23. Callaway
23
CALLAWAY
The drive to Dakota’s apartment consists of deep snoring and her restless body struggling to get comfortable.
As we pull up to her apartment building, I turn the truck off and exhale a heavy breath as my shoulders slump back into the seat.
I’m exhausted. I’ve never been so mentally drained, yet there's no place I’d rather be right now.
I glance over at Dakota’s sleeping form laid out across the worn fabric seats and have a moment of protectiveness wash over me. I want to be the one that she turns to when her day goes to shit, the one her heart looks for when it’s hurting.
We’ve established that we’re only friends. But I want more.
I’ve been telling myself the distance I’ve allowed between us over the last couple of months is the right thing to do, but I now see I couldn’t have been more wrong. The space seems to have only made us dubious about being around each other. I need to change tactics somehow.
I can see her slowly opening up to me, and it sends my happiness to new heights. She needs to give me something, anything that would give me the slightest inkling she would ever even consider us for more.
I decide I should probably get her showered and into bed.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Showered. I didn’t think this through.
She’s been sprawled across a disgusting bar all night, and there's no way I’d let her go to bed with God knows what on her body or God knows who.
It’s time to put my strength to the test.
I make my way to the passenger door, carefully cradling her body in my arms and head in the direction of her apartment. I haven’t had the opportunity to come to Dakota’s home yet—it feels slightly like an invasion of privacy without her consent.
From what I can gather of the outside, the building looks simple and very fitting to Dakota’s style. She’s low maintenance, and it’s refreshing.
Deciding her safety is more important than my need for her permission, I use her house key to unlock the door.
I’m immediately met with her distinct scent that has the power to bring me to my knees—toasted vanilla and coconut.
It figures her home would smell like her.
With Dakota still in my arms, I glance around the living space, attempting to decide my next move.
Strangely, her home is nothing like I envisioned it would be.
White walls give the space a clean aesthetic with a cream-colored couch and a neutral woven area rug. The colorful throw pillows and few faux plants she has scattered make it feel slightly homey, but the absence of photos is unsettling. I know her relationship with her parents was healthy, and from what Navy has shared with me, they were close.
So where are the past and current memories of them? Where are the captured fun moments and smiles they shared that she could look back on?
Life is lacking here.
Deciding I do need some type of verbal consent from her, I place Dakota on her kitchen counter and do my best to hold her body steady so she doesn’t fall.
Pushing the hair from her eyes, I straighten her head to look at me. “Dakota, baby, I need you to open your eyes for me. I need you to undress so I can help you in the shower. Do you think you can stand long enough to wash yourself?”
The restraint I’m going to need better show up sooner than later. It figures the woman who’s been nothing but a temptation to me would be the one I have to help in a compromised position. How I’m going to avoid glancing at her naked body is beyond me, but I’ll die trying if I have to.
She slowly shifts on the counter, her head rolling slightly, waking herself up enough to glance those glassy hazel eyes at me.
Even drunk, she’s breathtaking.
“I can try.” That’s all I need to hear.
“Up you go, beautiful.” Lifting Dakota off the countertop, I head to the nearest bathroom.
Turning the water on, I place her legs gently on the floor to stand. Her body begins swaying back and forth, and my hands immediately find her shoulders to steady her. I glance down slightly to see Dakota’s eyes on me. They’re dark and shadowed with pain. She’s looking at me like she can’t believe I’m here.
She couldn’t stop me if she tried.
Realizing we have yet to move when a hot shower runs right behind her, I place her towel beside the sink, and say, “Towel is right here. The shower is running for you. I’ll be outside the door if you need me. ”
I turn to leave quietly, not giving her a chance to respond.
“Hey cutie.” Cutie? Can’t say I’ve ever been called that before.
My back is still facing her. I can’t turn around. I barely hear her moving. I’m not sure what she’s doing, but it’s definitely not showering.
“That’s me. The cutie. You caught me.” It looks like I have to entertain her silliness to get her to listen. This should be interesting.
“An orange is a cutie, I’m a little cutie, you're a little cutie, and your booty’s a little cutie.” Her giggle tumbles out of her, sending her into a fit of laughter. I can’t help but turn around, thankfully finding her still fully clothed, to witness her shaking and wiggling, letting her amusement consume her.
Oh, she’s a funny drunk.
I’m smirking, finding myself more relaxed than expected while caring for someone who, ten minutes ago, was passed out drunk.
She’s constantly surprising me.
Shaking my head at her, I call out, “Hilarious. Funniest thing I’ve heard all day. Now get your ass in the shower, cutie .” The laughter seems to have no end.
Her playfulness tells me she’s in overdrive. It’s clear she hit a wall at the bar, and this is her adrenaline wake-up.
“If you insist!” The highest squeal breaks free from her mouth before the rustling sound of clothes lets me know she’s finally listening.
So my grumpy angel has a quirky side to her.
“Thank you. I’ll be here until you’re done.” There. That went better than expected. She fought me a little, but at least we’re one step closer to tucking her into bed for the night.
The sound of the shower curtain closing gives me a chance to relax against the bathroom door, leaning my head on it.
I’m suddenly exhausted.
I’ll stand here and give her the privacy she deserves, but I don’t feel comfortable leaving her alone. If she fell and hit her head, or hurt herself in any way, I’d never forgive myself.
“Cutie, can you pass me the soap on the counter, pretty please?”
Jesus. Where did this cutie thing come from?
It’s fine. I’ll grab it quickly and hand it to her from the side. The shower curtain is a deep purple, so I won’t be able to see anything.
