Chapter Nineteen
Garrett
What in the ever-loving fuck am I doing? I had a plan, a firm plan about how the night was gonna go. I hate the idea of it, because it feels sleazy. I’m planning to use her to get what I want.
No matter how many times I tell myself I’m doing it to protect her. This plan is fucked up.
I’m a shit person for coming up with it, never mind trying to enact it. It doesn’t mean I have to fuck her again to get access to Caleb’s apartment. What other reason could I have for going up there, given the type of relationship I have with Calli?
That was the premise for this. And I convinced myself getting her into bed again is a perk and she’ll welcome it as much as I will. There is the complication of her seeing it as more than what it is, but I am willing to take that risk.
Bringing her to meet Ziva was supposed to be a way to distract her. To show her what she is missing by blowing off her passion for architecture and creating. It pisses me off she is willing to walk away from something she was so good at, all because of the shit her ex pulled.
It was tough on her, I get it. I can’t imagine what it must have been like to be arrested by the FBI. Or have her reputation destroyed. People focus on the bad of a sensational situation like that. No one remembers the innocent party who walks away broken.
So, two birds with one stone, right?
Except…
When I left them to talk and for Ziva to work her magic on Calli, I sat on a bench watching her. Initially I wandered up and down the market, taking it all in, enjoying my solitude while being in a crowd. Then I grabbed a bottle of water and found a place to sit.
And became enthralled. The look of concentration on her face while she draws spoke to me in a way watching a woman shouldn’t. Damn right she is sexy as hell and I’ve enjoyed the time we’ve spent together, even though I do everything within my power not to show it.
I couldn’t take my eyes off her. The way her blonde hair would occasionally spill over her shoulder and onto the page, how casually and unhurried she pushed it back behind her ear. The way she studied the building she was drawing. It surprised me she didn’t spot me sooner.
Ziva did. That woman is more insightful than anyone I’ve ever met. She got her first tattoo when she was sixty-one, which was how we met. Something about her kind eyes and easy-going attitude drew me to her and our friendship grew from there.
Now as I walk along beside Calli, I can’t stop thinking this is a bad idea. I should figure out another way to get back into Caleb’s apartment. The problem is, I’ve been there enough times now that I could be recognized. Especially by Calli if she catches me.
The drawing she did while sitting with Ziva is sticking out the top of her purse. I’m dying to see what she drew. Calli eyes my cup, so I lead her to a stall selling drinks. She gets a boba tea which is the color of toxic waste, and I grab another water.
Calli takes a sip through her straw. The suck and pull of her lips gives me ideas. Ones I am currently trying to convince myself against.
From the way she looks at me, and the pretty pink flush on her cheeks, she’s thinking it too.
“Come on,” I lead her away from the bustle of the market and over to a pathway into the small park where there are more benches.
Once we’re seated, Calli frowns down at her drink. “You’re perplexing me.”
“Why?” I lift a brow.
“I understand what you brought me here for, I don’t get why. Why do you care?”
Straight in with the hard questions. Can’t say I blame her. Hiding shit isn’t my way but with this, I have to. Scaring her over Caleb isn’t happening, the less she knows about him, the better.
Of course, there is also the added complication that I care.
“I hate to see talent wasted,” I say.
“I’ve told you my reasons.” There isn’t much force in her voice but there is definitely a smoldering fire. “You still haven’t answered the question.”
“Pretty sure I did.”
“That doesn’t tell me why you care. You hate to see talent wasted. You could say that about a lot of people. Why me specifically? I don’t want you or anyone else to feel sorry for me. It’s why I came here, to get away from all the pity. And accusations.”
“Did you enjoy tonight? Sitting with Ziva, drawing again.”
She looks pissed I pivoted the conversation again, but answers me anyway. “I’ve never stopped drawing. None of it means I’ve lost my passion for it.”
Her brow creases. Shit, she’s beautiful when she gets angry. I want to prod at her to make that look intensify. It shouldn’t get me hard.
“You’re not happy,” I state frankly.
“I’m perfectly happy,” she straightens her spine and glares at me. “I came here for a fresh start and it’s what I’ve got. I have a good job, great friends, a nice place to live. No one knows me here.”
“All surface stuff. And it’s precisely my point. No one knows you, so why are you hiding? Does working at a coffee shop make your heart pound? Is that what gets you out of bed in the morning?”
“I never asked for your opinion, or your advice.”
“I’m giving it away freely.”
