Calliope
I need a hobby.
What does a thirty-something do for a hobby?
Is there a group meetup memo I missed?
Because I’m bored. And the guys are avoiding me. Which is fine, it’s totally fine.
Didn’t see them at work. I got a note that told me what to do all week. Which again I’m totally fine with.
Mostly.
Then I ignored Calypso because let’s face it, things got just a little too close for my liking. And sometimes I need a step back.
Normally I’d call Hadley, but after the last call where the voicemail box was full and the postcard, nope I refuse to call her out of spite.
But what the fuck do I do with this free time.
When I was a little girl I made friendship bracelets.
I have no string.
Exercise? Ugh no. Last resort only. Also it’s nearly six on a Thursday.
I pace. Up and down my hallway wearing a path in my carpet.
Puzzles? No.
Books? I could read a new smut book. No. I can’t even sit still.
Fuck it.
I stomp my way to the bedroom because I’m going to go for a run. Jog. Maybe it’ll be a light walk. I haven’t decided yet but I have to dress for the part to make that part work. Right?
Sound girl logic.
Shorts, tank. Sneakers. Keys. Water.
Just walk out that door, Callie. Go for a jog.
And no, I’m not stalling because I may run into unhinged and sexy. Or composed and sexy. Not even stiff and sexy. Not stiff in the right way either. Just stiff.
None of them.
I just… don’t want to run but I need to release some energy. And it isn’t like I’m apparently mentally healthy enough to date or have sex.
And that’s what all of this stems from.
Vex implying I’m not over James.
I’m so over James.
I stomp out of my apartment with its intimate memories and orgasms. Vex isn’t in the hall and I hear nothing from his side of the house. I don’t know why that bothers me. Maybe because I’m used to his presence lurking around like a shadow I’ve grown fond of.
The hallway stretches before me, empty and quiet. I lock my apartment and shove the keys into my pocket. The steps down are still as dingy as they always were. I enter the small lobby, and I find myself holding my breath. I half expect Vex to materialize from nowhere with some cutting remark.
He doesn’t.
I’m both relieved and disappointed.
The lobby is equally deserted. Not that I expected more, it’s just Vex and I in this building now. It’s like everyone in my life has collectively decided to disappear on me today.
The summer heat hits me as I push through the front doors. It’s one of those oppressive August days where the air feels thick enough to chew. Not ideal running weather, but I’m committed now. I’ve dressed the part, so I might as well play it.
I start walking, promising myself I’ll work up to a jog. The neighborhood is quiet for a Thursday night. Most people are probably either smart enough to stay indoors with air conditioning or sitting beside a pool for a night swim.
I wonder if I can sneak in somewhere that has a pool.
Three blocks in, I’m sweating and regretting every life choice that led me to this moment. My tank top clings uncomfortably to my skin. I should have brought a towel. I should have stayed home. I should have—
“Calliope?”
I freeze mid-step, recognizing that voice. “Lazarus.”
I turn around and see him wearing basketball shorts, sneakers, a sweaty tank. Listen, I’m not dead. I look. And I take my time looking because it isn’t often a girl sees her brooding and sexy boss out in the wild.
And those shorts?
Leave nothing to the imagination.
I look up quickly despite feeling my ears turning bright fucking red to match my face. If I look any longer I will clearly be catching print.
Oh gods didn’t I just tell Vex that no I wasn’t into him. And here I am, into him.
Well his dick at least.
Can I just detach my emotions from the dick? Alas no.
He’s staring at me like he can read every single internal thought. My face burns hotter. I really try not to look again but I swear his penis is waving hello in those shorts.
“Lazarus,” I manage, voice cracking embarrassingly. “Fancy meeting you here.”
He wipes sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “You run?”
“I’m... trying it out.” I gesture vaguely at my outfit. “New hobby. Desperate times.”
His eyes flick down my body, then back up. It’s that slow roll of his gaze that makes me even more uncomfortable, as though he sees something he likes.
“You’re doing great.”
I snort before I can stop myself. “I haven’t actually started running yet.”
“Smart. It’s brutal today.” He shifts his weight, those shorts riding dangerously low on his hips. “Mind if I join you? I was just finishing up.”
Something about the casual invitation makes my stomach flip. This is my boss. The man who leaves me notes instead of talking to me. The man I’ve been actively avoiding thinking about in inappropriate ways.
“Sure,” I hear myself say. “Why not?”
I am so going to regret this.
We fall into step together, and I’m acutely aware of the space between us. He is close enough that I can smell his sweat, which should be disgusting but somehow isn’t. The evening air is thick with humidity, but I barely notice anymore.
