#ONMYWAYTOYOU #EXCLUSIVESCENES — SORRY GIRLS, HE'S TAKEN

Cameron has heard the same thing over and over again. From friends, mostly, and a couple of people he met in classes who should know better than to say intrusive things to someone they barely know.

“You’re a good-looking guy. I’m sure women throw themselves at you.”

Actually, he’s heard the same two things over and over again.

“Does the missus ever get jealous?”

First of all, he could go on all day about how much he loathes the way everyone seems hell-bent on pressing heteronormativity in his face, but as much as he wants to be Mr. All-Political about it, there’s a much bigger concern at hand.

And that is how unbelievably, excruciatingly, these people have got it completely backward.

As he stands in the corner of a house owned by some guy named Jeff who also happens to go to Berkeley, surrounded by the noise of the party, a glass of washed-down vodka in his hand (he can tell it’s about forty percent water) and watches his boyfriend talk to a guy in a backwards baseball cap, Cameron is once again struck by the sheer disbelief that people still see him as the eye candy between the two of them.

It makes him so mad some days it’s sickening. He could only wish he could pack Emery up and take him to Cambridge with him, shove his utter perfectness right into those British pricks’ faces, but then again, what if they agree? What if they agree too much?

The English can be pricks, but they can also be goddamn persuasive. Not that Cameron knows anything about that. The closest a British person has ever come to persuading him was to sway his opinion on tea, which is still holding its ground, despite Earl Grey.

In reality, despite what most people who have seen him for all of two seconds and used that as a basis to judge his character might think, Cameron is not nearly as nonchalant as he has them believe. Not even as nonchalant as he once had himself believing.

No, not at all.

In fact, if there is someone on God’s green earth more jealous than Cameron Brooks today, that person would be Cameron Brooks tomorrow.

And really, nobody can blame him when his boyfriend looks like James fucking McAvoy in that scene in Atonement, staring at Keira Knightley as she rises from the fountain, only about a million times better.

“Hi.”

The glass paused in the air, millimeters away from his lips as the voice reached Cameron’s ear.

Here we go. Time to bust out the old speech.

Sorry, I have a boyfriend. He’s the pretty one right there, and he’s too kind to kick your ass for me, so I’m gonna have to politely decline for the both of—

“I saw you come in with Emery," the stranger suddenly said. “Any chance you can introduce us?”

Cameron turned his head toward her. She has light brown hair and is wearing a dress that looks way too formal for a college party. Her blue eyes look up at him, full of hope.

“Excuse me?”

The girl didn’t seem to notice the irritation beginning to creep into Cameron’s voice. “I’ve had this stupid crush on him since first year. He was the only guy who was ever nice to me…”

Cameron’s ears perked up at the mention of the word crush, but he didn’t let it rattle him.

“…and he’s cute…”

He is.

Cameron listened as she continued rambling, even though he was already painfully aware of where this conversation was headed.

“And we sit together in most of our classes, and unlike the other narcissistic jerks in the room, he actually pays attention to the things I say…”

Cameron took a sip of his drink and immediately cringed.

She sounded smitten, like she was halfway through writing a love confession in her diary. Cameron was in no mood to play Dear Diary. 

He should probably leave. Excuse himself, go over to his boyfriend, and kiss him just to show everyone, including this woman, exactly how drunk and territorial he could get.

“So I thought maybe I should ask him out!”

Cameron’s lips twitched.

He didn’t say anything. He was sure he’d heard her right; he just wasn’t sure where, exactly, in this room she’d managed to pick up the audacity.

Ask him out?

Ask his boyfriend out?

Cameron looked at the woman like she had just popped out of a comic book with a dramatic POW! bubble floating over her head.

First of all, there’s the audacity. This woman just walks up to him and asks somebody’s boyfriend for advice on how to ask that somebody out?

She doesn’t know, a voice in his head whispers, telling him to be nice about it.

Cameron would be honored to give that voice a tangible form and punch it in the face.

He looked ahead again, his eyes landing on Emery. He was still there, talking and smiling, his pretty face completely unobscured by anything. Then Cameron’s brain did something.

