22. CALLUM
22
CALLUM
Chloe’s already in the kitchen this morning when I get downstairs. She’s pushing buttons and twisting knobs, making an espresso for her iced latte. The temps dropped this week. When asked if she’ll switch to hot lattes, she casted me a glare and told me to fuck off; iced coffees can be drunk at any time of the year .
Dark chocolate hair pulled loosely into a bun at the nape of her neck.
Her oversized shirt of the day shifts across her mid-hamstring. The cream-colored shirt has a polar bear eating a Klondike bar on the back of it. In navy blue letters it says “I’D DO YOU FOR A KLONDIKE.”
I can’t help but snicker. . . and agree.
“Morning, Henry.”
“Sullivan.” She tosses a wave over her shoulder. “Did you move my coffee cups? I can’t find them.”
“Yeah, check the cabinet above your head. I figured it's more convenient since the espresso machine is there.”
She looks over her shoulder. “That’s sweet.”
Stretching her arms above her head, Chloe reaches for a glass cup with colorful flowers. Rich terracotta skin pours from beneath her shirt as it rises up, giving me a view of her lacey and extremely cheeky underwear.
I rub a knuckle over my eyes and blink a couple of times.
That is definitely black ink on the outer corner of her right cheek.
Chloe Henry has a tattoo on her ass .
The shirt falls back into place, covering the tattoo again. Chloe finishes making her coffee as I bite my tongue, thinking about that tattoo.
I find all of her tattoos wicked attractive. The variety and detail. All of them are black. One arm is covered in a field of flowers. The other is what she calls a sticker sleeve. Smaller, fine line tattoos. Twenty of them, like the twenty freckles on her face.
Swirling her glass straw—I’ve learned a lot this week about reusable straws—Chloe pulls out the stool across from mine.
She sets her cup on the counter, her tattooed fingers curled around the glass, dropping her elbows next. Ping-ponging between me and her iced latte. Her tongue dips out of her mouth, licking her bottom lip.
Opening the junk drawer, Chloe pulls out a pad of paper and pen. “Seriously? Your junk drawer is even organized?”
Just because it’s junk doesn’t mean it can’t have a home. Pens are lined up, containers that separate Post-it notes from sharpies and batteries. If I need something, I don’t want to have to dig around to find it.
“You never made me sign a lease.”
“Why would I? There’s no need.”
“Thought you were Mr. Business? Don't contracts get you off?” I stare blankly at her. “Fine,” she grumbles. “If not a lease, then an agreement to this.” She gestures between us. “Terms and conditions to. . . us.”
On the top of the paper she writes: Pretty Boy’s Live-in Fake Girlfriend Arrangement.
I choke on a laugh.
I hate this. There’s no reason for us to be doing this, but if it makes her happy, if she needs me to do this, I’ll participate.
“Rent. I’d like to pay something.”
“No.”
“Why? ”
“Chloe, you are already paying for your other place and you aren’t even living there. Plus, this place is paid off.” Liam paid in cash for the entire place last summer.
“Okay, money bags.”
Chloe crosses off the word rent and writes utilities under it. “I’m splitting utilities, then.”
I shake my head no. “What, a few extra showers are going to dramatically change that?”
Her shoulders tense. “I enjoy taking long showers.” I tilt my head, offering up the space to add on, but she doesn’t. Chloe keeps writing, adding rules below utilities.
“What do you need from me as your girlfriend?”
“Just pretend.”
“Thanks captain obvious, but really. There isn’t an event or anything I have to go to?”
“Maybe. Needed to get my mom off my back.” I wouldn’t put it past her to create a reason I’d need to bring Chloe around.
“Okay then. . . what about living with you?”
“That helps. I’ll say you moved in.”
“Great.” She taps the tip of the pen on the paper. “Friends? Yes or no, they can come over?”
What friends do either of us have here?
Chloe reads the confusion on my face. “Let me rephrase. What about bringing back guests? Say you want to bring someone back.”
“Seeing as we are boyfriend and girlfriend—”
“In name, and no one in Chicago is going to care about that.”
I do.
