Chapter 17
Blake
It would be easy, almost too easy, to forget this isn’t a real date, if it wasn’t for the fact I can see McAvoy glancing over and Calla and I every twenty minutes or so.
Calla orders her third cocktail of the evening, while I nurse another cold beer, the conversation flowing easily between the two of us.
I learn her dream holiday destination – the Amalfi Coast – and her worst kept secret – that, at the age of eight, so picked the lock of the cage containing the school rabbit and allowed the little thing to go free because she couldn’t stand it looking sad for another damn second.
She learns my most embarrassing moment – when my brothers gifted me a pair of new swimming trunks for my seventeenth birthday, only to learn they’re the dissolvable type; leaving me to swim about the pool naked.
The fact that I was surrounded by my school peers, and my crush at the time, Claire, was simply the cherry on top of the cake.
“You’re close to your brothers, then?” she asks, licking at the salt of her cocktail rim.
My eyes trace the movement of her pink tongue, recalling how it felt wrapped around me, driving me to the brink of ecstasy before I—
“Blake?”
“Hm?” I blink out of my horny reverie. “Oh, yeah. We’re all pretty close.”
“How many of you are there?”
“Four. All boys.”
Calla’s eyes widen. “Your mother deserves a medal for that alone.”
I laugh. “Don’t I know it. Are you?”
“Am I what?”
“Close to your family?”
“It’s just me and my mum, but yes.”
“No brothers or sisters?”
Calla shakes her head. “Dad died when I was little, and mum never met anyone else. She always said she had everything she needed already, whether that’s true or not…
” She pops her shoulders, and I can tell it hurts, the bandage of time unravelling to reveal a still painful scar.
“God, how unreal are these dough balls?”
I know a segue when I hear one, but I don’t pry. It’s not my place. Plus, I hate the idea of Calla being upset.
Sinking my teeth into one of the perfectly cooked, golden brown, little balls of doughy and garlicky heaven, I nod in agreement.
Calla sits back in her chair, patting her stomach and shoving her nearly empty plate away. “I’m stuffed.”
I try to bite back a grin and a dirty remark, but I obviously don’t do a good enough because Calla rolls her eyes at me good-naturedly.
“Shut it, you. I meant because of the food.”
I chuckle as I spear another bite of pasta onto the prongs of my fork. “If you say so.”
Leaning over the table, Calla steals a piece of sauce covered gnocchi from the side of my plate, popping it between her lips.
I quirk a brow at her. “Excuse me?”
Calla grins. “What’s yours is mine, pookie.”
“I don’t remember agreeing to that.”
“You did.”
“When?”
“Just now.”
I can’t help but grin at the ridiculousness of it all.
I’m just polishing off the final mouthful of freshly made pasta on my plate, when a swell of music begins to grow, becoming louder with each second and effectively cutting off the chatter around us.
The quartet band from inside the restaurant walk slowly, still playing their instruments as they take up space beside the exposed back wall. Around us, whispers of praise begin to grow before conversations are picked up right where they left off.
I watch Calla as she looks around, her gaze fixing on the strings of solar powered fairy lights hanging above and twined around tree trunks, some of which are trying their hardest to glow in the beginning of the setting sun.
“It’s beautiful, here. Don’t you think?”
“Mhm,” I agree, taking a sip of my beer to avoid saying anything else.
The upbeat music starts to slip away, morphing into a familiar slow song, sang by an up-and-coming western singer, that I’ve heard one too many times on the radio.
Calla gasps as the sound of the first few notes begin to filter through, the backing melody somehow louder without the words. “I love this song!”
Turning in her seat, Calla gazes, raptured, at the band, her head bobbing along to the catchy tune.
Knocking back the rest of my beer for a little bit of liquid courage for what I’m about to do, I push my chair back, the wooden legs scraping against the concrete and stand.
“Blake—”
I hold out my palm, keeping my eyes on Calla’s face before I lose my courage. “Dance with me.”
It’s a testimony of how different we are, as Calla takes my hand without hesitation, seemingly unbothered by the heated stares I can feel staining our skin. Standing to her full height, she tucks herself into my chest, wrapping both of her arms around my neck.
Even in her heels, Calla just about reaches my pecs, leaving me to peer down at her as my hands find purchase around her waist.
I tense in her slim arms when I hear somebody whistle, but Calla is there, stroking the thumb past the downy hairs at the back of my neck.
“You don’t like being the centre of attention, do you?”
I shake my head wordlessly.