It imagined Emery and this girl sitting together in class. Emery being nice, just the way he is. Smiling at her. Listening to whatever she had to say. Leaning over to help her with something. Completely oblivious that this woman had apparently been sitting there all this time, quietly plotting to steal his boyfriend right out from under him.

Cameron’s jaw tightened.

Because now that the image was there, his brain refused to let it go. Suddenly, he could picture an entire semester of it. Her sitting beside Emery. Emery making her laugh. Her looking at him like that. Maybe touching his arm when she laughed. Maybe finding excuses to talk to him after class.

And Emery, because Emery was Emery, probably being completely, devastatingly nice about all of it.

Cameron took another sip of his drink.

He’s had way too much cheap vodka.

“But I have no idea how to bring it up,” she said, laughing awkwardly as she reached for Cameron’s arm to steady herself. “God, I’ve had too much to drink, haven’t I? Anyway, like I said, I saw you guys walk in together and thought—”

“What’s your name?”

“Huh?”

She blinked, then seemed to finally process what he’d asked.

“Sarah. Sarah Pops.”

Cameron pursed his lips to keep himself from laughing.

“Well, I hate to burst your bubble, Sarah Pops,” he said, “but Emery’s taken.”

Sarah just stared at him, dumbfounded.

Cameron smiled.

“Very taken,” he said again, the words feeding the smug little flame of pride burning in his chest.

“That’s odd,” she said. 

Cameron fought the urge to roll his eyes at the sheer fact that she was still here, still talking.

“He never mentioned a girlfriend. All the girls just assumed he was single.”

The smirk on Cameron’s face faded.

For a second, he just stared at her. Then one particular part of that sentence caught up with him.

“All the girls?” His eyebrows slowly pulled together. “The hell does that mean?”

. . . . .

Emery tried not to look bored.

College parties aren’t lame, but once you’ve gone to three of them, you’ve pretty much gone to them all. He wasn’t trying to be ungrateful. High school Emery would’ve been ecstatic to know he’d get invited to more than one party, but truth be told, the vodka was too strong, the music was too loud, and he was starting to get really sleepy.

He almost felt bad for dragging Cameron here with him.

The man had wanted to stay home and cuddle for the one week he was back in America. Emery, on the other hand, had been pumped for everything. Pumped for all the things they could do that didn’t involve rotting in bed, including going to a party at Jeff Nguyen’s house.

Maybe he’d been a little too pumped, because now he had absolutely none left over to actually see this thing through.

“So I told him, if you don’t want students cheating on your exams, then maybe stop making them unnecessarily hard.”

Emery was brought back by Tim’s voice. His blue highlights stuck out from beneath his backwards cap as he bragged about disrespecting his professor for the millionth time that night.

“He knows I’m right. The old man’s a menace.”

“Of course, you could always just drop the class instead of forcing it.”

“And admit defeat? Hell nah.”

Emery almost rolled his eyes before remembering that Tim was sitting directly in front of him.

Instead, his gaze drifted across the room.

Cameron stood in a corner with his drink in hand, looking about as thrilled to be there as someone waiting in line at the DMV. Emery smiled at the sight of him.

He obviously hated it here, but when had that ever stopped him from doing whatever Emery wanted?

Cameron lifted his glass to his lips, took the smallest sip imaginable, then glanced toward the front door for what Emery was fairly certain had to be the fifth time in ten minutes.

Emery knew that look. He was itching to go home.

And frankly, so was he.

Now, all he wanted was to drag his boyfriend out of here, rush home, or maybe make out in the car for an hour or two. Just the thought of it made Emery giddy. He looked down at the drink in his hand, then at the pack of people crowded around him. What was he doing? He could be home right now, in the arms of his hot boyfriend, who would rather be buried in him, too (metaphorically, because saying that literally would be the understatement of the year).

He glanced at Cameron again.

His shirt buttons had come undone somewhere along the night, exposing a generous stretch of his chest, his skin slightly flushed and glistening beneath the heat of the room. His blond hair, usually messy in that annoyingly effortless way, was damp at the edges from sweat, a few strands falling over his forehead. He wore that annoyed expression that Emery loved, because no, it doesn't make him look intimidating. It makes him look adorable.