I know I don’t do relationships, but I can’t deny the burst of satisfaction that rumbled through me when she agreed to this. It’s not even because I checked off a box for my mom. It’s that it’s Chloe.
Hearing her say that she’d want to bring someone else back hurts. What right over her do I have? Nothing, really.
Why do you care ?
Because I want her to see me, choose me. I’m tired of being number two.
“Sure,” I reluctantly reply. “If you want to bring someone else back, you have my permission.”
“This is easy, but I’ll walk my own dog.” She pauses, lifting the pen off the paper. “But I do have a couple of work events I need to travel for. Would you be willing to watch Tucker?”
His head perks up. Never had a pet, but he’s pretty cute. Seems easy, has been this past week.
“That’s fine. Anything else?”
“Nope. You?”
“This ends when my apartment is done?” I nod reluctantly. “If you sign here.” Chloe signs her name and draws a line next to mine. Passing me the pen and paper, I sign it and return it back to her.
She pulls a magnet out of the drawer and hangs it on the fridge. Patting it twice. “There. It’s official.”
Her back is to me. My gaze lingers on her legs. There’s a small cluster of freckles on the inside of her right knee. I wonder what it’d be like to have them wrapped around my head, kissing each one and then up her legs. . .
“Stop smirking at me.” Chloe spins around, catching me watching her, and I guess smirking.
“I’m not smirking at you.”
“Uh, yes, you are.” She takes a sip of coffee. “ Stop that. ” Chloe tries to wipe my smile. When her hand pulls away, I snatch it, letting my smile grow to my second dimple. “Stop.”
Her cheeks turn the lightest shade of pink, and her nose scrunches, and I don’t think she notices.
I pull her coffee to me and take a sip. Disgusting. I’ll be sticking to tea. She snatches it back, one eye pierced like a cat at me.
“That’s what you get. I hope the aftertaste lingers on your tongue all day.”
I lick her palm. “Now, it’ll be you. ”
She rolls her eyes, and jaw tweaks. Chloe annoyed, Chloe angry, Chloe happy, Chloe anyway you can imagine is hot, and unfortunately does it for me. “You’re so annoying.”
There’s a knock at the door. Gently, three times.
I look in the direction of the hallway that leads to the front door. Tucker’s already on alert, barking at whoever is on the other side. I run through a list of who it could potentially be before getting up to answer it.
A few people have accidentally knocked on our door before. Either I don’t answer and they leave, or they realize for themselves and go away.
“Are you expecting someone?” I ask Chloe over my cuppa. She’s sipping on her latte, brows arched in thought.
Chloe shakes her head no. Whoever it is knocks again.
“You sure?”
I can tell by how her brows raise and the corners of her mouth tick up that a light bulb went off in her head. “Shit, he’s early.” She stands up, downing the rest of her coffee and turning to the sink. “That’s Miller.”
I scoff quietly—or so I thought.
Chloe spins back to me.
“My brother?” She roves over my body, adding up my body language. “Wait. Were you jealous?”
“No. . .”
“Oh my gosh. You are.”
“No,” I say firmer, shaking my head to enhance my point.
“You totally are.” She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, eyes narrowing. Chloe releases her lip with a pop. “I can’t believe you were jealous .” One of her fingers, the one with a star-like diamond tattoo on the upper knuckle, swirls in my direction. “Are you?”
“Of your brother? N-no. No. There’s nothing to be jealous of.”
“Uh-huh.” She washes out her cup and places it on the top row in the dishwasher. Shrugging a shoulder as she heads toward the door, she taunts me. “Admit it. You were jealous of the idea that there was someone else besides you. Definitely bummed you out, yeah?”
“Thought it was strange my fake girlfriend would have another boyfriend.”
“Ah.” She bites her lip again.
I was jealous. Am jealous.
The idea of her dating—truly dating—someone else— you don’t want to date . You don’t date, Callum.
But we didn’t agree that she couldn’t see anyone else. If she is or wants to, I have zero reason to stop her. Except for that, I want her.
