Chapter 23
ALIA
I’m confused about what to focus on: the massive bouquet of flowers being thrust into my face or the beaming man holding them out for me. The tulips, for obvious reasons, are stunning. There must be at least two dozen sunny blooms, but that’s not what knocks the breath out of me.
Callum, in his short-sleeved t-shirt which stretches over his obscenely chiseled chest, wearing a frayed hat, and a gingham apron around his trim waist? I’ve walked into a wet dream I never want to wake up from.
I stand in the foyer of Cal’s beautiful home, staring unabashedly at him and drinking in every detail like a woman parched.
“Do you not like tulips?” he asks when I make no move to take them. He frowns at the flowers like they’ve done something offensive. “I didn’t know your favorite kind, so I took a chance.”
“I don’t have a favorite flower,” I reply, though tulips have definitely shot to the top of my list.
“Should I have bought potatoes instead of flowers?” He smirks, gesturing to the bouquet again. Shaking off my surprise, I accept them eagerly.
“No, I mean. . . thank you. These are lovely.”
As he ushers me inside, it takes everything in me not to bury my flaming face in the tulips until I recover.
As pathetic as it may be, I’ve never received flowers before.
I’m touched he cared enough to buy them.
Not that he needs to put in any effort. It’s all but certain he’ll see me naked tonight.
That inevitability has my hands shaking, but I can’t freak out and ruin this.
I shrug my jacket off to cool myself as Cal ambles up to the stove, checking on a large pot.
“Hope you’re hungry. It’s not a fancy restaurant, but I can work my way around the kitchen.”
“Smells good. Besides,” I add, dropping my purse on the empty stool nearby, “you don’t have to take me to a fancy restaurant. Not like this is a date.”
Cal swipes a spoon from his drawer before waving me over. He dips it into the sauce, blows gently on it and holds it out for me.
“We’re not going to a restaurant because I didn’t want to take a chance being spotted outside, especially if you aren’t comfortable with any kind of scrutiny.”
My lips close around the warm metal as the tang of tomato hits my tongue. I’m torn between complimenting his delicious sauce and assuring him that my comment wasn’t some roundabout hint.
As if he’s guessed my thoughts, his chin dips down.
“This can be a date if you want,” he says gently, eyes lingering on my lips as I lick them. “Or it can simply be two friends hanging out for dinner.”
“A casual date between friends,” I hum. “No big deal.”
“No big deal,” he repeats, teasing me with a friendly wink. I chuckle, at ease with him in a way I’m not with others.
“Here, snack on this while the pasta cooks.” Cal pulls out a green plastic container and dumps the contents into a large wooden bowl. I peer at the flat, yellow, jerky-looking chips, trying to guess what they are, when the sweet scent of something familiar hits my nostrils.
“Mango?” My voice pitches in surprise.
“Dried mango. Couldn’t find the fresh ones, I’m afraid.”
He looks embarrassed. This man, who has taken the effort to remember what I like and found a replacement, is unhappy he couldn’t bring me my favorite fruit fresh.
An unfamiliar tension tightens within me, the skin along the sides of my face prickling.
What have I done to deserve such special treatment?
Doubts nag me while my body thrums with his closeness, seeking the comfort of his presence. Such vastly contrasting feelings rob me of my voice. I pick a piece, mumbling quietly, “This is good enough.”
When I bite into it, sweetness floods my mouth. The taste of mango washes away all other flavors. A soft curse reaches my ears and my eyes fly open, noting his gaze set intently upon my mouth. That’s when I realize I’ve moaned at the unexpected foodgasm.
Suddenly. Obscenely. Loudly.
“I’m sorry—that was. . . I didn’t mean to. Sorry! I won’t do it again.”
Cal’s throat bobs, sounding choked when he says, “That’s probably a good idea.”
Close your mouth and stop making noises. You sound like a whore.
Namik’s hissed words and the recollection of his bruising grip slithers to the forefront of my mind.
Mortification slams into me, a piercing burn rising up the back of my nose and settling behind my eyes. That prickling sensation from before returns, except now, it spreads down my arms and makes me want to hug myself to keep the shame away.