A familiar hunger bubbled in Emery’s chest.

Kiss.

He needed to kiss him. He needed to feel Cameron’s warm hand against his face, needed to hear him say he wanted to kiss him too, before Cameron actually did it and left Emery forgetting every coherent thought he’d had before.

“God,” Emery whispered to himself, the rim of his cup pressing against his lower lip as he stared.

And stared.

Sometimes, Emery still finds himself acting like the love-sick puppy he was back in high school whenever he's around his boyfriend. It's like his brain was yet to catch up to the fact that, yes. Yes, Emery, you got the guy. You did it.

And every time he realizes it, he can't believe himself.

Emery was just about to excuse himself from Tim and the others, having heard more than enough of whatever story Tim had decided to brag about this time, when something caught his attention. Sarah Pops was weaving through the crowd, making her way toward Cameron from behind him.

Her mouth opened as if to say something. Cameron turned toward her, his head tilted slightly as he gave her his attention.

“Oooh, who’s the hottie?”

Emery turned toward the voice beside him. One of his upperclassmen, Althea, was openly staring at Cameron.

“I’m gay, but I know when hot’s hot,” she said.

Emery chuckled. “That’s my boyfriend.”

“Oh, word? Nice pull, Em!” Then she deadpanned, “For him.”

Emery laughed. Althea liked to joke around. She was kind of the resident comedian of their department.

As Althea excused herself to go dance with her girlfriend, Emery found himself looking back at Cameron and Sarah. Sarah was always around him a lot on campus, but Emery had never really gotten to know her personally. She's pretty, though. And as soon as he admitted that to himself, Emery tried very hard not to stare at her hand resting on his boyfriend’s arm.

Then he tried not to think too hard about what he might do if she started getting too comfortable.

Emery downed what was left of his drink, focusing on the sting in his throat instead of the nerves gathering in his chest as he marched straight through the crowd toward his boyfriend and Sarah Pops.

. . . . .

Cameron thought he already had his hands full with men who couldn’t seem to keep their eyes to themselves whenever Emery was around.

Whenever they went out to dinner, the servers were always the lousiest flirts. They’d linger at their table long after taking their order, smile a little too much whenever Emery spoke, or find some completely unnecessary reason to come back. Fine dining etiquette, Cameron’s ass. One guy had refilled Emery’s water four times in twenty minutes and still looked like he was searching for a fifth excuse to hover around him.

It pissed Cameron right the fuck off.

Not that Emery ever noticed, of course. He never did.

So finding out that apparently half the women in his boyfriend’s classes had the hots for him was a particularly unpleasant addition to his growing list of problems.

“Leslie Tran, Hadley Wilkins, Kendra Wu…” Sarah splayed her fingers as she started counting. “Oh, and Dany. And mind you, these are just the girls I know.”

Cameron’s grip on his glass tightened tenfold, and it was as empty as his body was brimming with jealousy. It's embarrassing, really, and it's even more embarrassing as he stared at the wall on the opposite side of the room, trying to drown out Sarah's voice, to no avail.

“I’m honestly shocked he has a girlfriend,” Sarah continued. “Like, I did not get that vibe at allllll.”

She turned to him.

“Is she pretty? I bet she’s pretty. Emery’s pretty, so there’s no way he’d date a girl who’s not pr—”

Just as Cameron was about to tell her exactly who Emery was dating, he caught movement approaching from the side.

“Oh, hi, Emery,” Sarah said, her entire face changing at once. Her shoulders straightened, and a faint flush crept up her cheeks. “We were just—”

Cameron barely had time to react, let alone turn his head, before a hand slid around the back of his neck. It was sudden enough to knock every thought clean out of Cameron’s head.

At first, Cameron tasted the faint trace of gin and vodka on Emery’s mouth, though it barely registered against his own intoxication; he’d had enough of it himself for the familiar burn to mean little now. What caught him instead was the sweetness that followed, the sharp taste of the coffee-flavored candy he’d handed Emery on their way here, warm and sugary beneath the dull edge of alcohol. 

