Cam nudged me under the table with his foot and I looked up. “What?”

He nodded to my left, and I saw the waiter standing there with a smile. “Oh, um, can I get the…” I picked the first thing my eyes centered on. “Chicken marsala?”

The waiter scribbled that down and then Cam ordered a steak, medium rare with a side salad, and baked potato. When the waiter left, Cam went for the bread. “Want a piece?”

“Sure.” I hoped I didn’t choke on it. I watched him slice a piece in half and then butter it up. “Thank you.”

He arched a brow, but said nothing as I nibbled the bread, a tiny piece at a time. I racked my brain for something, anything to say. It didn’t even have to be interesting. I just needed to speak. For some reason, the conversation he’d had with Ollie resurfaced and I latched onto it. “Do you play any sports?”

Cam blinked as if caught off guard.

I flushed. “Sorry. That’s really random.”

“It’s okay.” He chewed the bread slowly. “I used to play.”

Thankful that he was playing along, I relaxed a little. “What sport?”

He cut off another slice of bread. “I played soccer.”

“Really?” Why were all soccer players hot? Was it some kind of universal law of soccer? “What position?”

Even though I knew Cam probably suspected I didn’t know squat about soccer, he went along with it. “I was a striker, which is a middle player position.”

“Oh!” I nodded like I had a clue what any of that meant.

Cam flashed that dimple. “That means I did a lot of scoring.”

“So you were good?”

“I was decent. Had to be fast, so a lot of running.”

That’s pretty much all I knew about soccer—a lot of running. “Did you play in high school?”

“High school, rec league, and my first year of college.”

I dared another bite of bread. So far so good. “Why’d you stop?”

Cam opened his mouth, but then closed it. Staring over my shoulder, several moments passed before he shrugged. “Just not something I wanted to do anymore.”

I was the queen of giving evasive answers, so I knew one when I heard one. And I so wanted to dig deeper and find out more, but I had given the same lame answer when he’d asked me about dancing. I wasn’t really in the position to push.

His ultra bright gaze settled on me and in the dim lighting, I felt my face turn a deeper shade of pink. Jesus, I needed to stop blushing.

He chuckled, and I wanted to throw my bread in his face. “Avery…”

“Cam?”

He leaned over onto the table and the small candle in the center sent dancing shadows across his face. “You don’t have to be so nervous.”

“I’m not.”

His brows rose.

I sighed. “Okay. I am. Sorry.”