Chapter 11 Caleb
Caleb
It’s been two days since we got back, and I still can’t stop thinking about Nash. We’ve been texting as much as we can, and I feel like a teenager, which is both ridiculous and a complete rush.
Yesterday morning, he sent me a selfie of him helping Benji and Emma put on their snow gear. They were bundled up in their snow pants and coats, and I must’ve stared at it for a solid five minutes. It felt like he was sharing a glimpse into their lives.
When they were finished, Nash sent another photo of a lopsided snowman with a carrot nose, scarf, stick arms, and what looked like pinecones for eyes.
It made me laugh, but it also made me ache a little.
It felt like I was watching something just out of reach, something Sam and I didn’t quite fit in with yet, even though that wasn’t his intention.
A small part of me is terrified by how quickly these feelings are staking their claim.
A week ago, I wouldn’t even let myself think about dating again.
And now, all I want is more time with him.
To have plans for when we’ll see each other again.
To play in the snow with Sam, Nash, Benji, and Emma.
To wake up with his arms around me. I can’t think of anything I want more, honestly.
Sam shifts his feet on my lap, drawing my attention back to the Christmas movie we have on.
Every night in December, we watch a different holiday movie.
It’s our own little tradition. This month has always been our favorite, and now it feels like it has the potential to be even more special for a whole new reason.
The rational part of me knows I should attempt to pump the brakes because I’m feeling too much, too fast. But I can’t seem to help it. Not when every part of this feels good in a way I forgot was possible.
I pick up my phone, rereading our texts from earlier. He said he had a couple of meetings this afternoon, but I want to restart our conversation.
He’s a director at a tech company, which somehow makes him even more attractive because, of course, he’s a leader. He’s thoughtful and intentional and all the things I’m very into.
I start typing: Hope your meetings went well.
Then delete it because that’s boring.
Kind of wish we were back on that mountain right now.
My finger hovers over it, then I hit send, and he replies less than a minute later.
Nash:
Same. Especially if I got to wake up with you pressed against me again.
I bite my lip, try not to grin at my phone, and make sure the screen is tilted away from Sam as I try not to overthink my response.
I’d like that, a lot
Nash:
I keep thinking about that weekend like I dreamed it, but I don’t think I could make up a guy like you
My heart feels funny, and it’s impossible to hold back my smile now.
I’ve been thinking about you too. Probably way more than makes sense for 48 hours
Nash:
Can I call you tonight?
Yes, I’ll let you know when Sam goes to sleep.
It’s been years since I’ve looked forward to hearing someone’s voice at the end of the day. We haven’t talked on the phone yet, but knowing he wants to makes my heart race with anticipation.
As soon as the movie is over and Sam is tucked into bed, I head to my room, shutting the door behind me. I quickly brush my teeth and strip down to my boxer briefs, then pull out my phone to text Nash.
Sam’s asleep.
My nerves are at an all-time high. Even though we spent the weekend together and have been texting since, this feels different. There’s no buffer of a screen or distraction of the kids, just the two of us to fill the silence that hopefully isn’t awkward.
As soon as my phone buzzes, I answer it on the first ring. Oops, definitely not playing it cool.
“Hey,” I say, already smiling as I hold it up to my ear.
“Hey,” he says back. His voice is as warm as I remember. “How was your day?”
I laugh softly. “Better now that we’re talking.”
“Yeah?” There’s a smile in his voice. “Same here.”
I reach over to turn the lamp off and put the call on speaker phone before scooting down my bed to get comfortable against the pillows.
“This is the opposite of playing it cool, so forgive me, but… I didn’t expect to miss you this much so soon,” I confess.
And weirdly, it’s easy. Easier than I ever would’ve thought possible.
It’s the kind of admission I would’ve swallowed down before meeting him because it would’ve made me feel exposed, and my own vulnerability has been used against me in the past.
But with Nash, it feels right.
I don’t care if it makes me seem needy. He cracked something open in me, and there’s no stuffing it back inside now.
It’s strange how fast a connection can form with some people, and he’s that person for me.
I want him to know I’m not here to play games, and if he doesn’t want someone like that, I’d rather know now than become any more invested.
“Me either,” Nash says. “I keep thinking about our night together and how I wish we had longer together.”
I let out a shaky breath, soaking in the comfort of knowing he’s seemingly just as affected as I am.
“I didn’t want it to end,” I tell him, honestly.