But what gets under my skin is he is doing it again. Matching my pace. He doesn’t walk ahead, or behind. But side by side. Side by fucking side.
How dare he make himself appealing.
“So,” I start, desperate to fill the silence, “is this how you spend your Thursdays? Running around the neighborhood?”
“Sometimes.” He glances at me. “You?”
“Pacing my apartment and contemplating the void of my social life, as per usual.”
A laugh escapes him. He pauses looking genuinely surprised. “That’s... relatable.”
“The great and notable Lazarus Dagon.” I dramatically gasp pressing a palm to my chest. “No social life.” His lips twitch. “And dare I say he’s amused.”
Damn it, I’m flirting.
You are supposed to remain mad at this man. Mad, super angry. Grrr. He put you in a box to watch him work.
“He’s amused.” He cuts toward the riverwalk. Which I wouldn’t mind. At all. I bet there is even a breeze. “The only social life I have is Soren.”
Or I’m making excuses to stay at his side.
I slow down a little just to see if his pace changes. “A person can’t be your social life.”
I speed up because watching him try to walk in slow motion hurts my soul. Stupid empathy.
He speeds up with me, that easy stride making me work harder to keep pace. A small smile plays at the corner of his mouth, like he knows exactly what I’m doing.
“Soren’s enough,” he says after a moment. “Most people are exhausting.”
“Including me?” I ask before I can stop myself.
The question hangs between us as we approach the riverwalk. The path widens, trees providing patches of shade against the setting sun. A breeze finally cuts through the humidity, carrying the scent of water and distant barbecue.
“You’re...” He pauses, and I catch him studying me from the corner of his eye. “Different.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I’m giving right now.”
We fall into silence again, but it’s not uncomfortable.
The rhythm of our footsteps creates a strange intimacy as we follow the curve of the river.
Other joggers pass us, but I barely notice.
I’m too aware of the heat radiating from his body beside mine.
And of course the occasional brush of his arm against my shoulder when the path narrows.
“So,” I say, desperate to break the tension building in my chest, “is this how you punish your employees? Make them exercise with you?”
His eyebrows raise. “Is that what this feels like? Punishment?”
“Well, I’m sweating through clothes I just put on, so...”
“Then stop.” He slows his pace, nodding toward a bench overlooking the water. “We don’t have to run.”
I hesitate, but my legs are already grateful for the suggestion. We sit, and I immediately regret it when I notice how small the bench is. He’s close to me, so damn close but my legs are officially bright red and screaming for a break.
I try to rub itchiness away but damn it, it doesn’t work.
“Here.” He grabs my legs, sets them in his lap and… begins to massage them gently. More like a gentle press, sending the blood back up to my torso.
I sit stiffly, awkwardly on the bench as he touches me. Massages me. And it feels better. Within a few minutes, the itchiness begins to fade.
But I can’t move. I’ve gone officially into fawn mode.
“I can’t get a read on you,” I say, not really meaning to but also meaning to.
“Hmm,” he hums before glancing at me for less than a second and goes back to his gentle massage. “Why do you need a read on me?”
“I just do.”
“What would it tell you, Ms. Cantemir?”
“I don’t know, that’s the problem. I can’t get a read on you. And suddenly all three of you are just. There!” I toss my arms up. “And you’re a package deal.” I hiss the last part.
That was my hot-headed mouth working. I always do that. Get angry. Blow up about the thing then start slinging everything else that dredges forth.
His hands still on my legs. The silence stretches between us like a physical thing, thick with the humidity and something else I can’t name.
“Package deal,” he repeats, his voice low. “Is that how you see us?”
I swallow hard, suddenly aware of how close we’re sitting, how his thumbs are making small circles on my calves. “I don’t know what I see. That’s the problem.”
“You don’t need to figure us out, Calliope.” His eyes meet mine, and I’m struck by the intensity there. He’s always so intense when I look at him. No one looks at me the way Lazarus does and I don’t quite know how to feel about that fact. Yet. “We’re not a puzzle to solve.”
“Everything’s a puzzle to solve. That’s literally my job.”
“Maybe that’s the problem.” His hands resume their gentle massage, and I fight the urge to melt into the bench. “Maybe you need to stop trying to analyze everything and just... be.”
I snort. “Be what? A hot mess with no friends, divorced at thirty-two, a job with more NDAs than I’m comfortable with and a boss that…” I bite my tongue.
“That what, Callie?” he asks and I get the distinct feeling that he’s enjoying himself.