“Oh great. I’m blessed,” she rolls her eyes.
She’s going too far in the wrong direction now. If I want to get into her apartment building, I have to stop antagonizing her. That thought makes me feel like a prick.
“This thing,” she points between our bodies with a finger. “Has always been one-sided. You know so much more about me than I know about you. Why should I accept you are doing this to help me, when you haven’t told me a single thing about yourself?”
“That’s fair. What do you want to know?”
She’s taken aback and her mouth falls open, then snaps shut. I can see the wheels turning. I opened myself up to this and can guess what’s coming. Before she can ask, I speak up.
“I became an apprentice tattooist after I got out of the army. It took me three years to work my way up to having clients who asked for me. All of my time and money was put into tattooing. Then buying the shop. I’ve got everything I want because I put in the hard work.”
“You’ve already told me you were in the army. And I know about the shop.”
“See, you do know things about me.”
“Not because we’ve had an open and honest conversation. It’s all been in passing. Or small talk because we don’t want to do the whole wham bam thank you mam then kick each other out.”
I can’t help but let out a laugh at that. Her head spins to me. There is more curiosity in that gaze than annoyance. She squeezes the plastic cup of green water with bits floating in it.
“Tell me something.”
It’s not a question, it’s an order. More like a request, she’s not the bossy type. Am I ready to share what she wants to know? It’s one thing I never talk about. Not even with the guys at the shop. They didn’t know me when Gwen was alive. Phoenix is the only one aware of my family situation.
Do I want to tell her? For the right reasons, not to get into her pants for an ulterior motive.
Snap decision made. “Ask me something.”
“You’re infuriating.”
“And I’ll make no apologies for that. You won’t get this pass again.”
Her body shifts toward me. It’s on the tip of her tongue to ask. The indecision is odd. She should be blurting out the question most women in her position would want the answer to.
“Are you so closed off because of what happened with her?”
That is deeper than straight up asking who the woman in the sketch pad is. Drawing in a couple of breaths I make a choice.
“Partly.”
Calli nods, her eyes probing. It’s not the answer she was hoping for, but she asked the wrong question if she wanted me to open up.
“It doesn’t matter what happened with her,” she says slowly. “It matters what it does to us, you,” she corrects.
That is an interesting slip of the tongue.
“We can’t be defined by our exes,” she clarifies.
Oh right, she’s talking about her shithead ex. And now she thinks Gwen is an ex who made it hard for me to trust people. Calli can’t be blamed for that. To anyone looking in, it’s exactly how it appears.
Instead of probing any further she finishes the rest of her tea and drops the cup into the trash can beside the bench.
As she shifts, the drawing falls out of her purse and onto the bench between us. It half unravels, and she snatches it up to stop me seeing.
Too late, I saw the hand with the familiar ink and the slope of my jaw line.
She drew me ? For most of the time I was watching her draw, I thought she didn’t look in my direction once. Okay, now I understand her desire to see my sketches.
For a long moment, I stare at her. She folds up the picture and shoves it back in her purse, then fidgets with the strap and keeps her eyes firmly away from me.
“You’re not going to show me?”
“Nope,” she side-eyes me.
“You know I saw what it was.”
She hums in response.
“You drew me.” Another death glare. “Have I been playing on your mind?”
“Not in the slightest. It was just a doodle.”
“A doodle. That is a very realistic and true to life doodle.”
“You barely saw it,” she huffs.
“I saw enough.”
“Shut up,” she slaps my thigh with the back of her hand.
Without thinking, I grab her hand and pull hard enough so she slides across the bench. She lets out a little squeal of surprise but doesn’t fight me as her body presses into my side. I hold our hands up between us, a minimal and ineffective barrier. Calli is breathing heavily enough that her chest is heaving, brushing the back of my hand.
I fucking love that I have this effect on her. I try to fight the idea of her doing the same thing to me. A gust of wind sends hair blowing across her face. Calli reaches up to move it but I get there first, sweeping the hair back and over her shoulder.
My stomach twists and my throat gets all tight. I try to force the feeling away but staring into her gorgeous face is making me insane. Making me want to do stupid shit, like kiss her. The skin of her neck is hot and soft. I feel myself giving in to the pull.
A scream tears me back from her and without conscious thought I put my arm out in front of her, shielding her with my body. The scream is followed by raucous laughter and the sound of wheels on the pavement as two kids fly past us on skateboards.
