Chapter Two
Caleb
Zadie stared, her expression giving absolutely nothing away. No hint if she found me amusing or annoying. No clue if she would go along with Chantel’s plan.
I held my ground. If this was a test, I wasn’t going to be the first to blink.
Then her lips parted, spreading into a wide smile, and she burst out laughing.
It wasn’t a polite laugh. Not a fake courtesy laugh, either. This was loud and unguarded and completely real. It rushed over me, or maybe through me, prickling my skin and settling somewhere around the base of my spine.
Ah fuck, who was I kidding. It went straight to my dick. I’d been hard from the second I stepped into her orbit.
Her dark-rimmed eyes sparkled with intoxicated delight. The wall she’d been hiding behind was gone, cracked open by the most cliché line I could have possibly delivered.
Nothing else could hold my interest now.
“That’s really what you’re going with?” Her hand flew to her chest as she laughed some more, drawing my attention down, down. “Come here often.”
I smirked, my gaze snapping back to her face. “It worked, didn’t it?”
“It did not work.”
“You’re smiling.”
“I’m laughing at you. There’s a difference.” But her smile stayed, and it was gorgeous. “God, you’re just like your cousin. Does the audacity run in the family, or did you learn it from her?”
“Chantel’s not audacious. She’s bossy. There’s a difference.”
She laughed again, quieter this time, but it drew me closer all the same.
“She’s an emergency room physician,” she said, as if I didn’t already know. “If she wasn’t bossy, people would die. Trust me, if you ever end up in the hospital, you want someone like her around.”
Her words hit closer to home than she realized. But I shoved them down and focused on the way her sad eyes roved over me with interest, and how incredibly sober she sounded for someone supposedly shit-faced.
“So, Chantel didn’t tell me much. Except that you’re here on your own and I’m supposed to help you get home.” I kept my voice easy, despite the possessive urge to haul her out over my shoulder.
“She loves taking care of me. It’s all right, Cal. I’m fine.”
“It’s Caleb, actually. I don’t think anyone’s ever called me Cal.”
“I like Cal. It’s very masculine, very sexy sounding.” The sparkle in her eyes sharpened. “Suits you perfectly. You should go with it.”
Maybe she was a little shit-faced after all.
Women had called me cute, nice, and funny. My sister-in-law, Jamie, had once called me charming. But masculine and sexy? Those terms were reserved for guys like Zane. The kind of guy who could smile at a woman and somehow end up in her bed without trying.
Despite the obscene amount of flirting I’d done in my life, I was nowhere close to being that guy.
“I promised Chantel I’d look after you. Can’t break that promise. She’s scary when she’s disappointed.”
“She’ll get over it. Come on, Cal…” Zadie leaned in, her sweet scent flooding my senses. “Let’s stay awhile. We’re responsible adults. Let’s have drinks together. When you’re half as drunk as me, you can have me in a cab. Okay?”
Have me in a cab. The curve of her mouth told me she knew exactly how it sounded.
I hoped to fuck she meant it.
“Fine. A couple drinks. But after that, I’m taking you straight home.”
Before I even finished my sentence, she’d turned and was headed for the kitchen, weaving through the crowd with the confidence of someone who’d already mapped the fastest route to the alcohol.
I followed right behind her.
Zane had set himself up behind the kitchen counter the way he did behind the bar at work, bottles lined up, towel over his shoulder, completely in his element. The guy was born to pour drinks and charm strangers.
Zadie waved her empty glass his way. “Two more, please.”
He acknowledged her with a tip of his head, poured generously like he always did, and slid the drinks across the counter. Then his gaze flicked to mine, and he shot me a grin that said I’d never hear the end of this.
Zadie might’ve been right. My family was filled with audacious assholes.
“Where are you from?” I asked, once her attention was back on me—right where I wanted it.
“What makes you think I’m not from here?”
“I grew up in this town. I’d know.”
“You’d know?” She raised an eyebrow, the playfulness in her expression dialing up. “What, you’ve memorized every face in Copper Ridge?”
“The ones worth remembering.”
She blinked at that, and for a second, I thought I’d pushed too hard. Then the corner of her mouth lifted. “Smooth, Cal. Very smooth.”
“You still didn’t answer my question.”
“Which question?” She knew exactly which one. And she knew I knew.
