29. CALLUM
29
CALLUM
Chloe and Audrey becoming friends might be a nightmare.
In the past week, they have grown extremely chummy with each other. To the point that I think my sister forgot I exist. It surprised me because, like me, Chloe keeps a tight circle.
Audrey does have her way of worming herself into people's lives. She’s such a people person, thrives off other’s energy, never met a foe. Honestly, Chloe might not like her, and Audrey just doesn’t care. That’s probably way more plausible.
Audrey walks into the living room, plopping into a chair.
“We’re going out tonight.”
I set my book in my lap, glancing at my little sister. I cough. “In that?”
“Yeah?” she retorts as if I’m stupid. “It’s hot.”
“Mom would kill me if I let you go out in that.”
“Mom isn’t here. . . ” Audrey’s eyes bounce around the room. “And you nor anyone else get to tell me what I can and cannot wear.” She rolls her eyes and huffs, “ Men .”
“I’m only looking out for—” My mouth goes dry as Chloe walks down the stairs.
Leather mini skirt with sheer black tights. Thigh-high leather boots that make her legs look like they go on for days. A ribbed long-sleeved black turtleneck that accentuates her breasts. She spins and takes all my thoughts with her when I see that her shirt is backless.
“Yes.” Audrey snaps in the air. “Knew that skirt would fit you.”
Her hair is teased, looking like she just had sex.
How would you know that? You don’t. It’s what I imagine, though.
“Where are you two going?”
“A bar or two. I passed my exams, and we’re celebrating.” I didn’t get an offer to come. Audrey adds, “Maybe find someone for you to make breakfast for in the morning.” She shrugs. “The night is limitless.”
Chloe walks into the living room sitting down next to me. She reaches in her purse for lipstick. Red. Using her phone as a mirror to touch it up. I’d like to give her a better reason for needing to touch it up.
My gaze prowls over her body. Her skirt rode up, showing more of her thighs. Her tights aren’t tights, but stockings with black lace at the top. “Nice legs,” I blurt.
“Nice book.”
I sit up, putting myself centimeters closer to Chloe, our thighs pushed together.
“Do you like my outfit?” Chloe asks me with a tilt of her head.
“It’s nice.”
“Noted.” Chloe picks up my current read. She finds the bookmark, plucks it out of the book, and kisses it—blotting her lips on it like toilet paper. She returns the book, closed with the bookmark sticking out. Bright red lips stain it.
She stands and saunters into the kitchen wordlessly. Chloe pulls her phone off the charger, stuffing it into the small bag.
“Ready?” Audrey asks. “Ride is two minutes away. Wait, I’m going to pee before we leave.” She dashes back to the half bath.
I get up, going to the kitchen myself. Suddenly thirsty. Suddenly needing to be as close to Chloe as possible. Pulling out my black card, I slip it into Chloe’s purse while she tracks my hand.
“Drinks on you?”
“Me. No one else.”
“Oooo. Protective.”
“Territorial, more like it. ”
“Trying to pee on me, Pretty Boy?”
“That’s not how I plan to mark you, Chloe.”
“Is that right? How do you plan to mark me?”
I step closer to her, taking her hand and guiding it along her collarbone. She shudders. “I’d kiss here.” Then down her side. Chloe’s eyes burn into me. Stopping at her waist, our hands skim the waistband of her skirt. “Here,” I say quietly.
I step closer, we’re flush, and I know she can feel my erection pressed up against her. Her throat bobs.
“Before you think about bringing anyone else into our place, think about that.”
Audrey reenters, her heels clicking and clacking on the floor. “Car’s here.”
“Have fun, pretty girl ,” I whisper in her ear.
CHLOE
Nice?
My outfit is not nice. It’s hot. It’s sexy.
I’m wearing stockings, not even tights. Does Cal not understand how turned on he should be by that?
It’s turning every head in this bar. Why didn’t it turn his head?
Cal has my head spiraling. A kaleidoscope of emotions.
There is a subtle buzz against my thigh where my purse hangs. My phone ringing with a notification.
PRETTY BOY: Your outfit isn’t nice
Then what is it?
PRETTY BOY: It’s killing me
Killing you?
PRETTY BOY: You know what I mean
Maybe I want to hear you say it
I’m stupidly biting my lip when another text comes through.
PRETTY BOY: Can you do me a favor?
Sounds needy
PRETTY BOY: I might be
Go on
PRETTY BOY: I changed my mind.
PRETTY BOY: Don’t go home with anyone else.
My eyes magnify his message. My heart patters and I wonder how much longer we are going to do this dance.
I wanted to respond okay, but that’s too easy. Too much. Cal is already dangerous for my heart; I can’t let him have it that easily.
