10 Years Later Part 9

"I still can't believe he was there," I admitted before inhaling and exhaling a long, deep breath.

"I don't remember much about that day, to be honest," Kristy added, and for some reason that shocked me.

"You don't?"

"Not really. I just remember feeling really sad and super bad for your mom because I'd never seen anyone cry like that before in my life. It was scary, you know?" Her head nudged against mine. "Of course you know. So yeah, I don't remember much about that day except being there for you. I do remember you speaking, though, but I don't remember what you said because I think I was bawling through the whole thing. I don't know how you weren't."

"Me either."

For as blurred as that day had become, I remembered a part of me being stoic and brave. I wasn't sure where that strength came from or why exactly, but it was like I knew I needed to address the mourners or I'd eventually regret it one day. My mom never ended up speaking, and she still hated herself for it.

Those are the moments in time that you could never get back. We didn't get do-overs. Life isn't a rerun. If you screwed it up the first time, that chance was all you got. As heartbroken and devastated as I was, I wanted the world to know how much I loved and admired my dad.

"Cammie." Kristy said my name dreamily, like she was lost in memories the same way I was. "What did you do when Dalton told you all that?"

"I cried," I said simply.

"I would have cried too," she said, then let out a little sigh. "Okay, enough sadness. Let's talk about this kiss. I can't believe he kissed you. Actually, yes I can. But, Cammie, Dalton freaking Thomas kissed you! And he's single. Wait-he is single, right?"

I let out an exasperated huff. "Yes. He's single."

"Okay. So tell me about the kiss again," she demanded, and I loved her for it.

"It was so hot. Like something right out of a movie. He was all but out the door when he turned around and hauled a.s.s back to me. It was magical," I said as I replayed the kiss again in my mind.

She moved to get off the bed. "I bet it was. So, when are you seeing him again? Did he say?" She discarded her dress onto the floor in a heap and pulled out her matching pajama bottoms and top before slipping into them.

"He said he'd call me soon. The ball's in his court." I nodded, convinced that Dalton should be the one to take charge and initiate things between us.

"Right where it should be." She smiled as she hopped into her own bed and slipped under the covers, lying so she was facing me.

"I was just thinking the same thing."

"That's why we're best friends."

"I just like you because you're pretty." I yawned. "Tell me how the rest of your night was. Anything exciting happen?"

"Nah, but it was nice to talk to and see everyone in real life, you know? So many people are still trying to figure out what they want to do and what kind of career they want to have for the rest of their lives. I don't envy them at all. I think that's where you and I are lucky." She nuzzled her face into her pillow as her hair splayed all around.

As her words sank in, it occurred to me that I had always known what I wanted to do. Ever since I was a little kid, I knew I wanted to work at a radio station, and that was an advantage most people didn't have. The majority of us went to college to figure out what we wanted to be when we grew up, and even that didn't always work. Life was a series of choices, and sometimes it took a long time and a lot of soul searching to find your place in it.

"We're lucky in that regard," I said. "It's hard to find that, I think. Unless you really feel pulled toward something, it's all a guessing game where you're praying you won't hate what you're doing in a year." She laughed into her pillow as I slipped under my covers and settled in. "I mean it. Could you imagine if you realized that you hated lawyer stuff? Or if I hated working in the radio industry? I don't have a clue what else I would do with my life."

"Me either," Kristy said sleepily. "It's a good thing I like arguing with people. And being right."

a a a When I arrived at the radio station Monday morning, the guys all looked at me like little kids on Christmas morning. "We want to hear all about the reunion!" they called out as I walked into the office for our daily pre-show meeting.

"All about what?" I teased. "What reunion?" I widened my eyes to Disney princess size as I sipped on my c.r.a.ppy gas station coffee.

"Come on! Was he there?" Tom asked, his eyes bright, even at this early hour.

Heat instantly crept up my face. "He was," I admitted without thinking, then snapped my mouth shut.

"Yes!" John thrust his fist into the air like he'd won a gold medal. "We have got to talk about this today, Cammie!"

"What? Why?" I all but choked out.

"Because our listeners are dying for an update. It's post-reunion recap time, girl," Tom explained. "They need to know if you saw your mystery man or not. You give them hope for themselves."

"But why do I have to be involved?" I whined. "Can't you just update the greater Los Angeles area about my life, without me? You don't need me to get people excited to call in," I reasoned, knowing that I was fighting a losing battle.

John's expression turned serious. "That's where you're wrong. You don't have any idea how much our listeners love you. Every time you come on the show and say anything personal about yourself, our e-mails and the texting hotline blow up."