I shifted closer. “Where you’re from.”
“Can I be perfectly honest with you?” Her smile didn’t falter, but her tone did.
“I hate that question. Every time I tell someone where I’m from, it leads to questions about why I left.
That leads to questions about where I ended up.
And then more uncomfortable questions about what happened to me and how I keep smiling through it. ”
The knots that had been loosening in my stomach pulled taut again. “Wow.”
“Yeah, it’s complicated. I’ve moved around a lot, and every time it’s the same conversation. I’m just tired of it. Tired of people feeling sorry for me all the time. I don’t feel sorry for me. At least, not most of the time. Tonight might be a little different.”
“This will probably sound like a lame line, but I understand exactly what you mean.” Fuck, did I ever. “People and their pity can feel like a weight pulling you down. It’s like they’re so busy feeling sorry for you, they forget you’re more than just some ugly event you’ve lived through.”
“Yes.” The word rushed out of her, and I almost groaned aloud at the sound of it. “That’s it, exactly.”
“When you do feel sorry for yourself, do you ever wonder if the emotion really belongs to you?”
She shook her head. “Not sure I follow.”
“Sometimes I feel like the sadness isn’t mine anymore. I’ve had to share it with everyone else for so long. Or maybe it was never mine to begin with—it just transferred from someone else.”
“Now there’s a deep thought.” She hummed into her glass. “Might be a little too philosophical for me right now. But you’ll have to tell me your story someday, Cal. I have a feeling it’s a good one.”
“Show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”
“Get another drink in me and you just might get lucky.” She winked.
When her glass was empty, Zadie insisted on shots. She downed the first while we joked about Chantel’s bossy behavior. Slammed back the second while she told me a story about a nightclub experience that made me nearly choke on my beer.
Every time she opened her mouth, I leaned a little closer. Stared just a little harder. Craved her a hell of a lot more.
“I was feeling sorry for myself tonight.” After three drinks with me, plus whatever she’d had earlier, her speech was slurred.
“Is that why you’re getting drunk at a stranger’s house party? Kind of cliché, don’t you think?”
“Cliché? Really, Mister Tall, Dark, and Handsome? Who’s cliché? Besides, I’m not alone. I’m with you.”
Her words slid up my spine, leaving a scorching trail of heat in their wake. “You really are drunk.”
“Yes, I am. It feels good, too. I almost don’t give a shit about anything. Self-pity eradicated, one drink at a time.” She raised her glass.
I clinked my third untouched bottle against it, holding her gaze. “Do you want to talk about it? Whatever it is you’re trying to forget?”
“Why? You don’t really want to hear my sob story, do you?”
Fuck yes, I did. I wanted to hear every word that came out of her lush mouth. I wanted to catalog every detail and store it away like a goddamn stalker’s memento. “If you want to tell it, I do.”
“Really? You want to know how I got screwed over by a man?” Her gaze held mine. “Want to hear how totally cliché my entire life has been?”
She frowned, and that possessive urge ripped through me again, tempting me to wrap my arm around her and never let go.
“A poor, heartbroken girl falls for a semi-famous rich guy.” Her voice lifted as though reading a fairy tale. “He’s wonderful at first. He promises to take her away from her problems, to give her a good life, and to love her. Except, it’s all too good to be true.”
The party around us had become nothing but background noise. And I was all-in, fucking captivated.
“He told me he was in love with me. That he couldn’t live without me.
And I believed him.” She paused, her finger tracing the moisture on her glass.
“I moved to Montreal for him, and six months later he left me. I hardly knew anyone. I could barely speak the language, and the job I’d found was crap.
But I didn’t break. I kept going, got my shit together, and made new plans for myself. ”
The look she gave me nearly put me on my knees. Brow furrowed, eyes searching, that pouty frown aimed right at me like she had no idea what it was doing.
“Then he came back, and like the desperate, pathetic loser that I am, I let him in. I let him back into my life…back into my bed.” Her jaw hardened. “Can you guess what happened next, Cal?”
“He left again?” My voice was the only part of me that felt steady.
“Exactly. I woke up to a note that said he had to go. A note. He took everything he’d ever bought me and a couple of things he hadn’t. Just like that.” She snapped her fingers clumsily. “He’s an asshole, a liar, and a fucking thief, and I didn’t even see it coming. How sad is that?”
