Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Royal
The second we enter the room, Callie grabs some clothes and locks herself inside the bathroom without a word. I stare at the closed door for several beats, the last few minutes playing on repeat in my head as a feeling of dread washes over me.
What in the hell was I thinking, almost kissing her like that? The answer is clear. I wasn’t. Thinking, that is.
Take away the fact that she’s my coworker and, up until a couple of days ago, my arch nemesis, Callie is incredibly drunk right now. Kissing her would not only be wrong, but a breach of trust. She trusted me when she was at her most vulnerable, and I almost kissed her.
And even knowing how fucked up it is, I still want to taste her. To feel her lips on mine and see if they’re as soft as they look.
“God,” I whisper, spinning away from the closed bathroom door and stalking toward the opposite end of the room.
Sliding open the door that leads out to the balcony, I step out and close it behind me. I throw myself into one of the chairs and run a hand through my hair as I stare out at the dark ocean. Callie has surprised me this weekend. There’s so much more to her personality than the uptight schoolmarm who berates me on a daily basis when my class gets too rambunctious.
She actually does know how to have fun. And when she’s off the clock, relaxed, and having a good time… Damn, she’s alluring.
My phone chimes with an incoming text message, and I pull it from my pocket, happy for the distraction. My lips curl up when I see who it’s from, and when I open the thread to read the message, my smile widens.
Elle: I’m sorry to be texting so late, but did you know alcohol is the devil?
A quiet laugh rumbles out of me, then I look over my shoulder to peer through the glass door. The room is still empty, which means Callie is still in the bathroom. Possibly puking. I think she’d agree with Elle. Alcohol is the devil.
Me: Only if you over-imbibe. Did you? Are you okay?
Elle: Maybe a little. And yes, I’m good. Just dreading the hangover I’m sure to have in the morning.
Me: Drink plenty of water and take some aspirin before you go to sleep.
Elle: Will do. Thank you, and good night.
Me: Good night, Elle.
I scroll back through the messages between my anonymous new friend and me, and my smile turns a bit sad. I’d been texting Hope as I do every year around this time since she passed, and the last thing I ever expected was a response. I didn’t know her family had finally decided to disconnect her phone service. Or that her number had been assigned to someone else.
It was strange, at first, texting this person I’ve never met. Hell, I still don’t know for sure if she’s actually a woman and not some thirty-year-old man still living in his mom’s basement. But something deep inside me rejects that idea. Elle’s texts have a raw honesty that can’t be faked.
And I suppose it doesn’t really matter, in the long run. We agreed not to give each other any personal information. We’re never going to meet. We’re pen pals, just without the actual paper and pens.
It’s fun. But I’m sure our messages will eventually fizzle out. And when they do, I’ll remember them, and Elle, fondly.
I take another look over my shoulder just in time to see Callie exit the bathroom. She’s wearing those microscopic shorts and thin t-shirt again, her face is rosy after a fresh scrubbing, and her hair is tied up in a messy knot on top of her head. God, how does she look even prettier than she did all dolled up?
I snap back around, swallowing the lump in my throat as I stare at the ocean again. This needs to stop. We’ll be leaving in the morning, and then it’s back to real life. I don’t know if things will go back to normal, or if there will be a new normal after all the time we spent together this weekend, but neither of those scenarios should include me lusting after Calliope Barnes.
Nothing is going to happen between us. It can’t. The sooner I accept that, the better.
Filling my lungs with salty sea air, I push up out of the chair and head back into the room. Callie doesn’t look at me as I walk by. She shakes a couple of aspirin out of the bottle I gave her this morning, pops them into her mouth, and chases them with a long draught of water. Smart woman.
I grab a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants before I close myself in the bathroom. After changing, washing my hands and face, and brushing my teeth, I open the door and step back out into the room. I spot Callie in her bed, the covers pulled up to her chin as she watches television.
Dropping my dirty clothes on top of my suitcase, I sit on my bed and scoot back until I’m leaning against the headboard. Callie doesn’t speak or acknowledge me in any way, and I stifle a sigh. I guess were not going to talk about that almost-kiss in the elevator.
It’s probably for the best.
I focus on the T.V. and see she’s watching an old rerun of “The Office.” One corner of my mouth quirks up. This is one of my all-time favorite television shows. I lean forward to tuck a couple of pillows behind me, then lean back, getting comfortable.
I look over at Callie, moving only my eyes so as not to catch her attention, and I see her staring at the screen with a sleepy smile on her face. I move my gaze back to the show, my own smile growing wider.
It’s nice, doing something as mundane as enjoying a show with Callie. No angry words between us. No tension flaring. No awkwardness at all.
“That’s what she said,” we both blurt in unison with Steve Carell as his character, Michael Scott, says it in response to another character’s line.
Callie and I both look at each other with open mouths and wide eyes, and then matching laughs burst out of us. As the laughter dies, we smile at each other for a few beats before turning back to the T.V.
Muscles I didn’t even know were tensed ease into relaxation, and I let out a long cleansing breath. Everything is going to be okay between Callie and me.
And if we can just forget that weirdly charged moment in the elevator, we might even come out of this weekend as friends.