Putting my phone away as we arrive at the next destination, I trail Audrey inside.
Dim lights. The entire place is moody, reminds me of the place I ran into Cal and he asked me to be his fake girlfriend.
We’re sitting at a table toward the back. Audrey orders a dirty martini. I stick to my usual, a glass of red wine.
Audrey gets another drink, finishing her first one quickly.
On her third, my second and final, I decide to ask her about the impromptu visit. I checked in with Cal this morning, curious if she had said anything to him. He grunted and left for a run.
“Alright.” I set the glass down, it sloshes up the side. “I know break-up bangs when I see them.”
“They’re bad, aren’t they?” She winces, musing with the strawberry blonde fringe. “I also dyed my hair. Mum was properly pissed.”
“Truthfully, I like the color, and once the bangs grow out, it’ll give Sydney Sweeney’s curtain bangs.”
“I’d need your boobs for that.” She pulls an olive off the toothpick from her drink.
My head drops to my chest. The tight shirt does nothing to hide them.
“The bangs,” I repeat, not letting Audrey steer this conversation elsewhere. “Were you seeing someone?” She nods hesitantly. “Did he break up with you?”
Audrey licks her lips before reminding me I should never assume someone’s sexual preference. “Her.”
I apologize with a smile.
“It’s okay. Not a lot of people know.” She downs her martini, raising her hand to the waiter for another. I tap the light in the center of the table to brighten the glow around us. “That’s why we are taking a break.”
“Was it you or—”
“Me. Maya—that’s her name.”
“When did you realize you preferred women?”
“Second year of university. That’s when we met. She was my history tutor for a year before she graduated. She moved, but we stayed in contact. I flirted, dated, had a few hookups—guys and girls. When Maya moved back for a teaching job, we met for coffee, and well, one thing led to another.”
“How long were you two dating?”
“About a year, but Maya wanted to meet my family.”
“And you didn’t want that?”
She nods, thanking the server for her drink. “Our mom is particular, you could say. She holds us to high expectations, loads of pressure—especially him. Neither of us want to let her down.”
“Instead you chose to let yourself and Maya down?”
“Unfortunately. In the moment that seemed easier than knowing Mom was disappointed.”
The more Audrey talks, the picture I have of Callum becomes more vivid. I see how his insecurities were built from their mom.
Audrey continues telling me about her parents and why she was nervous. At some point I think we rounded the corner of seeing how it doesn’t matter what her mom thinks, she deserves to be happy and herself.
When Maya asked for space, Audrey landed herself in Chicago.
“Do you want to tell me more about her?”
Audrey can’t stop smiling while she gushes about Maya. Her cheeks are tattooed red and I can positively assume she loves her.
She describes Maya as if she were reciting poetry.
A pit forms in my stomach, a hollowness at the realization that no one has or ever will talk about me this way. I’ve never allowed it. I push them away before they have a chance to honestly know me. See me.
Who would have a chance to ever speak highly of me? Who could be so in love with me that they cut bangs and fly across the world? Or book a one-way ticket to chase after what they wanted?
I climb myself out of the hole before I get too deep. “It sounds to me that you love her?”
“I do.”
“You should tell them, Audrey. Start with Callum. ”
“You’re right.” She chews on her lip, fidgeting. “Do you think Cal’s going to care?”
“No,” I tell her earnestly. “He loves you and wants you to be happy. Plus he might have a hunch that something is wrong.”
“Thanks, Chloe. Outside of Emerson and Beatrix, I don’t have a lot of girlfriends.” I could say the same. “I’m glad you are with my brother.” She winks.
“We aren’t together.”
“Whatever.” Audrey changes the conversation and her mood swiftly. “I know this is supposed to be fake, but what I saw earlier was definitely not fake.”
I choke on my red wine. The Tempranillo burning my throat. “We are friends, roommates, and—”
She cuts me off. “Wanna bet?” Her eyes glimmer with mischievousness. Audrey calls over a random guy—attractive, definitely—and then snaps a picture. “I’m sending this to Cal.”
“Audrey, seriously?”
“Yeah.” She shoos away the guy, thanking him for his service. “Get over it and finish your drink. We are going somewhere else. I love a game of cat and mouse.”
I pluck her phone out of her hands. Dangling it above her with my thumb and forefinger. “Absolutely not. Do not send this to your brother.”
“Fine,” she groans, lifting her butt out of the seat and snatching her phone back. I raise a brow. “Okay, okay. I’m putting my phone away.” She dramatically drops her phone into her purse.
Dragged down the street, Audrey’s arm is looped through mine. We stop at another crowded downtown bar that is standing room only.
