The Blind Side of Love (Camren)

Chapter Forty-Five

"Guess what?" The question came in one rushed breath, and Camila became vaguely aware of something cold against her ear, against her hand. Her phone, it occurred to her. She was on the phone. She couldn't remember it ringing or her reaching to answer it. Her mind started to swim. Sleep. She wanted more sleep.

"Camila?"

"Mmm?" she said, through the images in her mind. Random shapes: A house; a purple shovel.

"I left you like five messages last night. Where were you?"

Last night. There was something about last night. But the shovel was now dancing Salsa with a hotdog and that was terribly intriguing.

"Camila!"

Camila forced her eyes open, slowly, and tried to focus on something, on anything, but the room looked strange, changed somehow. She closed her eyes again and that felt worlds better. "I'm so sleepy," she mumbled, wanting simply to hang up and succumb to the warmth of the sheets and the softness of the pillow. "Talk later."

"Not later. Now. Pretend you're awake for half a second and listen to me: I got an interview with Lauren Jauregui!"

Lauren. It all came back suddenly: painting on walls, cold champagne, terrible poetry. And kissing. Lots of kissing. Camila's eyes were open now. She was staring at the poster above her bed, the one Nathan gave her what felt like a million years ago. Nathan. He felt like a part of someone else's life; part of a story someone else told her. Something had changed. She had changed. Lauren had kissed her.

"Camila? Did you hear me?"

"That's awesome!" she blurted, smiling, feeling overwhelmingly happy; for Louis, sure, but for herself, mostly. Lauren had kissed her. Lauren had kissed her.

"You need to help me figure out what to wear to the interview. Can you meet me for lunch?"

Camila pulled her mind away from the tempting memory of Lauren's mouth on hers, and tried to focus. "I can't, I'm sorry. I have class and I really need to see one of my professors and sort out a really big misunderstanding." And Lauren. I desperately need to see Lauren. "Why don't you take Harry?"

"Please, I love him, but he's got zero taste in clothes. I practically have to dress him in the morning. Not that I mind that ... but undressing him is way more fun."

"Ew."

"Oh, whatever. I sleep with your brother. Deal with it. How's your thing going?"

 "My thing?"

"Your Sapphic fling thing."

"It's not a fling."

"Oh? What is it then?"

"It's..." Camila paused, having no real name for it. They'd kissed. They'd admitted they had feelings for each other. But there had been no promises made, no rules established, no hints given for what came next. "I don't know. I don't know what it is. We kissed." And her heart skipped at the words, at how real and solid they sounded out there in the real world.

"Wow," Louis said, sounding interested now. "How was it?"

"Amazing." Overwhelming. Terrifying. Confusing. Enlightening. But mostly amazing.

"Aww. How cute. Does that mean I can tell Harry?"

"No!" She felt somewhat panicked at the thought. "Not yet."

"Hey, relax. Just because I came out of the womb waving a pride flag and a picture of George Clooney doesn't mean I'm going to drag you out of the closet before you're ready."