"The phone lines have to go crazy too, Cammie," Scott added. "And you would know because you answer them."

Sometimes listeners called the station to talk to me directly, but that was rare. People tended to call when they could contribute to the conversation. I'd decided soon after I first started working for the morning show that most people wanted to feel like they were a part of something. They longed to feel connected to other people, to share a common thought or state of mind, and this show gave them that opportunity. I think we all felt better when we realized we weren't alone.

"Our listeners love your stories." John leaned forward, as if sharing a secret. "I think it's because the majority of our listeners are women and you're completely relatable to them, unlike us."

The shock of his words flowed through me, filling me with an almost unidentifiable emotion. I had no idea if he was lying to me simply to get his way, but I wanted to believe him. Even I wanted to connect and belong.

I placed my pen on the table and narrowed my eyes at them. "Is that true?" I looked between the three of them as they all nodded their heads in unison.

Letting out a defeated sigh, I huffed out, "All right. We can talk about the reunion and the guy. But don't pressure me into saying something I'm not comfortable with, okay? You have to promise me that you'll change the subject, drop it, or segue into something else if you see that I'm freaking out." Knowing that Dalton had confessed to listening to the show each morning, I a.s.sumed he'd be tuning in for this one, especially after the night we had.

John and Tom glanced at each other, a silent communication pa.s.sing between them. "We promise," they said at the same time, and I stuck out my pinky and waited. As they each connected their pinky fingers to mine, we folded them together and shook, making a solemn vow.

I'd managed to make it through the rest of the weekend without hearing from Dalton, or breaking down and calling him myself. I wanted to send him cute little text messages to let him know I was thinking about him, but my pride stopped me. Sometimes I was grateful for my stubborn pride; the last thing I wanted to do was come off as desperate for his attention as I truly was.

It did seem strange that he hadn't called me all day on Sunday when he seemed so excited to be back in contact with me. I had no idea what he was up to, but a.s.sumed he was still working on his case. Aside from being an undercover cop, I had no idea what his job really entailed. I tried not to take the whole twenty-four hours of no contact personally, but I was a girl and that was the kind of thing we did.

To be honest, a small part of me was grateful I didn't hear from Dalton because Sundays were literally my day of rest. I knew if he had called and wanted to see me, there was no way I would have said no. It had been far too long since I had to balance a relations.h.i.+p and my job, and I hadn't dated anyone at all since starting on the morning show.

My hours were completely screwed up, and I had no idea how I'd manage this balancing act with Dalton. I imagined him coming over, excited to see me after his day at work, and me falling asleep within ten minutes of his arrival. Ugh. We were doomed before we even started.

Once our pre-show meeting ended, I printed up the interesting entertainment stories from the past weekend and waited for the segment that would include me. I instinctively knew that the guys would wait until the eight o'clock hour, because that was our prime time, when most of our listeners were in their cars and tuned in.

"Welcome back to Tom and John in the Morning. I'm Tom."

"And I'm John."

Tom cleared his throat and cast a glance my way before waggling his eyebrows. "So, Los Angeles, if you remember us talking last week about our a.s.sistant producer Cammie and her ten-year high school reunion, then you'll remember that we got her to fess up about being excited to see a certain someone."

John jumped in. "Yeah, but she wouldn't tell us who he was."

"No, she wouldn't, John. But I think she saw him this weekend," Tom said with a smile as he waved me in.

"She definitely saw him because she hasn't stopped grinning since she walked through the door!" John added, and my smile only grew wider as I moved to sit down across from them. Placing the earphones over my head, it occurred to me that I probably should have asked for a raise before I said yes to this.

"Cammie," Tom said in a low, confidential voice. "You saw him, didn't you? He who shall not be named."

I laughed at the reference. "Yeah, I saw him."

"And?" John dragged the word out, waiting for me to fill in the blanks, which was something I refused to do.

"And what?" I asked.

"Come on, Cammie, Los Angeles is dying to know if you saw your mystery guy and how it went. If I remember right, you weren't even sure he was going to be there or not, right?"

"That's right!" Tom said with a laugh. "You were freaking out that you might not be able to tell him you loved him."

"You two are so annoying!" I said as I rolled my eyes. "But you're right. I had no idea if he was going to show up or not."

"But he did." John breathed into the microphone, pretending to hang on to my every word.

"He did," I said with a smile.

"Oh no. He wasn't married, was he?" John asked, suddenly concerned.

"No. He's single, thank G.o.d," I said quickly before wis.h.i.+ng I could suck the words back in.

Tom leaned forward in his chair before pressing his mouth almost on top of his silver mic. "So he showed up. He's single. Does this mean that there might be a date in our Cammie's future?"