“Don’t worry,” she smiles softly, “just focus on me. They’re not even looking.”
I know she’s feeding me a white lie to make me feel better, but I go along with it anyway, keeping my eyes on Calla’s so I don’t register the wobble of my legs or the pairs of eyes I just know are lasered on the two of us.
My heart feels like it might beat out of my chest as we sway in time with the live music, both nerves and arousal running through me, each trying to out-do one another.
I flick my eyes a little to the left, pulse ratcheting even further when I see McAvoy’s date watching us.
“Focus. On. Me,” Calla repeats, stroking her thumb along the harsh edge of my jawline this time.
It’s hard to do anything but focus on Calla, especially when she looks the way she does; dressed to the nines, grinning madly, eyes sparkling with joy, content in my arms.
My legs still feel my jelly beneath me but making her happy is worth feeling out of my comfort zone if just for a heartbeat or two.
“Is McAvoy looking?” I utter from the corner of my mouth.
Calla pops her shoulders. “I don’t know, and I don’t really care.”
I bite back the pleased grin which threatens to overtake my face at Calla’s words.
I want to kiss her. I want to kiss her so fucking bad it hurts and I’m sick of holding back. I’m sick of putting other people’s feelings first, before mine. I’m sick of being last, of holding back, of not being selfish.
Why shouldn’t I be a little bit selfish every once in a while?
With a knot of arousal pulling tight in my abdomen, I outwardly look towards McAvoy, ensuring he’s still watching, before I crook a forefinger beneath Calla’s chin and press my lips to hers.
Her body melts even further into mine as she gasps oh so sweetly, allowing me to lick into her mouth, tangling our tongues together.
I swallow down the tart taste of lime from her cocktail, my hands grabbing at her hips, tightly pressing them against mine. I know Calla feels my hard on for her when she pulls back from our lip-lock, glittering eyes with pupils blown wide and a smirk upon her kiss bitten mouth.
“Need some help with that?”
Calla eyes drop to my crotch, staying there for a heartbeat or two, before she fixes her gaze back on my face, her top teeth sinking into her bottom lip.
I crook a brow, forgetting about the people around us. “You offering?”
She nods slowly, her pink tongue peeking out to lick her lips and pulling a helpless groan from deep in my chest.
“God, Calla.”
Reaching into the back pocket of my trousers, I pull out my wallet, throwing enough money to pay the bill upon our table, before lacing Calla’s dainty fingers with mine.
Weaving between tables, I bask in the sound of her giggle as she trots to keep up with me, heels clicking loudly over the low sound of the band playing another instrumental song in the background.
We’re almost out onto the street beyond, when I hear a snooty voice call out, “I’ll see you on Monday, Calla.”
“See you,” she calls without looking back at McAvoy, making a grab for one of my upper arms instead and tucking herself into my side.
This time, I can’t repress my pleased grin from dancing across my lips.
And why should I?
I’m the one going home with Calla Becker.
The taxicab back to my apartment is a hazy cloud of heavy petting and mind-numbing kisses. I gladly swallow down each and every one of Calla’s small kittenish whimpers as I trace patterns upon her warm inner thigh, inching higher every time she pleads with me.
My cock presses insistently against the placket of my slacks, digging into the side of Calla’s hip as I lay wet kisses upon the curve of her neck, sucking at the thin layer of skin behind her ear until I swear I can feel the rapid fluttering of my pulse against my lips.
The next thing I know we’re stumbling through the front door of my dark apartment, slightly tipsy and too caught up in one another to really give a fuck about where we’re walking.
All I care about is the feel of Calla’s lips on mine while I strip her naked.
“Ow. Shit,” I mutter against her soft jawline when I bang my shin against something, a zap of pain flashing across my bone almost immediately.
Calla pulls back, blindly patting the wall beside me for the light switch. She hits it on the third try, bathing my studio apartment in a light so bright I have to blink away the sudden silver spots taking up my vision.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” I bend down to give my shin a rub, “just walked into one of these stupid boxes.”
Unsurprisingly, seeing as how I’m moving in less than three weeks, most of the floor space in my apartment is currently being taken up by large brown boxes packed to the brim with my stuff.
Calla tuts. “Poor baby. Want me to play nurse?”
I choke on a laugh, my cock kicking against my trousers in answer, while I band my arms around Calla’s thighs, throwing her over my broad shoulder into a fireman’s lift.
“We can play if you want to play, sunshine.”
Calla joins in on my laughter, wiggling her arse beneath my palm playfully.