The next is the same, but with perfect timing, we snag an empty high-top bar table.
Audrey is adventuring around the bar, collecting free drinks from whatever poor soul she can bat her eyes at before breaking their heart by walking away .
I like her. A lot. Her confidence and attitude remind me of my own, except hers isn't a facade. It’s pure, she was born with it. Mine is a mask I put on daily. I’ve worn it for so long that I don’t think there’s a difference anymore.
Across from me, the chair is pulled back, a guy with a notable smile with floppy red hair sits down.
“Are you a campfire?” He finds my eyes, waiting for a response. My RBF doesn’t falter. “Because you’re hot, and I want s’more.”
It’s a shame that not all hot men are intelligent.
I put my hand over my mouth to laugh, trying my damndest to be considerate.
He must enjoy the sound of his voice because he doesn’t shut up. After a momentary pause, he resumes word vomiting and reaches across the table; my brows raise at his forwardness, eyes hyper-focused on his hand curling around the stem of my glass.
There’s a thud on the table.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a masculine voice I recognize commands. It sends a shiver across my body, goosebumps form under my top, and my spine straightens.
Callum unfurls the intruder’s fingers from around my wine glass. Then takes his arm and places it a safe distance away from me. My eyes follow his movements before flicking to his face, slowly moving up his forearm.
I note how his long sleeve fits and stretches across each of his taunt and flexed muscles. His jaw is tight, teeth clenched behind his lips. Lips I need to kiss again. Cal’s eyes are blue flame-tipped daggers.
“Who are you?” he stupidly asks.
“Her boyfriend,” Cal immediately responds. I almost choke at the sound of the sentence, the definitive and protectiveness of his words.
I take a drink of my wine, attempting to wash away my entirely unnecessary feelings about Cal .
“Don’t listen to him. He isn’t.” I flip a quick glare toward Cal before returning my attention to the redhead, softening my features slightly.
Cal shifts his tight jaw. “Henry,” it comes out like a growl. He moves to stand next to the guy, pulling the chair out swiftly.
I cross my legs, tightly squeezing them together. I wonder how those hands could manhandle me. Maybe he’d throw me over his shoulder? Or push me up against a wall, my complete body weight off the ground?
Stop.
I’m one thought away from blowing through this stop sign I’ve been sitting at for months.
“Your time is up. This seat is warm enough.”
He gets up, his eyes wide in terror. Holy shit, he’s scared of Cal.
That’s hot. So hot.
Cal takes his place. The chair moves across the floor, the residual sound louder than the music playing from the speakers in each corner of the room.
Or maybe it’s just Cal’s proximity.
Whenever he is near, I can’t help but tune everyone and everything else out. It’s only him.
“What are you doing here?” My voice is scratchy, I reach for the wine.
Under the table, his feet loop around the legs of my chair, pulling me in. Our knees brush, my stockings against his denim. The friction has my skin pebbling.
That friction, I need higher. I try to close my legs, to give me anything, but Cal notices. My subtly not turned on tonight. His head cocks to the side.
“Saving you.”
“I didn’t need saving, Callum.” I use his full name, lowering my eyelids a smidge. “I was perfectly fine. In fact, I liked that guy and was enjoying his company.” I wasn’t. “Might even have gone home with him. ”
Cal laughs, the kind with a closed mouth, when the sound only comes from your nose. He’s smelling, reading, or whatever through my bullshit—which irks me, but is turning me on more than it should. His cool, calm, collective guy demeanor, mixed with protective, possessive Cal, might make me come without him ever touching me.
“What was his name?”
“Hud–Patri—Dyl—” I’m flustered. Shoot, what was his name?
“You sleep with guys you don’t know the name of?” His question is deafening, a reminder of this version of me I’m trying to run away from. I used to, but I keep that to myself.
“Don’t,” I warn.
“What are we doing, Dais?”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I mean.”
I tilt my head. My hand swirls the wine glass. The stem situated between two fingers, my palm resting on the base. Red wine circles the glass. It’s a nice vintage, the legs sticking to the glass. The distraction is soothing, drawing my focus away from everything circling in my head. “I’m helping you, you’re helping me. That is the deal.”
“It’s not, and we both know it,” he says matter-of-factly.
Audrey chooses then to breeze by the table. Swinging her arms around her brother’s shoulders, her cheeks are flushed and eyes distant. She’s tipsy.
“Fancy seeing you here, Cully Sully.”
“Stop calling me that,” he grits between closed teeth.
Audrey gives me a you’re welcome smirk.
“Would now be a good time to tell you the other reason I’m here?” Cal pulls his sister's arms off him and around the side of our table. “Mom and Dad are here.”