9. Callum #2
I laughed as Wes tried to wrestle me to the ground. I changed levels, throwing him off guard until we both tumbled into the grass, splayed out on our backs. Out of breath, we panted, staring up into the bright, cloudless sky.
A genuine laugh broke free, and a lightness I hadn’t felt in days rolled through me.
“Want to get a few beers once your housework is done?” Wes teased.
I grinned. “You bet.” I sat up and sighed before slapping the back of my hand against his gut in a cheap shot and running off across the grass.
The Lantern had been crowded, a popular local band drawing in a healthy crowd. Brody joined us after work along with his half brother, Austin. Hayes had gotten a flat tire on his way out, but once that was sorted, he came too.
I nursed a beer on the outskirts of the bar, happy to observe a Thursday night in Star Harbor unfold. The warm temperatures drew out the crowds, and the back patio was filled with patrons. I would have been happy finding a quiet corner, but I had been outvoted.
Hayes was content to brood with me while the rest of our group took turns buying rounds and striking out with the tourists. I had no interest.
Then the energy in the room shifted. I didn’t even have to turn my head to know she was there—I felt it.
Ellie stepped into the bar like she belonged there. Which, I supposed, she did.
She was laughing, something bright and easy, already caught in conversation as she wove through the crowd. She greeted people as she passed—old classmates, neighbors, familiar faces from her childhood.
“Ellie! I can’t wait to bring the kids to the farm,” a woman called, raising her wineglass as Elodie passed. Elodie grinned, tossing back something in response, her enthusiastic energy contagious.
Her sister Kit was with her, but Elodie was the one who drew attention without even trying.
She reached Hayes first, giving him a quick, familiar squeeze on the arm as she passed.
He responded with a nod, smirking slightly.
Then she turned toward the rest of us, scanning the table, her eyes flicking to me for a beat too long before moving on.
I should have looked away, but I didn’t.
Wes would have a fucking field day with this.
The sound of easy laughter, the unhurried sway of her hips as she moved through the bar, the faint scent of something warm and sweet trailing behind her.
My eyes were already tracking her, already noting the way her hair fell in wild waves around her shoulders, already catching on the soft slip of fabric hugging her curves just right, already cursing the way the light caught on the bare skin of her collarbone.
“I’ll get the next round,” I announced to the table, already moving toward the bar.
I wasn’t happy she was here. At least, that was what I told myself.
I wasn’t happy that she was invading my space, my night, my town, just like she’d already invaded every corner of my brain. I wasn’t happy that she had this effortless way of commanding attention, of turning heads, of making people want to orbit around her like she was the damn sun.
And I sure as hell wasn’t happy that I was one of them.
At the bar, I signaled to the bartender and waited, focusing on my drink, my breathing, the game playing on the mounted TVs—anything but her.
She was moving past me, close enough that I caught the faintest whiff of vanilla and something floral, something that made my grip tighten around my beer bottle.
And then, before she even realized it, some idiot moved too fast in her direction, not seeing her, not noticing that she was about to get knocked into the barstools.
I saw it before it happened, and my body reacted before my brain caught up .
My hand was on her before I could think better of it. My palm was firm against the small of her back, steadying her, grounding her, feeling the heat of her skin through the thin material of her dress.
She stilled, just for a second—just long enough for her body to register mine, for the warmth of her breath to ghost across my jaw when she turned her head toward me, for her pulse to kick under my touch.
I should have moved my hand. I should have let go.
Instead, my fingers curled ever so slightly against her.
She wasn’t looking at me now, not fully. Her gaze had dropped over her shoulder to where my hand was still pressed against her, like she was trying to piece together why I was still touching her.
Then I felt him—the drunk guy who nearly sent her into the bar, still standing too close, still in her space like he had a right to be.
I barely spared him a glance. Just reached out, tapped him on the shoulder.
The guy turned, bleary-eyed and slow. I didn’t smile, didn’t frown. I didn’t even have to raise my voice. I just looked at him.
“Back up.” My voice was low and even, with nothing but steel behind it.
He blinked, took one look at me, and immediately moved, his hands lifting in surrender.
Elodie finally looked up, her gaze sharp and searching, trying to pin me down. “What was that about?”
I lifted my beer, flicking my attention back toward the game. “It was nothing.”
She didn’t buy it, but after a beat, she scoffed under her breath. “ Whatever.”
Shaking her head, she lingered in my space just a second too long before finally stepping away.
When the bartender returned with our beers, I scooped them up and returned to the table, where I spent an unhealthy number of minutes watching Elodie laugh and dance with Kit.
At one point Kit saw Hayes, and I thought the women might join us at our table.
Kit cast an invisible fishing line toward him and pretended to reel him in, but when he playfully swatted her away, she laughed before turning around on the dance floor.
He might be as brooding as me, but Hayes had a genuine soft spot for his sisters.
I had a thousand questions for Hayes about one sister in particular, but I kept them to myself. My obsession with Elodie was borderline unhealthy, and the last thing I needed was my friend knowing I was actively rooting for his little sister’s downfall.
Elodie moved like she was made to dance, undulating to the beat that proved she had natural rhythm.
