Chapter 3
Callie
He almost looked human when he interacted with his niece and nephew. His face wasn’t constipated, and the smile actually looked—natural. The baby was getting big. That was quick.
Or was I just getting old?
Either way, he looked sexy holding the little girl in a hot daddy kind of way.
I smiled at the relaxed family farewell. He passed the baby to her mother, picked up the boy, kissed his cheek, and tousled his hair before setting him down. He stayed on the street until they drove off, waving after them.
I guess he could emanate human emotion—if only once a month.
He turned and looked up.
Oh, fuck.
Right at me.
I couldn’t move or duck. It was too late. I lifted my hand and gave an awkward wave. My legs felt weak until his face returned to its usual miserable default setting.
Then he looked away and walked back to his house.
I exhaled heavily. I needed to get over the hot, grumpy landlord. It was such a cliché.
Yet even as I moved away from the window, I couldn’t help but remember the last time he brought a woman home.
Had we all watched him fuck her in the kitchen? Yes.
Lights out, all of us pushing and shoving while Melissa practically commentated on the event like a sports guru.
He had dark energy—in the best way possible.
I couldn’t even blame Melissa for panting over him. Not after we saw how he swung that lucky bitch from the counter to the wall like a rag doll.
He was a man, not an insecure or immature boy.
My entire résumé of sex was with two guys, and neither of them had made me come, let alone the way that woman had. That hadn’t even been the end—they’d gone upstairs afterwards. He wasn't a two-minute man. I was petty and jealous, even after ten and a half months.
Focus, Callie. You’re here for education, not dick.
What a depressing thought.
I should grab the chance while I could. Maybe pretend I couldn’t make rent this month and knock on his door. Knowing my luck, he’d evict me and I’d still be dickless.
?? ?? ??
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Belle asked, frowning.
“Yes!”
Even her hesitation made me want to do it more.
She shrugged and lifted the hair dye.
“It’s just the bottom—and because my hair’s wavy, even if it gets messed up, it won’t be a problem.”
“I’m just surprised you chose purple.”
“I’m tired of my usual look,” I mumbled.
“You’ve got gorgeous hair. Do you know how many people would kill for natural auburn hair?”
I didn’t reply. Compliments always made me uncomfortable.
“But it’s up to you,” she said, starting to apply the dye.
My parents would hate it.
I smiled.
“Go for it.”
?? ?? ??
I slinked out of class, hugging my books to my chest. The new hair colour was a hit—exactly the boost of confidence I needed.
Now all I needed was my heavy-duty vibrator… which I was buying in Klarna instalments.
I’d tried the cheap brands. They never lasted long.
This one was mid-range and came highly recommended.
I’d struggled for days and eventually accepted that living off eggs, beans, and toast for two months would be worth it.
The sun was shining, and I decided to walk home rather than catch the bus.
But then I remembered my parcel.
Panic set in, and I broke into a jog as I spotted my bus approaching.
I tapped my card and slid into a seat, pulling out my phone to check the parcel tracking app.
“No,” I whispered.
Delivered to neighbour A. Graves at number 58.
I dialled Melissa’s number, already fuming—silently, of course.
“Hallo…” she croaked.
“Melissa, you dizzy cow! You missed my parcel.”
“Ugh. Sorry, I had a late night,” she groaned.
I sighed.
She was a mess, but somehow still managed to pull decent grades on her coursework.
There was no point yelling. I didn’t have the energy.
“I’m on my way,” I muttered.
She grunted and hung up.
The company promised discreet packaging. There was no way he could know what was in the parcel.
Deep breaths, Callie.
I pulled out my 39p can of energy drink and knocked it back before my stop arrived. Yeah. I could do this. Even if my heart was pumping like I’d just been caught with porn on the family computer.
I pressed the bell and stood by the doors, empty can in hand. As soon as the bus stopped, I jumped off, tossed the can into the bin, and marched toward our street.
But as I approached his gate, my pace slowed. His hedges needed a trim. That wasn’t like him. He usually kept everything neat.
I opened the iron gate—it screeched—and my grip tightened on my backpack strap as I made my way up the path.
He wasn’t my first crush, but he was definitely the most inappropriate. More intense than the one I’d had on my high school English teacher. Alistair Graves was every red flag I could think of compared to Mr Simonds.
I wiped my sweaty palms down my denim skirt and rang the bell.
Then I just stood there—staring straight into the camera.