His lips were soft, still wet with the drink he’d no doubt gulped down before making his way here from the other end of the room. And the kiss told Cameron all he needed to know. Emery had been plotting this for a while; beneath a night spent occupied with drunk college guys bragging about their parents’ cars—and barely sparing Cameron a glance, at that—was his boyfriend, who had apparently been waiting for the chance to finally get his hands on him all night.

Which, mind you, Cameron doesn’t actually mind. He loves watching Emery in his own little bubble. Loves seeing what his boyfriend was like around the rest of the world, how easily he could hold a conversation, and how everyone seemed to realize sooner or later what an amazing person he is. He just doesn’t particularly like it when that appreciation turns into a community-wide thirst campaign to advertise how much the rest of the world wants him.

But apparently, while Cameron had spent the worst part of the night thinking about the other people wanting Emery, Emery had spent the whole night wanting him.

He kissed Cameron with an eagerness that made his thoughts stumble over themselves, pulling him closer with enough urgency that their teeth nearly bumped against each other.

The thought alone sent Cameron’s mind haywire, and he couldn’t help but wrap his arms around Emery’s small waist, the glass still clutched in one hand, threatening to fall with every tug the redhead gave his hair.

Fuck, he wanted to say, if only he didn't have his mouth full.

The kiss lasted for ten seconds, but it felt longer, and Cameron loved every single one of them.

But maybe not quite as much as he loved the thought of everyone around them looking.

They finally pulled apart, leaving Sarah staring at the space between them with her mouth hanging open.

“Oh, wow.” Her eyes widened. “That was... wow.”

Cameron paid her no attention. He couldn't have looked away from Emery even if he'd wanted to.

The redhead was looking up at him with a small, drunken smile, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol and the kiss, the tinge of pink almost obscuring the freckles scattered softly across them. His lips were still parted, pink and slightly swollen, and Cameron had to stop himself from leaning right back in. His hair, somehow, was still and neat as ever. Off the top of his head, Cameron already had a hundred different plans to change that.

“Hey,” he managed softly, his thumb coming up to caress Emery’s cheek. “Feel like going home?”

Emery nodded, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “Yeah.”

Cameron set his empty glass down on the nearest piece of furniture before turning back to Emery. He placed a hand on the redhead’s waist, pressing a quick kiss to his temple as they started making their way toward the door.

“Bye, Sarah.”

“Bye!” Sarah called after them, her voice gradually fading in the background. Cameron had almost stopped listening when he caught the tail end of it. “Best of luck to both of you! Sorry!”

Cameron couldn't help but laugh at the crack in her voice at the end.

“What was that about?” Emery asked, his tone carrying the faintest hint of suspicion.

Cameron shook his head, still laughing. “Nothing, really.”

“She asked you out, didn't she?”

“No. Believe me, she—” Cameron stopped as the realization suddenly clicked into place, his expression shifting before he slowly turned his head toward Emery.

“Wait.” A grin began creeping onto his face. “Did you kiss me because you thought she was flirting with me?”

By then, they'd made it to the other side of the door, leaving most of the party's noise behind them while Emery refused to look at his boyfriend.

“Oh, my sweet angel,” Cameron murmured, amusement practically dripping from his voice. “You have no idea.”

Emery finally glanced up at him, curiosity replacing the embarrassment on his face. “Wh—”

Before he could finish, the rest of Emery’s sentence was replaced by a startled yelp when the ground suddenly disappeared from beneath his feet, and before his brain could catch up, he was no longer standing. Cameron had scooped him into his arms, drawing the attention of a few people nearby.

“Cameron—oh my God!” Emery hissed, immediately hiding his face in his boyfriend's neck. “What are you doing? People are staring.”

“You didn't seem to mind people staring at us earlier.”

“That was different.”

“Oh, yeah?” Cameron challenged, his grip tightening securely around him. “Do I have to kiss you here, too?”

“N—”

Cameron didn't give him the chance to finish. He leaned in and pressed his lips to Emery’s, and Emery tried to protest for all of half a second before his arms found their way around Cameron’s neck, holding on as they made their way toward the car like that: Emery giggling against Cameron's mouth, and Cameron holding him like he was the most precious thing in the world.

All up on each other, for all the world to see.

And neither one of them would have had it any other way.