When the band played a slow, crooning ballad, her eyes fluttered closed.
The long column of her neck stretched as she tipped her face toward the ceiling, carried away by the music.
My eyes lingered, roaming over her skin, soaking in any scrap of bare flesh as she swayed.
My jaw clenched so tight it ached.
With her head tipped back, exposing the elegant stretch of her throat, I felt a sharp, physical pull, low and insistent, like an invisible tether yanking me toward her.
She was everywhere and I couldn’t find an ounce of peace. My beer bottle hit the table a little too hard.
I need to get the fuck out of here.
I gripped my thigh under the table in an attempt to ground myself. I had been too lonely for too long. My physical reaction had nothing to do with the fact that Elodie happened to be the embodiment of my ideal woman—thick curves, taut skin, pouty lips that begged to be wrapped around me.
It wasn’t her—it was just shitty luck. At least, that was the lie I had to tell myself to keep from turning into a caveman whenever some schmuck tried to dance with her.
When an upbeat song started, Elodie eagerly bounced on her toes, her tits bouncing along, and I finally lost it.
“Okay, I’m out of here.” I stood, the wooden legs of my chair scraping against the floor.
Surprised by my abruptness, Hayes lowered his beer bottle. “You sure?”
I dropped a handful of bills onto the table, abandoning my own drink. “Yep. I’ll catch up with everyone later.”
Hayes nodded. “Sounds good, man.”
As I made my escape, I risked a glance at the dance floor. Elodie’s eyes locked with mine and my pulse hammered in my ears. For a split second, time slowed as her doe eyes blinked. Her tongue wetted her lower lip before her lips hooked up in a defiant smirk.
Hot, hostile energy sizzled across the crowded bar.
With her eyes still on mine, she leaned over and whispered something to Kit, who nodded.
Annoyance rattled through me. It took everything inside me not to storm up to her and plant my mouth on hers just to wipe the cocky look off her face.
I tamped down the urge to claim her and prove to everyone that Elodie Darling had no hold over me whatsoever. Need, hot and angry, tore through me. My raging cock pressed against the zipper of my jeans and didn’t relent the entire drive home.
The inn was quiet, but I slinked into the side entrance, avoiding everyone. I needed to get my head on straight. To focus.
I needed a release.
I briefly noted that Levi’s door was closed, and the soft glow of light assured me that he was home. I slipped the key into my suite and kicked the door closed, not bothering to lock it behind me. I wasn’t turning in for the night, just doing what I needed to get some relief.
I scrubbed a hand down my face and paced the length of my room, dragging my palm over the back of my neck. The air inside felt stifling, thick with something I couldn’t shake.
Her.
That fucking smirk. That smug, infuriating look in her eyes when she met my gaze across the bar. Like she knew she was in my head. Like she belonged there.
Once inside the bathroom, I stepped into the shower and let the hot spray scorch the muscles in my back.
I should be thinking about anything else—the breakfast menu for tomorrow, how to be a better parent, the list of repairs waiting at the inn.
Anything but her.
But the second I shut my eyes, she was there—laughing, teasing, moving to music like she was made from it. My breath came heavier. I knew exactly where this was headed, and I hated myself for it.
But not enough to stop.
Heat unfurled inside me as my dick throbbed. Thoughts of Elodie and her gorgeous, infuriating face continued to fill my mind. I had never had a hatred hard-on, but it was a mysterious and powerful thing.
Feeling it, thick and heavy, I hated the fact that it would be wasted on my hand when it deserved to sink into a warm, wet woman.
But I didn’t have a choice.
My hand wrapped around it and I groaned, choking on the sound as need drove me forward. Blood hammered in my veins, and I shut out the world. I let every rational thought leave my head as I lost myself in sensation.
I hadn’t been with a woman in years, and stroking my cock had become just another way to appease my base instincts. A means to an end.
But this was different.
Unabashed need danced with something dark and unnamed.
The image of Ellie sprawled in front of me, on display for me.
I groaned at the thought of her hot, wet cunt waiting for me to stretch her open.
My cock protested, hating my hand but needing it all the same.
I didn’t allow myself to touch her, not even in my mind.
Instead, I continued stroking my cock to the image of Elodie, just out of reach.
Teasing me. Acute awareness prickled at something in my brain, heightening my already honed senses.
The mental imagery was working, because suddenly I could feel her in the room, pliant and curious.
I could practically smell her spicy vanilla perfume mixing with the steam of the shower.
It only fueled the fantasy, bringing it to life as I hurtled closer to the edge.
Tension curled in my lower back as I jutted my hips forward, fucking my hand and imagining what it might be like to paint those perfect tits with my cum.
She would like it, reveling in how undone she made me. I groaned as I tugged. As far as angry jerk-off sessions went, this one was unrivaled.
Pathetic.
My fantasy should have been enough—I had hoped to be left sated, empty, and free of her—but it wasn’t.
The water pounded against my skin, but it didn’t rinse her from my thoughts. I braced a forearm against the tile, hanging my head as I pumped. Soon thick ropes of cum painted the shower wall as I envisioned it landing across her tits instead. Pointed nipples glistening with my release.
As I came my body jerked, and a single word slipped past my lips: “Elodie.”