“I was going to wait ’til later but fuck it. Come here,“ Cal orders gruffly, a curt, impatient sound rumbling in his throat when I don’t move quickly enough. I glance up just in time to see him eat the distance between us in a single step.
Large hands cup my cheeks, tilting my face up. When his lips press against mine, it isn’t soft or sweet. It’s hot, possessive, and hungry.
He sucks, nibbles, and teases my mouth open until his tongue sweeps in, his hum of satisfaction reverberating through me. Pleasure skates over my nerves, dulling the pain of a bad memory more effectively than any other panacea.
When he pulls away, I’m left with jellied knees and a hammering heart. I hold onto his shirt for dear life and hope he doesn’t expect me to let go anytime soon.
Cal licks his wet lips, savoring the taste he’s stolen from me, and smirks, looking extremely pleased with himself. “I see why you moaned like it was the best thing you’ve put in your mouth. Fuckin’ delicious.”
Every fiber of my being wants to melt. He wasn’t staring at me because he found me embarrassing? The realization acts like an unlikely balm over a cut I never acknowledged.
“Oh.”
That’s the only syllable left in my arsenal of viable responses. This man has, for the second time this week, decimated my capacity to speak by kissing me into a state of delirium. More than that, he’s effortlessly provided me with a comfort I needed but didn’t know how to ask for.
How am I supposed to survive a casual fling with him? What the hell have I gotten myself into? At this rate, I’ll have to set daily reminders to leave my emotions at the door because this thing with Cal? It’s supposed to be just sex.
I’m doing this so I can overcome my discomfort with intimacy. Namik made it clear I was uninspiring in bed. The longer I’m away from his influence, the easier it’s becoming to believe I wasn’t the problem. But none of the men I’ve met through dating apps have given me the sense of security Cal has.
I wonder if that’s why those dates never worked out. Maybe, on a subconscious level, I was allowing Namik’s voice to sabotage them.
But I was able to push past it just now and that further strengthens my hope that this experimentation will finally let me leave him where he belongs: in the dungeons of my past, along with every inkling of doubt and apprehension he propagated in me.
“Permission to speak freely?”
Cal’s question cuts into my thoughts.
“Why do you ask for permission when we both know you’re going to speak your mind anyway?”
“Manners, Tots,” he chides playfully as he navigates to the sink. “My mother would be disappointed in me if I forgot my manners.”
“So, if I say no, you’ll listen?” I tease, passing him the colander when he reaches for it.
“For a while, yes. But then I’d probably ask again.”
I guffaw at his cheekiness, leaning over to try the piece of gnocchi he holds out for me. My mouth is full, so I wave at him to continue speaking.
“Why ChatTrick?” he asks, plating a generous portion of food on two plates. He nods toward the glass doors leading out to a beautiful patio.
I pad behind him.
“Would you rather I use ClitMate?”
He chokes and our plates clatter onto the glass tabletop, thankfully safe. When he finally turns to face me, his green eyes shine with a mix of interest, amusement, and horror.
“Please don’t tell me you’re using ClitMate,” he begs, dragging a chair out for me. Pressing my lips together, I rein in the urge to chortle.
ChatTrick is tame compared to ClitMate. An hour into making a profile on the latter, I realized it was too much, too soon. Most of the twenty or so messages I received only had three letters in it: DTF?
Down to fuck. I went as far as googling it to make sure I wasn’t mistaking it for something else.
Cal shakes his head as he drops into the seat beside mine, wagging one finger at me like I’m an errant child.
“You, Alia Tater Tots Joshi, are still waters.”
I giggle, feeling naughty. I’m not so deep as that, but Cal finding me interesting is an ego boost I’ll take any day. “How else was I supposed to meet men?”
“Now that you have me, you can delete all those apps. I can even do it for you.”
He almost sounds jealous. Ha! Now I’ve certainly lost it. Why would he, with all his options and his undeniable charm, be jealous?
But I don’t deny his conclusion. There’s no point. He’s the only one I’m interested in.
