Chapter Nine
Zadie
The feeling of warmth and safety mixed with a woodsy scent.
I was wrapped in my blankets, and it felt like I’d been dreaming for days. Maybe years. It was a deep, peaceful sleep that had no edges and no end.
“They said she wasn’t feeling well.” His voice drifted in from somewhere down the hall, low and muffled. “She slept the entire way home… Yeah, okay. Fine.”
Caleb was here. In Chantel’s house.
What the hell?
“Caleb,” I croaked, because getting out of bed was not an option my body was willing to negotiate.
“Hey.” He appeared in my doorway, shoulder against the frame, looking way too comfortable there. “How are you feeling?”
“Tired. Thirsty. Tired and thirsty.”
Time warped. I drifted back under, and when I surfaced again, he was beside me, gently shaking my shoulder.
“Water?” He held out a glass, ice clinking against the sides.
Oh, heaven. Ice.
The warmth I’d been buried in was suddenly an inferno. My bed wasn’t cozy anymore. It was a sweat dungeon.
“Thanks.” I sat up, took the glass and drained it, kicking the covers off at the same time. Then the cool air hit me, and I immediately regretted it.
Why was it that both times I’d been around this man, I’d been a complete disgusting mess?
My work clothes were plastered to me. There were wet circles of sweat under my arms, under my boobs, and…oh God…between my legs. Why did it have to feel like I’d peed myself?
“I need a shower.” Not bothering to ask what happened or why he was here, I set the glass on the nightstand and stood.
He moved as though ready to catch me. “I can get it started for you. Or just make sure you don’t pass out on your way there.”
“I’m fine.” I moved away from him, pretending I was steady on my feet. At my dresser, I pulled open a drawer and rummaged for clean yoga pants and a shirt large enough to hide in.
“You don’t seem fine.” His words were pure concern. No judgment. “You were passed out at work. The redhead told me you were sick.”
“Larissa. She exaggerates. I’m just tired—been working too much.” I leaned against the dresser, arms crossed over my chest, trying to hide the sweat stains I was wearing like a badge of shame.
Why was he still standing so close? And why did he have to look so fucking good doing it?
His dark hair was pushed back from his face, those blue eyes sparkling behind a pair of thick-rimmed glasses that made my pulse do stupid things. His shirt clung to his wide shoulders, sleeves pushed to his elbows, tattoos on display.
He wasn’t leaving, and my curiosity finally won out over my embarrassment. Or maybe it was my love of all things self-destructive. “What are you doing here, and how did you get me home?”
“Same way I did last time.” He shot me a playful grin. “Carried you in. No big deal.”
“But why you?”
“Your coworkers called Chantel because they couldn’t wake you up. She’s on shift and couldn’t leave, so she called me.”
That still didn’t explain why Caleb Alexander was standing in my bedroom in Copper Ridge instead of sitting in a lecture hall two hours away.
“I’m sorry, but what the hell is going on right now? Did you drive all the way from Toronto to pick me up from work?”
He was completely unbothered by my rudeness. “I didn’t drive from Toronto. I was already here. Across the hall, actually.”
My breath stalled. “Across the hall. Here? In this house?”
“Yeah. I moved in today.” He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world. “I’m staying with Chantel until I figure out my next move. I thought she would have told you.”
The air left my lungs in rush.
He was living here. In the spare room, across the hall. The hall I walked through every morning to get to the bathroom. The hall I padded down in my pajamas with toothpaste on my chin and my hair looking like something that lived under a bridge.
“Oh, she probably did.” I waved it off like it was nothing. “I’ve been distracted.”
She hadn’t told me a damn thing. And that hurt. But admitting that there’d been a wall slowly building between my best friend and me wasn’t something I was prepared to do in front of her cousin. Not while standing in a puddle of my own sweat.
“Well, I’ve been meaning to come see you anyway.” His smile shifted into something bolder, erasing my thoughts about Chantel. And everything else.
“How old are you?” I blurted.
Because fuck it. First impressions were already ruined. Second impressions were actively on fire. No point pretending I was anywhere close to functional right now.