I pretended to growl at the two grown men in front of me as I spun in my seat. "Yes. At least, I think so. He said he wanted to see me again."

"But he hasn't called you yet?" John let out a tsk-tsk, and I wondered if I was coming off sounding naive.

"It's only been a day," I said defensively, then actually started to worry. The last thing I ever wanted to be was one of the clueless girls who couldn't read the signs. You know, that he's not that into you.

John hummed into the mic. "Hmm, what do you think, Los Angeles? Do you think Cammie's dream guy is blowing her off, or do you think he'll really call?"

I tried to convince myself that they were using me and exaggerating for good radio, but I wasn't completely persuaded. And when the intern answering the phone lines knocked on the window separating him from the booth, I felt a trickle of sweat slide between my shoulder blades.

Tom read the computer screen in front of him before nudging John and pointing at words I couldn't see. "Oh, we have a caller on the line. He says he knows you, Cammie. h.e.l.lo, caller, are you there?"

The line crackled at first, then the sound of two guys arguing briefly in the background filled the silence before one voice spoke up louder.

"I'm here. Sorry, my coworker's being an idiot." Dalton's voice calmed every nerve I had, then simultaneously amplified them all at once.

John and Tom both laughed. "Tell us why you're calling," Tom demanded, cutting to the chase before pointing a finger at me.

"Because I'm the guy Cammie went to the reunion to see," Dalton admitted for all of Los Angeles to hear, and my cheeks began to tingle, telling me they were turning a bright red. His tone was confident, not arrogant, simply sure of himself.

I tried to hide my face in my hands, but the guys called me out. "Cammie, is this true? Is this the guy?"

Leaning toward the hanging mic, I answered, "Yes. That's him." I couldn't believe he had called the station and was on the air right now.

"Dude, why the h.e.l.l didn't you call her yesterday?" John asked as Tom spit out, "Why haven't you asked her on a date yet?"

The guys continued to bark rapid-fire questions at Dalton, and I wished I could curl into a ball and roll off the chair, out of the booth, and away from here.

Dalton interrupted them. "Well, guys, that's actually why I called. I've been working all hours and I'm exhausted. But, Cammie, I wanted to know if I could see you tonight."

"Tonight?" I gasped as my body zinged with excited nerves.

"Yeah, tonight. I can't wait to see you again. Please say yes." He sounded so sincere as someone in the background yelled at him, and he covered his phone to yell back.

Tom and John both turned pleading eyes on me for an answer.

"Of course. I can't wait to see you either." I almost ended my response by saying his first name, and was thankful I caught myself. I wasn't ready to give up his ident.i.ty to all who could hear our broadcast.

"I'll call you later. 'Bye, guys. Take good care of my girl." Dalton ended the call before another word could be spoken.

Oh. My. G.o.d.

He called me his girl.

"Did you hear what he called you?" Tom asked, and I sucked my bottom lip in between my teeth and bit down hard.

"His girl? Hoo-wee!" John exclaimed. "You had your chance, Los Angeles, but you blew it. I think Cammie's off the market! This is gonna be fun to watch!" He shot an excited glance at me, then pressed a b.u.t.ton to start the next set of songs.

Confessions.

Dalton.

"I can't believe you called that d.a.m.n radio station. Are you crazy?" Tucker scowled at me, but his eyes were dancing a little despite his irritation.

"Why do you even care?" I shot back. "I couldn't sit there and listen to them talk to her like I wasn't going to ever call her. Like I'd blown her off or something. You know they were planting that s.h.i.+t in her head."

I defended my actions, as well as my inactions when it came to getting in touch with her yesterday. After leaving the reunion and working into the early hours of the morning, I'd spent Sunday in a sleep coma, only waking up once to take a p.i.s.s and get a gla.s.s of water.

"Don't call there again," my partner said sternly. "We need to keep a low profile because of this case, okay? Don't get all head stupid because your heart's all mushy."

Tucker was right, though. I needed to keep a clear head and do whatever was needed to protect our cover. Anything that even remotely hinted at what we were doing could torpedo our whole West Coast operation. We'd have to kiss Los Angeles and this case good-bye.

"You're right, man."

"I hope you hit star sixty-seven before you called there."

I nodded. Dialing that code before I called a phone number meant that my number was blocked from any caller ID systems, and at this point in my career, it had become habit.

"Good. The last thing we need is some DJ calling you up every morning for the sake of their stupid show," he pointed out as he sipped at his coffee. "And while we're at it, make sure you tell your girl not to say your name on the radio. Could you imagine? That's the last thing we need."