“Doesn’t sound too sad to me.” Sounds like a dead man walking.
“But it is. I should’ve been the one to leave, not him. Better yet, I shouldn’t have let him come back. I should’ve been stronger. I’ve made way too many mistakes.”
Our stories couldn’t be further apart, and yet, we wore the same armor. Both protecting the pieces of ourselves too wounded to show the world.
I wanted to peel hers away, layer by layer, strip her down to her beautiful core. Replace her hard shell with my own fucking body. Shield her from anything or anyone who ever tried to hurt her again.
“Anyway, look at you.” She leaned back, motioning toward me. “You seem too confident and smart to make those kinds of mistakes. You don’t think it’s sad because you can’t identify with it.”
“Zadie, confidence is just a mask people wear to hide the truth, and I’m not that smart. Trust me, I’ve made mistakes.”
She tried to argue, but I covered her hand with mine. “I don’t think your story’s sad because what I see is a chance for you to start over. He’s the one losing out, not you.”
“Oh, no. You’re one of those glass-half-full people. The sun’s always sparkling? Rainbows, squirrels, unicorns, and…fuuuuck. I’m drunk.” She shook her head like the movement might help make sense of things.
“Yeah, you are. I would never put squirrels and unicorns in the same category. Those beasts are just plain magical with their bushy tails and cute little bucked teeth.”
“Okay, let’s get one more drink, Cal.” She pulled her hand away, my bad joke unacknowledged. “Then I need to go.”
“Why don’t you just finish the one you have? Then I’ll take you home.”
She looked down at the full glass in front of her and laughed, her face lighting up like she’d found a long-lost friend. She tipped the glass back and I watched her try to swallow her pain along with the liquor.
“You’re better off without him.”
“How would you know that?” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “You only heard part of the story.”
“Isn’t the reason obvious?”
She stared at what was left of her drink, confusion pinching her brow.
“You said he loved you—or at least, he told you he did—but not once did you mention anything about being in love with him. Past or present.”
“I didn’t?”
“No, you didn’t.” Thank fuck.
“Okay, sunshine man, you nailed it. But that’s only because I don’t believe in love. It’s made-up bullshit that keeps us all distracted. Believing in love is like living in the matrix. Except, no one gets tricked into swallowing the pill. Everyone happily jumps right in.”
“I’m pretty sure you have to take the pill to get out of the matrix, not into it. But love?” I caught her gaze and held it. “Love is real, Zadie. Love is so damn real.”
“You’ve been in love before?”
“No, but I’ve seen it.” I’d dreamed of it. Decided I’d die without it and then decided I wasn’t going to die. “The kind of love so real, it’s undeniable.”
“Guess that’s the problem, then. All anyone’s ever shown me is heartbreak and lies.” Her eyes glassed over, her voice catching.
I strangled the neck of the bottle in my grip.
“Take my parents for example,” she said through the catch in her voice.
“They hated each other. Now, my mom has a new boyfriend every third day. And that kinda proves my point. Love can’t possibly be real.
Not if it’s so easy to fall in and out of.
Not when a man can tell you he loves you, fuck you, and then leave you the next day. Not when love is a lie.”
“All right, I think you’re done with that drink.” I reached for her glass.
“But it’s so good. “She cradled it to her chest before turning from me and downing what was left.
When she faced me again, her bottom lip pushed out to the side, not the front, and her eyebrows arched dramatically, one higher than the other. Perfectly undone in the sloppiest sort of way.
Even wrecked, even with her curls frizzed and her makeup smeared, she still had me by the throat. “Time to go.”
“Just one...” She squinted into the cup. “Last...” Tipped it up over her open mouth and, leaning back, captured a drop of liquid on her tongue.
A second later she fell off the stool.
I caught her before she hit the floor, my hands locking around her waist, her elbow driving into my ribs. It hurt, but she was in my arms, so it was a fair trade. “All right, tipsy. We’re going.”
“Mm-hmm.” She looked up at me through heavy lids, and every rational thought I had started packing its bags.
She should have been passed out by now. Instead, she shifted, her full breasts pressing against me. She snaked her arms around my neck and wove her fingers through my hair, her nails dragging across my scalp in a way that had my eyes rolling back in my skull.
Then she kissed me. And I was fucked.