Hush by Jude Sierra Page A

movies.”
    “Well, how do you feel about satire?” he hazards.
    “I feel like I could manage that.”
    “So how would you feel about accompanying me to see Formula Lost tomorrow night? Nate has a date and wants us to come along.”
    “Ohhhh, a double date.” Her eyes sparkle mischievously. “This must be step two on the dating path checklist.”
    “You know it,” Cam says, and then—for some reason—winks. He’s not sure if he’s ever winked at someone. He’s watched enough people flirting to know that this is something people do, but he always thought of such things—playful touches and winking, soft smiles and a certain eye contact—as deliberate. They probably are, most of the time. But it’s something new for him, realizing that sometimes, energy between two people like this can just happen.
    “So what’s the story?” Nate flops onto his bed with his sneakers still on. Cam takes his keys from the lock and shuts the door gently; it’s late. He hates when slamming doors wake him at late hours. Interrupted sleep is one of the few things guaranteed to make him grumpy.
    “You just watched the same movie I did.” Cam hangs his keys by the door, carefully removes his shoes and hangs his jacket over the chair in front of his desk. He tries to modulate his voice; Nate’s not done anything—in fact, nothing really happened all night. But he feels on edge and has since they got to the theater. A faintly familiar buzz seems to have settled in his bones tonight. “How can you not know this?”
    “First of all,” Nate points out, “I wasn’t paying that much atten­tion.”
    Cam frowns. “Why not?”
    Nate just stares at him for long seconds before seeming to move on. “Second of all, I wasn’t talking about the movie.”
    “Huh?” Cam pops his head up, and then goes back to searching for his well-worn Huskers T-shirt.
    “I mean with you and Maggie,” Nate explains with exaggerated patience.
    “What is this, a midnight gossip session?” Cam says a little defen­sively. Nate’s question seems probing, though it probably shouldn’t.
    “Man, you are so hard to read sometimes.” Nate toes his shoes off.
    Cam doesn’t say anything. What is there to say, really, when he can’t even read himself?
    * * *
    “Cam?” Maggie says.
    “Hmm?” Cam squeezes her shoulder. She doesn’t move, keeps her head tucked against his shoulder. After a moment of silence, she sits up, grabs the remote and pauses the movie.
    “Are you—” She bites her lip. “What is this?” She gestures between them. Cam folds his hands together, something twisting in his stomach. “What do you want it to be?” he says, stalling.
    “I think it’s pretty clear what I want,” she states.
    It is. Cam has known for a while, now—the way she kisses his cheek when she leaves lately, lingering longer, her eyes on his. Wait­ing. Maggie’s not the sort to wait for some­one to make a move. She’s her own person—he admires this a lot—and isn’t afraid to go after what she wants. Cam senses that she is respect­ing his uncertainty. If that is what it should be called. Reticence? Insecurity?
    “I’ve just never—” he starts. He sits up a little straighter, folds one knee and tucks his foot under the other. “I like you, a lot. I like being with you.” Cam runs his hand down her arm, testing. Her smile is small and sweet, and she’s so gentle with him. He feels strange in his skin, as if he wants that sort of carefulness, but at the same time doesn’t, wants something bigger and sharper too.
    “Here,” she says finally, and kisses him. She kisses him slowly and confidently, but doesn’t push. Maggie always smells wonder­ful, and when they watch movies or spend time together, the shape of her body against him is very comforting.
    He cards his fingers through her hair; it slips like silk. She opens her mouth a little and it’s moist and warm, so he does too.
    * * *
    Cam ends the night with a kiss to Maggie’s