“Is that really where you want to start this conversation?” His eyebrow lifted, and the expression on his face made him look not only interested but somehow even hotter than before. “And do you really want to start it now?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.” I sank against the dresser, regretting my complete lack of a filter. “Everything’s already awkward as hell. I just figured, you already know I’m heavier than I look and that I drool when I sleep. Might as well get the rest of the uncomfortable stuff out of the way.”
He laughed, and despite my all-over body ache, I couldn’t fight the pull of it. That sound did things to me that should have required a warning label.
“All right, I’ll play along.” He settled onto the edge of my bed like he belonged there. “But let me ask you something first. Why does my age matter?”
“It doesn’t. I mean, it shouldn’t. But it does.” Eloquent, Zadie. Really nailing it.
He leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, his eyes locked on mine. “I know I caught you off guard the morning after the party. That wasn’t my intention.”
I blinked at the pivot. “You have nothing to apologize for.”
“I’m not apologizing.” His mouth twitched. “I’m telling you I know I rattled you. And I want you to know, nothing happened in that bed—other than sleep. I’d never touch a woman who wasn’t begging me to.”
A shiver rolled through me that had nothing to do with the temperature.
Still, some stupid part of me had been hoping he’d say it was the best night of his life. That Chantel was wrong and something had happened between us. Something wonderful.
Maybe it was just the hormones. But that same part of me had been clinging to the irrational, impossible dream that it was Caleb, not Sean, responsible for the plus sign on that test.
“Falling asleep next to you wasn’t planned,” he continued, oblivious to the ache blooming in my chest. “But I don’t regret being there.”
He didn’t regret it.
That was worse. Worse than an apology, worse than embarrassment, because it meant he’d chosen to stay. He’d been sober, he’d been in control, and he’d stayed anyway.
And I couldn’t have him.
He was young, gorgeous, and had his whole life ahead of him. And I was a cautionary tale with a positive pregnancy test in my bedside drawer—three feet from where he was sitting.
“It’s okay.” The words tasted bitter. “I won’t lie. I freaked out. But only because I couldn’t remember what happened. When I woke up and saw you there, I assumed the worst.”
“Understandable.” The tension in his expression eased. “Twenty-one.”
“Twenty-one?”
“Yeah, I’m twenty-one. Does that bother you?”
“Why would that bother me? I don’t even know what we’re talking about.”
“Oh, I think you do.” His voice dropped low, threaded with heat. “You met me a month ago and it was chaotic as hell, but you’re still curious. So I think we’re both thinking the same thing.”
“And what exactly are you thinking?” Despite the damp clothes, the humiliation, and lingering morning sickness, I wanted him to say he’d thought about us naked together.
Because I had. Repeatedly.
He looked devastating in his ripped jeans and fitted shirt, those glasses giving him an edge that was both intellectual and predatory. His voice stroked over me with every word, soft then hard then soft again. It was unnerving. Torturous, even.
And it all pointed to one simple solution.
Sex.
“I’m thinking we should go out. On a date.” He said it like he was ordering a coffee. Like it was the most obvious next step in the world. “Preferably one with no alcohol. Or very limited quantities.”
He couldn’t be serious.
The first time I got asked on a proper date, and it was after finding out I was carrying another man’s baby. The universe had a sick sense of humor.
“Why on earth would you want to do that? Look at me.” I gestured to myself. “I’m a disaster.”
His eyes lit up. The corner of his mouth pulled, and something warm and genuine broke across his face that was worse than any laugh because it looked like wonder. Like I was something he’d found and couldn’t believe was real.
“Zadie, I’ve only ever seen you like this.” The amusement settled into something steadier. “You’re not perfect. You’re real. The most gorgeous disaster I’ve ever seen. And I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”
Why did he have to sound so damn sincere?
I wanted to say yes. God, how I wanted to say yes.
But where would that leave us? I’d still be pregnant with a deadbeat’s baby. No matter how big the ball gown or how shiny the glass slippers, my belly would still turn into a pumpkin at midnight.
