Chapter Twelve
Caleb
Being friends sucked.
Not the concept. I could handle friendship. What I couldn’t handle was the way Zadie shut down every time we were alone together, like being in the same room without a buffer was a trap she needed to escape.
It was getting old. And I was done tiptoeing around a woman who slept across the hall.
The smell of buttered popcorn drifted through my open door. Chantel had declared it movie night, and from the sounds coming out of the kitchen, the two of them were either bonding or committing murder.
Something was going on between them. I’d been too far away to hear their argument at the park, but I’d watched the whole thing.
Zadie’s body language had been tight, defensive.
Chantel’s had been explosive. Whatever they’d fought about, it was big.
And I couldn’t shake the feeling it had something to do with me.
“Caleb!” Chantel’s voice tore through the house like a fire alarm.
I was down the hall before the echo died. But there was no fire. Just the two of them in the kitchen, throwing popcorn at each other.
“Zadie’s trying to make me watch Sinister.” She pointed an accusing finger. “She says it’s a must-watch. I don’t believe her.”
I leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “I’ve never seen it either.”
“What?” Zadie’s eyes went wide.
Fuck, she was beautiful.
Her hair was piled on top of her head, stray curls framing her face.
No makeup. A T-shirt too big for her and sweatpants pooling around her bare feet.
The dark circles and tension that had been clouding her expression since I moved in were gone, replaced by something that looked dangerously close to delight.
“Neither of you know what you’re missing. It’s one of the scariest movies ever made. It’s completely awesome.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” I smiled.
Chantel threw her hands in the air. “Fuck d’ostie. I don’t like horror movies. I don’t know why you always try to make me watch them. You know I’m just going to make you turn it off halfway through.”
“You’re such a wimp. And your cousin agrees with me. Don’t you, Caleb?” Zadie’s grin was teasing and easy and made me want to cross the room and kiss it off her face.
“Come on, Chantel.” I pushed off the counter. “You work in a hospital. How can you be afraid of a movie?”
“Fine.” She jabbed a finger at Zadie, then swung it toward me. “But don’t be surprised if I make you both sleep in my room tonight. With the lights on.”
In the living room, Chantel claimed her oversized armchair, which left the couch for me and Zadie. We took opposite ends, an entire cushion of empty space between us. An invisible boundary I was more than ready to cross.
“We should have made more popcorn,” Chantel complained, hugging the enormous bowl to her chest like a security blanket.
“I’m fine.” Zadie grabbed the remote and curled her legs onto the couch, her toes pointed in my direction. “I don’t think I want any.”
A look passed between them. It was quick but loaded, and I added it to the growing list of things I hadn’t figured out about these two.
“Ethan Hawke is in this?” Chantel shoved a handful of popcorn in her mouth. “Why didn’t you say so? You know I like him.”
Zadie’s laugh was free and unbothered. Fuck, I loved that sound. “You won’t like him for much longer.”
Chantel didn’t even last twenty minutes. She proclaimed Sinister was too scary for life, excused herself to the bathroom, and never came back.
“Think she’s okay?” I asked, stretching my arm along the back of the couch. If I shifted two inches to the right, my fingers would graze the back of Zadie’s neck.
I didn’t move. But I thought about it.
“She does this every time. She’s never made it through an entire horror movie with me.”
“Guess Ethan Hawke wasn’t enough.”
“Not even close. He’s brilliant, though. Especially in Boyhood. Have you seen it? He’s one of my favorites. But he’s not a Chris. Chantel would stay for a Chris.”
“A Chris?”
“Evans, Pine, Hemsworth. Especially Hemsworth. He’s her favorite.”
“Who isn’t in love with that guy?”
“I’m not.” Her eyes found mine, holding my gaze for a moment too long to be considered casual. “He’s just too…blond.”
She looked back at the TV. “Longer hair on a man is super sexy, though.”
My hand twitched toward my own hair before I caught myself.
One sentence and my conviction to stay on my side of the couch was in pieces. The question was whether she knew it.
From the way she kept her eyes locked on the screen, her breath just a little too controlled, I was betting she did.
“I pictured you as more of a comedy or drama fan.” I dragged my thoughts back from her mouth, her words, and the way her legs had extended closer to me.