I’m searching her countertop, attempting to find the one she’s looking for. Why do women have so many random products for everything? How is that even necessary?
“The blue shampoo bottle by the sink?” I ask her without turning my head.
“Mhm.” Her hummed response tells me I found it.
As soon as I secure the shampoo and turn toward the shower, I regret my trust in her immediately.
“Tricked ya!” Dakota erupts into hysterics, while I dart back as fast as humanly possible to shield my eyes from her naked body.
The woman tricked me into thinking the curtain was secured with her behind it. That’s not what I witnessed.
I may be a gentleman, but I’ve never claimed to be a saint. Somehow in that short glimpse, I managed to get an eyeful, and my stupid fucking brain is committing it to memory.
Her full tits with dark nipples peaked at attention.
Her hourglass figure, deliciously smooth, and even more captivating with her bikini tan line .
The steaming water dripped down the valley of her chest, leading to the place my cock is currently craving.
I'm a sick man. I hate that I saw her that way.
Yes, it was an incredible sight, but one I’d love to see with her heart attached to it as well.
Thankfully for both of us, it was over before it ended.
“Dakota. What are you doing?”
I’m back to facing the door, not trusting her anymore to behave.
Her giggling never lets up.
Despite her little stunt, it makes me really happy to hear her laugh. “Did you see your face? Have you never seen a pair of titties before, cutie? I’ve got big ole titties, and I didn’t even have to buy them.” I can imagine her silly, beautiful grin right now.
Chuckling to myself, likely enough that she can hear me, I give into her slightly. “And what perfect big ole titties you have.”
Jesus Christ. She won’t remember this in the morning, but I will.
“Oops, you said titties! Hey, Callaway?”
She’s insane but beautiful and stubborn, and everything I’m finding I can’t help but love about her.
“Yes, angel?”
“I’m done.” I must have zoned out at some point because I managed to miss the sound of the water turning off and her exiting the shower. I need to make sure she’s covered before I turn around.
“Are your big ole titties covered? Don’t lie to me.” I couldn’t help myself.
“They are secured!” I turn around to Dakota saluting me. Saluting me .
No doubt she will be mortified when she hears about this .
I move to stand back slightly, giving myself enough room to open the bathroom door, and allow her to head out first to change.
“After you.”
Entering Dakota’s room, I immediately start searching her drawers for some sleep clothes for her to wear. Her feet lead her directly to the bed; I’m sure the early signs of a headache are approaching.
It takes me multiple tries to find the drawer that holds what I’m looking for and holy fuck; the woman has a never-ending supply of graphic tees.
Securing the Pink Floyd one, I shuffle to find panties.
If only Navy could see me now. This wouldn’t look good. I tried to be a gentleman by making sure she got home safely, ended up catching a glimpse of her naked and rummaging through her lace panties.
I’d never admit the note I made of that observation out loud.
“Got 'em.”
Panties and t-shirt secured, I make my way to where Dakota is now sprawled out on her bed, wrapped in a large towel, lucky for me—or not, and I notice her staring at the ceiling fan, clearly lost in thought.
This must be the comedown.
“Dakota, sweetheart, I grabbed a shirt and some panties for you if you want to go into the bathroom and change.” Her eyes look void of feeling. Such a drastic difference from a couple of minutes ago. The joking and laughter have diminished, only to be replaced with cold silence .
She makes no effort to respond, except a soft shake of her head, before grabbing the clothes and walking to the bathroom.
The sound of the bathroom door softly closing causes my heart to sink. I’m not sure what happened there, but it was like all the light inside of her managed to drain out completely.
It’s still unclear to me why she was at the bar to begin with, leading to her soon-discovered drunkenness. I know now is not the time to ask. I’ll do my best to care for her however I can and make sure she gets to sleep safely.
But first, I need to find some pain meds. A massive headache is in her near future, and I’d rather have them ready for her.
Pain meds secured, Dakota is already snuggled in her bed with her body curled to the side as she hugs a pillow.
She looks so tranquil.
It makes me want to crawl under with her and hold her until morning.
She’s stunning. In all the ways I’ve seen her, she’s been nothing but enchanting. I’m finding it takes very little effort for her to charm me; her silliness and quirkiness tonight only solidified what I already knew—she’s worth the wait.
I walk myself to her side of the bed and reach my hand out gently to caress the side of her face. I slide the wet strands of her hair to tuck behind her ear, watching intently as her eyes close steadily.
“Angel, can you sit up for a second? I’ve got some medicine for you. I don’t want you to wake up in pain and me not here to help.”
She murmurs slightly, her sleep grogginess overcoming her ability to respond. “Fifty-two. ”
Fifty-two? I don’t understand. “What’s that?” I lean my head closer to hers, hoping to hear her better.
“He’s fifty-two.” Who?
“Who’s fifty-two, Dakota?” I can already tell this is going to hurt.
“My dad. Today’s his birthday.” God almighty, I hate this. I hate that I’m useless to help her. No one deserves to feel this alone.
I knew there was more to why she felt so broken inside. Although I don’t know the gist of it, I can guess it’s unfortunate.
I’m still not sure why that would lead her to get drunk alone.
“Okay, baby. You can call him in the morning and tell him happy birthday.”
It sounds like she’s trying to respond, but exhaustion seems to overcome her before sleep claims her. My eyes close in on her sleeping form and reflect on all the reasons this woman deserves to be loved.
She’s incredible—if only she believed that.
I understand why she’s closed off her heart to being in a relationship. There’s a pain that can’t be healed from words alone—action of the heart is the only thing that can break down those walls.
It looks like I’ve got my work cut out for me.