Or, more accurately, in about seven months.
“I can’t.” It was all I could get out before my throat closed.
“Give me one good reason.”
“I can give you at least three.” I ticked them off on my fingers. “You’re my best friend’s cousin. You know nothing about me except that I’m a cheap drunk. And you’re seven years younger than me.”
I expected horror. Or at least a flinch.
He gave me nothing. Just sat back, fingers casually laced together, looking completely unconcerned.
“What?” I challenged. “Not enough reasons for you?”
“Oh, that’s quite the list. I just don’t think any of them are good.”
I drew myself up to my full, unimpressive height. “Are you serious?”
“Very.” He stood, closing the distance between us until I had to tilt my head to hold his stare. “So, forget your list. If I asked you out right now, properly, what would you say?”
From this close, I could see flecks of silver in his blue eyes. The dark waves that had fallen forward to frame his face, sharpened his jawline. He was all hard edges and smooth angles, and the chain at his throat catching light with each breath only made him edgier somehow.
I wanted to lick a path up his neck, run my teeth along his jaw, and kiss his full mouth again. I bet he’d taste incredible right now.
“You know, when you leave a guy hanging like this, it can do terrible things to his ego.”
“I’ve never been on a real date,” I admitted. Something about him standing this close made lying feel impossible.
“Then it’s destiny.” His mouth curved. “I’ve never been on one either. We can figure it out together.”
The dresser pressed into my lower back, leaving me nowhere to go. “I can’t.”
“It’s not the age thing, is it?” His expression shifted, the intensity dialing back just enough to let me breathe. “Because if it is, we can talk about it.”
“No, Caleb. It’s not your age.”
“New boyfriend?”
“I definitely do not have a boyfriend.” I scrambled for an explanation that didn’t involve the words pregnant or Sean or the phrase my entire life is a dumpster fire. “You’ve just caught me at a really bad time, and I’m not ready to explain why.”
“Fair enough.” He took a step back, giving me the room I desperately needed. “I came on too strong. You’re not feeling well, and I should have paid closer attention.”
I desperately wanted to hear whatever he might say next. But I couldn’t stand the compassion in his voice, and I absolutely could not entertain the idea of dating him. Not now. Not with what I was carrying.
“Let’s drop the awkward. All of it.” I dragged my hand down my face, grimacing at the damp sheen on my palm. “I can’t do regrets anymore, Caleb. I’m drowning in them. Can we just be friends and move forward?”
“Friends.” He said the word like he was tasting something sour.
“Yes. I don’t have many. Plus, you’re living with my best friend, and I’d like to feel comfortable in my own house without everything being weird.”
My own house. I’d said it without thinking. It was Chantel’s house. My borrowed room. But somewhere in the last few weeks, it had started to feel like mine.
And now he was in it.
“Okay. I can work with friends.” The words were agreeable. The look in his eyes was not. “But if we’re doing no regrets, then let me take you out. Not a date. Call it whatever you want. Just say yes.”
“How about we just hang out here? Like roommates would.”
“Hang out. Like roommates…”
“Yes. It’s what friends do.” I pointed at my bedroom door. “Now get out. I need a shower and about twelve more hours of sleep.”
“All right.” He held my stare for a beat too long. Then something shifted behind his eyes, and he moved to leave. But he stopped in the doorway, looking back. “You sure you’re okay? I was worried about you.”
“I’ll be fine. But thank you. You’re already a good friend.”
“Anytime.” His smile was real, but there was an edge underneath it that told me friend was a word he planned to redefine.
He disappeared down the hall and only seconds later, his door closed.
Every day. Every morning. Every night. He’d be right there.
I sank onto the bed and breathed through the nausea trying to take hold.
Friends was the right call. The only call. But how the hell was I going to live across the hall from this man and not sexually frustrate myself into an early grave?
I couldn’t put a baby on hold to chase a guy. I wasn’t my mother.
But that look on his face told me this was far from settled.
That let-down feeling burrowed deep into my bones and reminded me I needed to dig a deeper hole for that thing called hope. It kept clawing its way back out of the grave.