“I like those too, as long as it’s good.” She trailed off as the movie pulled her attention.
I ignored the movie and watched her instead.
The low light played across her features, sharpening her cheekbones and pooling shadows under her jaw. But the light wasn’t responsible for the flush on her cheeks or the white-knuckled grip of her hands in her lap.
“You’re missing the good part,” she murmured.
“I’m not missing a thing.”
When she jumped at a scare, it jolted me back to the screen. She was right, the movie was genuinely creepy. Disturbing kids, old film reels, and a gruesome ending. But when the final credits rolled and I turned to gauge her reaction, she was already watching me.
This time, she didn’t look away.
“Well?” She shifted to face me, her legs stretching out, her toes almost brushing my thigh. “What’d you think?”
“It was good.”
“Good? Just good?” Her bottom lip pushed out. “You didn’t think it was scary?”
“It’s a movie. Fake blood, visual effects, a made-up story. Hard to be afraid of something that isn’t real.”
“Some of it’s real.” Her voice dropped. “Death is real. You have to admit, that’s scary.”
My jaw tightened. “I’m not afraid to die.”
“Come on, Caleb.” She half-laughed, but it sounded strangled. “Everyone’s afraid of death, at least a little.”
“Not even a little. Death is inevitable. It’s life that scares me.”
She searched my face, looking for the joke.
“Not life itself,” I said. “More like missing out on it. It’s easy to forget what a gift it is. One wrong choice, one missed opportunity, and you’ve wasted the whole thing.”
“Trust me,” she whispered, her expression cracking. “I know.”
“Besides… I’ve already died once. It wasn’t that bad.”
Her mouth fell open, and her gorgeous, big doe eyes went wide. “Seriously? I knew you had a story.”
“Maybe another time. One scary story per night is my limit.”
“I’ve seen the movie three times and it still makes me want to turn on every light.” She drew in a shaky breath, her hand trembling as she smoothed her hair. “Although, I doubt it’s what’s going to keep me awake tonight.”
Everything about her was pulling me in. The flush crawling up her neck, the way she kept shifting on the couch, the unsteady rhythm of her breathing. The heat in her eyes that she was trying so hard to pretend wasn’t there.
I reached down and took her feet in my hands.
She went still. Completely still. Like a deer who’d just heard a branch snap.
I pressed my thumb into the arch of her foot and dragged it slowly across her sole.
She didn’t pull away. Her eyes fluttered shut, and a sigh escaped her that sounded like surrender.
So I pressed harder. Moved from her toes to her ankle, my fingers grazing the smooth skin above it. Stroking slow, intentional circles. Savoring every inch of soft skin under my touch.
She let out another sigh. At least, it started as a sigh. Then the soft exhale turned to a low, quiet moan.
That sound bypassed every rational thought in my head and went straight to my cock.
Her eyes flew open and she pulled her feet away, tucking them beneath her on her side of the couch.
“I should get to bed,” she said in a rush. “I’ve got class in the morning and work tomorrow.”
“Yeah. We should call it a night.” My voice was rougher than intended.
I stood and held out my hand. She hesitated, then slid her fingers into mine.
Neither of us let go.
We walked down the hall together. Hand in hand, me slightly ahead of her to keep my shoulder from bumping the wall. The only sound was the hardwood under our feet.
I passed my room to hers, stopping at the open doorway and turning to face her.
“Thanks for tonight.” Her gaze was stuck on our joined hands. “It was fun.”
“Zadie.” I moved closer. “Look at me.”
Her head snapped up, gaze locking onto mine like a magnet, and my body fucking rejoiced at the connection.
“This wasn’t a date,” I said. “But it wasn’t nothing, either.”
“Caleb—”
“Tell me I’m wrong.”
She pulled her hand from mine and pressed it flat against my chest. Not pushing me away, just resting there, her palm warm over the place where my heart was trying to beat its way through my ribs.
“Just friends,” she whispered. “Remember?”
I covered her hand with mine. “For now.”
Her fingers curled under mine before she pulled away. “Good night, Cal.”
“Good night, Zadie.”
She slipped into her room and closed the door.
I stood there a moment longer, then crossed the hall to my own. And as I lay in the dark, I could still feel her warmth branded on my chest.
She could close as many doors as she wanted. It wouldn’t change a thing.