“I wouldn’t, Pretty Boy. Just so you know. One pain in the ass is all I can handle at a time.”
There’s another knock. I watch as she walks to the door, happy.
“Chlo, open up. It’s me.”
I can hear the door swinging open.
“Hey, sis,” he greets her, slightly annoyed. I instantly tense, not enjoying his tone.
“Miller.” She purposely looks me in the eyes and hugs him when they make it to the kitchen. “This is Callum.” Chloe enunciated each syllable of my name and waves her hand in my direction. “My roommate.”
“Hey, man.”
“Mate.”
“Thanks for letting my sis crash here. I would have let her stay with us, but we’ve got no space.”
“You’ve got enough going on. It’s no biggie, right, Cal?” Chloe holds my gaze, taunting me while reassuring her brother. “You want me. . . here.”
If she wants to use my words, I’ll use hers. “Yeah, no biggie.”
“Are you ready?” Miller asks her. Everyone spots her current ensemble. “Go change.”
“It’s like a dress.” She hikes her shoulders.
“It’s not. ”
Chloe turns her attention to me. “We are going to breakfast. Do you want to come?”
Her offer catches me by surprise. The lack of sass catches me off guard even more.
“I have plans.”
Chloe frowns, and I wonder if I should tell her it’s not what she thinks. Not entirely. I do have a date, a weekend work date with Ben. And I’m not interested in him.
I think I’ll let her sweat this one—a taste of her own jealous medicine.
“Okay.”
“I’ll be ten minutes,” Chloe tells Miller, spinning on her heels.
“Seriously, Chlo? Still with the shirts.”
She stops on the last stair. Looking over her shoulder, she levels a face at her brother. “I like them; get over it.”
“You’re twenty-eight. Thought you might have grown up by now.”
“You’re twenty-eight, too. Thought you’d know how to wrap it up, but look at us. Both thought wrong.” She gives him the middle finger and walks up the stairs. There’s the cheeky girl I’ve come to know.
Miller replaces Chloe in the seat across from me.
“Positive you don’t want to come with us?”
“No.” Even though I’d love to witness the lip Chloe will give him.
“Thanks for letting her live here even if you might regret it,” he tells me.
“Don’t plan on regretting it.”
“You will. She can be pretty reckless.” Reckless? That’s not a word I’d use with her. “Sharp edges. Prickly. Be careful with her.”
I can’t tell if he’s being a protective brother or a prick. I’d never speak of Audrey in this manner. Then again, Chloe’s barely ever mentioned him.
Chloe returns .
“Is this better?” she asks her brother pointedly.
Much better. I like her shirts. I love seeing which one she puts on each night; it’s like a game. And if we miss each other, in the morning or when she traveled on Tuesday and Wednesday night and sent me a mirror selfie with them.
Thursday’s was my favorite. Underwater seascape that said: Hot girls love sharks.
But this outfit. . .
Dark denim jeans that hug her athletic curves. The pants are tucked into a pair of knee-high leather boots, giving her an extra three inches and making her legs appear longer. Leaner. A ribbed black long-sleeve turtle neck is tucked into her jeans, covering all her tattoos except her fingers.
Her hair is no longer in its low bun, now pulled back into a tight high bun. Face is clean, no makeup—she doesn’t wear it often, except for her signature red lipstick.
There’s nothing special about the outfit except that she makes it special. Spectacular.
She’s perfection. An absolute beauty.
I flick my eyes to Miller, catching him rolling his. Their similar appearance stretches to expressions. That eye roll was a mirror to her’s.
“Yes. Now, are you ready? I’m hungry and want to enjoy my day off.”
Chloe mocks him as she follows after him down the hall. Before leaving, she swings back to the kitchen and slips on a long black coat.
“Thank you.”
“For what?” I ask her.
“I like the outfit, too.” She spins around with a wink. From down the hall, she shouts, “Bye, Calvin.”
“I thought it was Callum,” I hear Miller say as the front door opens.
“I know.” Chloe laughs, and the door shuts .
Miller might be right. I might regret Chloe living here, but not for the reasons he’s thinking.
What even is the definition of a regret?