Jesus. My arm falls to my side, and I stand, watching after the little fuckers. They’re purposely bothering the people on the street, narrowly missing crashing into a couple who have to jump out of the way. If they weren’t on skateboards and so far away now, I’d chase the little bastards down.
A light tug on my arm reminds me where I am and who I’m with. I scrape my hand over my jaw. This isn’t a date, and I can’t afford to get distracted.
“We should go,” I say.
As we walk back up the cobbled street to the bike, I can’t help but feel like I’ve let her down. And myself.
This isn’t me. I don’t let women get inside my head. What is it about this woman? We’ve barely spent any meaningful time together. Even tonight, I left her with Ziva for most of it. Except, in some ways, what I did tonight speaks much louder than words.
Nothing is going on. I just want to make sure she is safe.
There will be no using her to get to Caleb. I got into his apartment once before, I can do it again.
Calli doesn’t talk as we make it back to the bike. She slots in behind me like she was made to sit there, her arms wrapping around me, hands clasped tight over my abdomen. Her scent surrounds me and makes me crazy.
As I drive, I focus on the warmth of her body behind me. It’s a miracle I don’t run a stop sign or crash the damn bike. It’s nearly ten by the time we get back to her apartment. I turn off the engine and help her off the bike.
Calli sets her helmet on the seat and comes to stand in front of me. I make no move to get off the bike. Her spine straightens, and she looks me dead in the eye.
“Are you coming in?”
“That wasn’t why I took you out tonight,” I tell her.
“No one said it was. You won’t get this pass again,” she arches a brow, using my words from earlier against me.
Something tells me if I drive off right now, I’ll completely blow it with her. Which means I most definitely should. I’m not looking to get in too deep. With her, or anyone. Keeping people at arm’s length is a specialty of mine. Allowing a woman to work her way inside my chest to that cold, dark place where no one has been for years, goes against every part of me.
It’s so much easier to keep things clinical, just about sex. Then there is no fall out to deal with, no complications or drama. I’ve been damn good at it for years.
Why do I want to climb off my bike and follow her, not just inside, but even further than that?
It’s not only how she looks, or the sway of her hips as she heads to the door of her building. It’s impossible to tear my eyes off her.
The strength that made her walk away from her old life and come here to start afresh is not loud or showy. She shies away from drawing attention to herself. I’ve never gone for women who don’t know what they want. The whole damsel in distress thing doesn’t interest me.
Calli walked through a storm and came out the other side stronger than she realizes. My pushing her today shows it's still there, her need to do the thing she loves.
I don’t like this feeling. This dumb, never-ending need to keep her safe. I’ve seen her handle Caleb, she doesn’t need me to step in.
He's an unknown, and my instincts tell me he’s bad news. Calli doesn’t need that kind of shit pushing its way into her life. Not after everything she has been through.
Yes, she’s tough and there is a lot to be admired about her, but I see more. The facade she puts on to hide that deep inside she is still hurting.
The stubborn, angry at the world part of me wants to push it away, force her out of my brain. Calli is making me question what it will be like to stop resisting. What it will be like to let her in. I hate second guessing my choices.
Fuck, this shit scares the hell out of me.
Calli reaches the door and turns to look at me. I wait to see disappointment in her eyes. Instead, the way she stares is a challenge. I’ve never been one to walk away from a challenge.
I’m not thinking about Caleb and getting into his apartment anymore. I don’t even care what my friends will think. One more time and then I can walk away. I keep repeating that as I climb off the bike and walk toward her.
Calli watches me, her cobalt blue eyes blazing with desire. We don’t see anyone on the way to her apartment. I honestly don’t think I would care if we did. Once we’re inside, I don’t give her a chance to do or say anything. In two strides I’m across the living area of her apartment and have picked her up, pulling her thighs up to wrap around my waist.
All I see when I look at her is the raw need that’s tearing through me. Gripping her ass, I pull her tighter against me and she drags her hands through my hair, leaning in until our lips meet in an angry, desperate kiss. Neither one of us wants to back down.
I’ve never been in her bedroom before, but I find the way without breaking the kiss. One swift kick and the door slams behind me. Moving across the room, I pull back and set her on the floor.
“Are you sure about this?”
“Do I look like I want you to leave?”
I gather her hair in my fist and tug so her head tips back, her chin high, her eyes pinned on mine.
“I will not hold back Calli.”
“Good.”
A dark laugh escapes me. She thinks she is going to be in control? Not a chance. She might think she’s won, but she doesn’t know what she is letting herself in for.