He holds out his fork toward me, waiting expectantly.
My gaze flickers between the tines to his face and back before it finally clicks.
I lift my fork and hesitantly clink it against his in an odd sort of cheers.
His panty-melting grin widens, making flutters of something warm and cozy flicker to life within me, spreading light into a darkened and forgotten corner of my heart.
That smile is a dangerous thing to a woman’s libido.
No wonder the man is as popular as he is.
“Is furasta an práta a thabhairt suas nuair a bhíonn grá ann,” he announces, waving his fork in the air dramatically before stabbing the gnocchi with gusto.
“What language is that?” I ask, enjoying the luscious texture of the sauce coating my pasta.
“Irish Gaelic. My grandma used to say it to me as a child.”
“Like the Irish version of bon appétit?”
“Not quite,” he snorts. “I believe it means it’s easy to halve a potato where there is love. But it’s the only Gaelic I know, so I throw it out occasionally. Sometimes jumbling up the words. Novak thinks I’m cursing at him every time.”
Laughing in ernest at his mischievousness, I raise my fork to imitate him, feeling silly and happy, something I haven’t felt for quite some time.
A quick check tells me his attention is on his food.
I indulge in the opportunity to stare at him without shame, noting the long lashes lining his eyes, a shade darker than his brows.
He chooses that moment to take his hat off to run his fingers through his messy locks.
The setting sun picks up streaks of dirty blond and not for the first time, I wonder how soft his hair would be to touch.
Good lord, the man should come with a warning sign.
Caution: ovarian combustion imminent.
I hadn’t expected to like Cal as much as I do, and it’s not only physical attraction. I don’t want to lose his friendship over this pact we’ve made.
I wait until he’s chewing around a morsel of food, debating whether to say anything at all. Cal’s been completely candid with me; it gives me courage to do the same.
“I wasn’t searching for a date,” I admit, gently drawing the tip of my fork along the edge of my plate.
At his questioning look, I explain. “When I signed up for ChatTrick, dating wasn’t on my mind.
I was angry with Namik for cheating on me.
I thought if it was so easy for him, I could do it, too. Pick a stranger, get laid.”
Prove him wrong. Feel less like a loser.
“You never did casual before?”
I shake my head.
“Why now? Why not a. . .” He trails off, but his implication is clear.
Why not a boyfriend? A relationship?
For a long time, I devoted myself to one thing—cricket. For some reason, I believed love and marriage would be the same. I’d find one person to commit to, and that’d be it. But life worked out differently and now I’d rather break into hives than jump into a commitment with no experience. Again.
“I’m not ready for the investment expected from me in a relationship.”
Cal nods like he understands. I’m not sure he does, but I’m determined to make it clear.
“I need to know that we can sleep together without it affecting our friendship.” My voice is low, but there is no denying he hears me.
“I can’t lose a friend, Cal. I don’t have enough of them to risk.
I know it sounds like I’m waffling on what I want but I’m not.
I’m trying to be clear about what you can expect from me. ”
He tilts his head, studying me like he’s trying to put the scattered pieces of my story together. He can’t know. I’ve said enough as it is, and I don’t want his pity.
His eyes bore into me. “You’re afraid I’ll catch feelings, is that it?”
No, I’m afraid I will, and I need to be reminded I shouldn’t. Because you won’t.
I shove more food into my mouth to avoid answering him. His expression is pinched as he stares at his plate. Only the sounds of metal clinking against ceramic, and the occasional chirp of a bird nearby fills the silence.
“You won’t lose yourself with the right man, Alia.”
There is no judgement in the gruff way he says it, but it pricks all the same. The pasta slides down my throat easier than the emotions lodged there. I reach for my water, taking a large sip and letting the cool drink soothe me.
Confusing Cal’s kindness and friendship for anything more is a mistake I refuse to make.
With a fortifying breath, I spear yet another sauce-covered gnocchi and pop it into my mouth, finding sufficient strength to smile brightly at my dinner partner.
“Enough about me. Let’s talk about you.”