4. CALLUM
4
CALLUM
EMERSON: Want to come to dinner tonight?
EMERSON: Could use some back up. Liam and Nat will be there.
Only if you finally tell Liam you love him.
Even in clothes, I can tell that is Chloe.
She’s standing out of view from Natalie, Liam, and Emerson. From my peripherals, I can see them awkwardly seated.
Chloe’s talking with a male I don’t recognize. From this angle, their conversation is more uncomfortable than the love triangle at the picnic table.
I take a few more steps, slowing my pace to better read their body language. At first, I couldn’t tell if they were fighting, but the closer I got, Chloe’s quick gestures and rocking on the heels of her sneakers became more apparent.
She’s uncomfortable right now.
Something is wrong.
Covering her face, her head shakes from side to side. An impressively loud groan comes out from behind her hands.
Whoever he is—her boyfriend maybe—reaches out to touch her. Chloe steps back. Twice .
He reaches again.
She swats his hand away.
He tries again, going for a hand at her side, trying to hold it. Chloe pulls away mouthing the word, “ No .”
I swiftly close the distance between us, stepping in between them.
“She said no.” My body a shield. My words the weapon.
My shoulder blades pull back, and I glare down at him. I have three or four inches on him. Even more on Chloe. The top of her head comes to my collarbone.
“How do you know what she said?” he spits out at me.
“I can read her body language a kilometer away. Anyone could see she’s saying no .”
“She wasn’t saying no. Were you, babe?”
Spinning on my heels, I catch a desperate gray gaze. Chloe sways her attention to him and back to me, chest slowly moving up and down.
“Chloe,” we both say in unison. Shooting a quick glare at the asshole, I return my sight to Chloe.
Where he says it as a demand, I say it with. . . concern? Care?
“I wasn’t,” she mumbles.
“Told you.” He steps up beside me.
Chloe’s head drops to the sidewalk, focusing on her black platform Converse. She bites her lip, flicking her gaze up to me through long, dark eyelashes, and back to her shoes.
“Henry.” Her gaze draws up slowly, chin tilting up. Eyes narrowed, the gray a warning. Silently asking me to drop this, but I’m not. “Did you tell him no?”
I step closer to her, trying to keep him away from her. I resist the urge to reach for her—lacing my fingers through her tattooed ones, or pushing back the loose, wild strands of hair falling forward, brushing against her tan shoulder.
“Who are you?” the prick asks. The same question Chloe demanded the other day. “And why are you talking to my girlfriend like that? ”
Girlfriend.
He’s the boyfriend she complained to Emerson about.
“I’m Callum Sullivan. We are f—”
She cuts me off in a protective tone. “He’s friends with Emerson and works with Liam at Hayes Hotels.”
I tilt my head. Must have asked about me.
Chloe brushes a hand on his shoulder. “We aren’t friends.”
I stare down at her, confused. She isn’t wrong.
We aren’t friends.
Then why do I feel a layer of protectiveness and concern for her?
“You need to back off,” he says in an attempt to big man me. He shifts his body to put him between Chloe and I. “Back away from her.”
How am I coming out of this as the bad guy?
I can see her over his shoulder. Hand on a popped out hip, exasperated facial features falling into something fake. Neutral. A facade.
I put my hands up in front of my chest and step backward.
“Keep it that way.” Turning to Chloe, he kisses her cheek, and she tenses. “I’m going to the bathroom, I’ll meet you at the table.”
He enters through the front door, heading inside.
When it’s just Chloe and me, we hold a staring contest before she spins on her heels and walking down the sidewalk.
I trail behind her like a lost dog.
She halts, and I almost run into her.
Facing me, she raises a baby blue painted pointer finger, pushing it into my chest. “You don’t know me. I don’t need you to interfere in my relationship. I don’t need your help. I can handle myself, Calvin.”
“Callum,” I correct her.
“Whatever, Pretty Boy,” she says sardonically, full red painted lips pursed.
Pretty Boy.
She thinks I’m pretty .
Before I can respond, she’s opening the waist-height gate to the patio and slides onto the bench next to Emerson.
Emerson gives her a side hug.
I give it a minute. Then another before I go to the table. Her boyfriend is seated next to her. I sit on the opposite side, next to Natalie.
Pretending as if nothing happened, I introduce myself to him.
“Oi, mate.” I give him a bro-ish nod, he seems like that type—which doesn’t seem like Chloe’s type, but then again, I don’t know her . “I’m Callum Sullivan.”
“Seth. Chloe’s boyfriend. I’m in town for the weekend from Denver.” He slings an arm around her shoulders. My gaze finds Chloe and I try to see through the masks she put on.
Glancing at Emerson, sitting to Chloe’s right, she shrugs.
It’s small, but Chloe’s head tips to mine. She blinks, silently asking, don’t tell anyone .
***
Liam and Emerson are leaning in toward each other at the end of the table in a heated whisper-yell conversation.
I shift my upper body forward, resting my elbows on the table, watching them battle out years of pent-up emotions while trying to maintain some semblance of a friendship. These two are walking the thinnest and most unstable rope I’ve ever seen.
Liam knows Natalie Thomas, Emerson’s childhood best friend, but has a history with Emerson. Up until about a month ago, neither of them knew the other’s relationship status because both of them kept secrets, and now those secrets are coming back to bite them in the ass.
And when I say history, I mean a find you in every lifetime love story waiting to be finished. It’s why I texted Emerson that she needs to tell him how she feels. I can see it on them both. They love each other.
Earlier this week, Liam confessed that he begged Emerson to be his friend again. Looks like that’s going well.
This is another reason why I don’t date. The yearning. Distractions. Messy. Uncontrollable feelings.
Their little dispute is broken up when the waitress comes to take our orders.
We go around the table clockwise, starting with myself.
When it’s Chloe’s turn to order, Seth speaks over her.
“We’ll have the Cheesus, Mary, and Joseph,” he tells the young waitress, giving her a once-over.
Is he seriously checking her out with Chloe sitting right there?
“On the gluten-free crust,” Chloe modifies their order.
“No. We aren’t getting that. It’s disgusting.”
“I have celiac. . . I can’t eat gluten, you know that.”
“That’s not my problem, Chloe. Pick off the toppings.”
The waitress hovers her pen over the order pad.
“Are you serious?” She twists her body to face him. “I’m not picking off the toppings. We agreed before we got here.”
“Why are you being dramatic? It’s embarrassing.”
Chloe snaps her mouth shut, shaking her head and turning forward.
“Do you want to split something?” Emerson whispers to her. “I don’t have to share with them.”
“It’s fine,” she huffs out.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
The waitress recites everyone’s orders. When she’s finished, I stop her, asking quietly, “Can you substitute gluten-free crust?”