“It doesn’t have to,” he reassures me, and I smile.
There’s a rustle on the other end of the line. I picture Nash getting more comfortable, settling into his bed, and wish I were there.
“You said your week was busy?” I ask, wanting to find a time to see him.
“Yeah,” he says on an exhale. “Work’s been a mess, and Benji keeps asking when we’re gonna see you two again.”
My heart jumps. “So does Sam. He keeps asking if we can go skiing with you both again this weekend.”
“They’re kind of a perfect match,” Nash says, and I can hear the affection in his voice.
He’s not wrong, and I can only hope there’s a hidden meaning in that statement about us being a perfect match, too.
“I keep wishing we somehow lived next to each other, instead of twenty minutes apart,” I murmur, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Like… right next door, ideally.”
“I’d probably be at your house right now,” he says without hesitation. “You’d open the door, let me in, and I’d finally kiss you.”
My fingers tighten around the phone that’s resting on the pillow beside me. I imagine opening the door and him wasting no time as he steps up to me, grabs my face, and slams his mouth to mine. A quiet gasp escapes me before I can stop it.
“I want that,” I whisper, my voice barely there. “So much.”
“I think about it constantly,” he admits. “Think about you constantly.”
Heat pools in my stomach, my body already reacting to the sound of his voice and the images he’s painting with it.
“You did say you’re good at keeping your promises,” I tease, my voice rough with want.
“Oh, I am,” he assures me, and I can hear the smile in his voice—smug, seductive, and sincere all at once. “And that one’s at the top of my list.”
“Fuck,” I gasp. My dick is thickening in my boxer briefs, and I want to stroke myself to the sound of his voice, to the fantasy he’s building. It’s unbelievable how much he’s affecting me even through the phone. I swallow and decide to take a chance. “What would you do… once you were inside?”
His exhale is slow and sounds a lot like a mmm sound. “You sure you want me to tell you that?”
“Yes,” I beg. “Tell me.”
There’s a moment of silence, and the anticipation only makes me harder. I squeeze myself through my briefs, thumb brushing over my tip before the urge to free myself becomes too much. I lift my hips and get naked, hand wrapping around my cock just as I hear his voice.
“I’d close the door behind me.” He continues the fantasy. “And I’d press you up against it so you could feel what you do to me. I’d grip your hips, kiss you slow at first, then deeper like I’ve been thinking about since that night in the hotel.”
A gasp leaves my lips. I need lube. He’s only talked about kissing me, but the image of it is filthy. I bite my bottom lip, reaching into my bedside drawer for lube, struggling to stay quiet even though no one’s around to hear.
“Then what?” I ask, desperate now, holding my dick in my grip while I find the bottle.
He hums low in his throat. “Then I’d take my time with you. Grind against you, kiss you until you’re so worked up you’re begging me to take you to bed.” He pauses, and it’s filled with tension through the phone. “Would you let me undress you, Caleb?”
I nod even though he can’t see it. “Yes.”
“I’d bring you to your bedroom,” he continues. “Let my hands get acquainted with your sexy body. Touch every inch of you until you’re shaking for me, desperate for more.”
A low sound escapes my throat despite my best efforts to swallow it down.
“That’s it, I want to hear you,” Nash encourages.
I squirt some lube into my hand and start stroking my cock. My entire body is keyed up with the kind of tension that won’t go away on its own. I want him—the weight of him, the heat, the pressure of his body against mine. Need to feel it.
“I’d pull your shirt off first,” he murmurs, “then push you back onto the bed and climb over you, grind down on your clothed erection until you’re writhing and begging for me to get us both naked. I want to see how you look when you fall apart under me.”
“Fuck,” I breathe.
“That’s what I want, Cay,” he confirms. “Because you’re in my head. Every second of every day, I think about you. I keep wondering how it’s possible that I’ve only known you a few days and I already want you this much.”
The confession floors me—more than anything else he’s said—even though my mind is spinning on his nickname for me.
“I want you too,” I whisper. “So fucking badly.”
There’s another pause as I continue to stroke myself to the fantasy he’s building in my head.
“You touching yourself right now?” he asks, voice low and knowing.
My breath stutters. “Yes.”
“Let me hear what I do to you.”
It’s the permission I didn’t realize I was waiting for. I let out a breathy moan that I can’t hold back.
“Fuck,” Nash groans. “That’s the sound I’ve been dying to hear.”