I do," he agreed, nodding solemnly, "but they're not as nice as yours."

"Shame!" I chuckled, smacking at his shoulder. He smiled crookedly. "I'm your future sister-in-law. You're not supposed to notice, you perv."

"I'm just a man," he went on, staring at me hard again. "Men like to look."

I took a deep breath, my pussy now waking up a bit more. No, I told myself. I could not fall for this guy. I must not. I nodded. "I get that. And maybe you're right, sort of. I'm just like you," I decided., and then I felt myself flush as I raised my eyes to his. "But I'm trying to change."

"Some people can't." He wasn't arguing; he was just stating a fact, bleakly, evenly, and I knew he was right.

But.

"I can," I snapped. "I've spent all my life being told I can't do stuff." I shrugged. "I like a challenge."

"To stop? Completely? Cold turkey?" He laughed grimly, the scar dancing. "She's right. You really must be a cold bitch."

I arched my eyebrow. "Personal growth, Cameron. I'm trying."

He was staring into my eyes. "How long?"

"How long?"

"Has it been." He looked pointedly at my lap.

I shivered despite myself, thinking about that last time, the day Aaron had told me to go away. Those two guys from the bar at Bernoullis, the weird wakeup, the jagged urinations... "Almost two weeks," I admitted.

He nodded. "And. Normally?"

I laughed bitterly. "Jesus. Three, four times a week?" I couldn't believe I was telling him this. But the recklessness was stalking me now, like a growl from around the corner. I smirked. "Often. We'll just leave it at that."

Cam held my gaze while we both chewed over the thought, my blush spreading south to my chest. I knew he could see, and cursed myself for it. "Personal growth. Self-improvement." He shrugged. "What the hell. Maybe I'll give it a whirl too."

I felt my smile, giddier than I should have been. "Do. I could use some moral support."

He laughed again and glanced over at Denise. "Honestly?" He leaned his head against the back of the couch and fixed me with lidded eyes. "There's nothing all that moral about me, Anna. If you're looking to avoid having sex, I'm the wrong guy to talk to about it."

I knew I should shut up. That I should get up and leave. That I should have left awhile ago. That I should definitely slouch over a bit; he could certainly see my nipples poking out the front of my tight shirt, the way I was sitting. That I should never, ever, in a million years never, let this conversation continue. The New Anna, the one I'd decided to find, would obey that voice and say good-night. Growth.

Instead, I just arched my back and smiled. "Well. I guess that gives us something to shoot for over the holidays." I tossed my head sideways toward Denise. "You should get Sleeping Beauty up to bed."

"I should." His eyes followed me as I got to my feet, stretching high. I liked him looking. "Always so nice chatting with you."

I guffawed. I thought of winking at him, but decided there was no need. "Good night, Cam."

My old bedroom was right next to theirs, separated by the little bathroom she and I had always shared, and even before I heard him hauling Denise down the hall I was already bottomless, my underwear kicked into the corner while my finger sank into a pussy gone wet and hot and ready, my palm resting on top of the Brillo pad I'd let my bush become.

Two weeks. Enough personal growth.

I cried out when I came. I'm not sure whether he heard me. But I certainly heard him, the bed in there creaking madly as he and Denise went at it.

* * *

Cam's whiskey tasted sharp and fresh while my coffee steeped the next morning. "Good shit," I gasped a little, the rush sudden after a couple of weeks. "Bulleit?"

"No. My buddy makes it." He took the flask from me, his fingers blunt and dry against mine, then took his own swig. "Yeah. Sets me up just right for the day."

I smiled, the two of us leaning in at each other over the kitchen island like gossiping schoolkids. I noticed he was still wearing the same boxers from last night. It gave me a thrill to think of him putting those back on right after he'd fucked my sister. I wondered again whether he'd heard me. "Big plans?"

"Denise says she wants to do lunch with some friends from high school. Abby? Maybe someone else named Craig?"

I gave a low chuckle. "Craig was the first guy Denise fucked," I whispered. "Abby married him a couple years later."

"Oh." He sat back and raised an eyebrow. "Should be an interesting lunch, then. I bet they'll have a lot to talk about."

"You're not going?"

"Shit no. I'd just sit there in the corner of the booth while they gab." He hesitated, then gave his scarred little smirk. "Probably texting some skank."

"You're terrible." But I was smiling a little, sharing the deviousness. "I should tell her."

"Yeah. No. You shouldn't." He took another drink, then offered me the flask again. "How about you? Another day of cookies and Merlot?"

"Eww. No. I prefer Malbec." I took the flask and swirled his buddy's moonshine in it, my lips puckered, wondering how flirty I should get. Well, that's not quite right: I knew precisely how flirty I should get with Cam. Zero-point-zero. What I was actually wondering was how flirty I would get with Cam. I took my drink, this one less of a burn than the first. "I do have plans. Grooming." The Brillo pad had been itchy last night.

He nodded, his expression carefully neutral. "See?" He looked at the flask in my hand. "A couple days ago you were a wildebeest. Now you're in clean clothes and making shower plans. I'm a good influence on you."

"Moral support," I chuckled.

"Right on." He joined me, the laughter cynical. "I guess I'm better at this than I thought I was." He was looking at me with an odd, furtive hesitation I found intriguing in a man so confident.

"What?" I prodded. "You want to say it? Say it." I turned to get my coffee back on track. "We've got all day here. Why clam up now?"

"Well," he smiled, crossing his legs, "I'm just thinking."

"I know you are." I started the timer. "I mentioned grooming. So I know what you're thinking about."

He laughed easily. "I'm so transparent."

"You're just a man," I reminded him.

He was looking at my face, nodding slightly. "I see you in something minimalist."

I went red instantaneously, but made sure to keep my face as neutral as his, my voice rock-steady. "I'm sure you do."

"A racing stripe." He brought his hand to his chin, the stubble grating against his fingers as he pondered. "Maybe an inch wide. No taper. It picks up maybe two, two and a half inches below your belly button."

I was nodding in mock-thoughtfulness. "Interesting. Thick and curly? Or buzz-cut?"

"Oh, neither. There's definite texture there. Not too thick, though. So as not to show through tights." I glanced down instinctively; I was back in loose jammie bottoms. "Shaved totally clean underneath."

"Wow."

He drank once more. "I'm right. Right?"

"That's a very impressive performance, Cam. You only got one thing wrong. I'm proud of you."

"Well, thank you." His scar quirked upward again. "What'd I get wrong?"

"Nope." I pushed the plunger down, the coffee surging up through the filter. "That's for me to know. I'm done discussing my pubes with you."

He threw his arm over the back of his seat. "We can discuss mine, if you want."