Chapter 2 Caleb
"So you're saying you've never been skydiving?
Like, not even once?" Izzy leans forward, her bedazzled crop top catching the neon lights overhead.
I'd spotted her at The Sunflower Bistro's speed dating event earlier, before we all decided to move this disaster of a double date to Lucky Strike Lanes bowling alley.
"Can't say that I have." I adjust my grip on my beer, buying time to appreciate how her position gives me an excellent view down her shirt.
Between the push-up bra, and the way she keeps leaning forward, girl's putting in the effort.
Hey, she's trying really hard to show it off, it'd be rude not to look.
"Oh my god." She grabs my forearm, cherry-red nails digging in tight enough to leave marks. "We should totally go this weekend. I know this place that does tandem jumps, and like, the instructor is super hot—"
Beside me, Brodie's shoulders tense. I don't need to look to know he's grinding his jaw again, making his tattoos ripple under the dim lights.
It had taken twenty minutes of begging and promises of free drinks to drag his brooding ass out tonight.
He's been radiating get me the fuck out of here energy since we walked in, all six-foot-two of him vibrating with regret.
To be fair, this double date wasn't my best idea.
I usually avoid Valentine's dates like the plague—too many girls thinking one dinner means wedding bells—but crashing the speed dating to watch Ivy get all flustered over awkward small talk had seemed worth breaking my rule.
When she didn't show, I was ready to call it, but then Izzy recognized me from PairUp.
Had to do some quick swiping in the bathroom to find our match from god knows when, but hey, beats admitting I didn't remember her at all.
"Your turn, Caleb!" Ava calls out, twirling a strand of pink-streaked hair. The broken disco ball spins sad fractals across the lanes, making her highlights flash purple under the dim lights.
She's been trying to catch Brodie's eye all night, but he's too busy looking like he'd rather be getting a root canal. Can't really blame him. Izzy's friend is giving off serious stage-five clinger vibes.
I push up from the sticky pleather bench, dragging a hand through my rumpled blond curls and stretching just enough to let my T-shirt ride up.
Both girls follow the movement, and I catch Izzy's eyes lingering where the fabric pulls across my chest. Years of football gave me a build that walks the line between muscle and softness—the best of both worlds, if you ask me.
Brodie makes a disgusted sound into his beer, probably remembering why he hates going out with me.
He's more of a get to know someone over coffee kind of guy.
The ball hits dead center, pins scattering beneath strings of dollar store hearts dangling from the ceiling. "Strike!" I spin around with my arms raised, catching Izzy's exaggerated clapping. She's laying it on thick, but that's fine. So am I.
Her crop top rides up as she bounces in her seat, revealing a belly button ring that sparkles under the pink and violet lights. Between that and the Live Laugh Love tattoo peeking out above her low-rise trousers, she's the physical manifestation of a hot girl summer gone rogue.
"Show off," Brodie mutters, though his mouth curls faintly under his perpetual five o'clock shadow.
"Just because some of us have actual game .
. ." I drop back onto the bench, deliberately close to Izzy.
She smells like vanilla body spray and whatever sugary cocktail she's been nursing all night.
At least Lucky Strike makes up for the Valentine's Day explosion of red tinsel with cheap beer and halfway decent nachos.
Ava stands, smoothing down her tiny skirt. "Brodie, want to help me pick a ball?"
The glare he shoots me could melt steel. I smirk back and his eyes narrow, but he unfolds his tall frame and follows her to the ball return.
"Your friend's not very friendly," Izzy observes, trailing her fingers up my leg.
"He's shy." I catch her wrist before she can get too handsy. Not that I'm opposed, this is definitely heading somewhere, just not here. "He used to be worse than me in college. Now he's all grown up and responsible. Owns his own tattoo shop and everything."
"Interesting." Izzy leans closer, her breath hot against my ear. "We should totally go back to my place after. I have this new tantric meditation technique I've been dying to try . . ."
Well that answers the 'where' question, and explains the crystal emojis in her profile.
She launches into something about energy alignment and I can't help grinning.
Ivy's always trying to get me to take this stuff seriously, too.
Actually, with all this spiritual talk, they'd get along, and I almost laugh at that thought.
Ivy never seems to like the girls I date, which is fine since they never stick around long enough for it to matter anyway.
"Bathroom!" Ava announces suddenly, grabbing Izzy's arm. "Come with?"
The moment they're gone, Brodie drops back into his seat. "I can't believe James got out of this."
"Dude, he's got that thing with his mom tomorrow." I keep my voice low. "Hospital appointments, you know how it is."
"Since when are you considerate?"
"Rude." I throw a nacho at his head. "Some of us have hearts."
"Some of us have standards." He glances toward the bathrooms, wearing that guilty look he gets when girls like Ava try too hard.
She thinks the nose ring and eyeliner make her his type, but Brodie's the kind of guy who wants real conversations, not whatever this is. "How much longer do I have to stay?"
"Come on, it's not that bad. Ava's into you."
"That's the problem." He drains his beer.
Before I can argue, Izzy returns, making a beeline for my lap. She settles in like she belongs there, and I wrap an arm around her waist to steady her. "Miss me?"
Ava trails behind, looking defeated, but approaching Brodie.
"I should get going." He stands, reaching for his jacket. "Early booking tomorrow."
"But it's only—"
"At my tattoo shop," he adds, shrugging on his leather jacket. His voice softens slightly, trying to let her down easy. "Thanks for the company."
I bite down a chuckle. Brodie might be more considerate than me when it comes to feelings, but watching him try to be both honest and nice is always entertaining.
"Oh. Yeah, of course." Ava grabs her tiny purse, giving him one last hopeful glance that makes him wince. "Izzy, we should go, too. Early class tomorrow."
"You go ahead." She shifts in my lap. "I want to hear more about Caleb's star sign."
Ava's eye roll could be seen from space. "Fine. Text me when you get back." She hesitates. "Or tomorrow. Whatever."
"So . . ." I start, but Izzy cuts me off, sliding closer.
"O'Malley's is just around the corner." Her fingers skim slow circles on my thigh. "Unless you have somewhere else to be?"
The bar hits us with a wave of warmth and desperation you only find on Valentine's Day after ten p.m. Every stool is occupied by someone whose night didn't go as planned, drowning their sorrows in two-for-one cocktails and pretending they meant to end up here.
Izzy weaves through the crowd like she owns it, all swaying hips and confident smiles. Her leather trousers catch the light with each movement, and I'm not the only one watching. But she's focused on me, tugging me toward the bar with that spark in her eyes that promises trouble.
"Two shots of tequila," she tells the bartender, leaning forward just enough to guarantee quick service. "And keep them coming."
The first shot burns. The second one goes down easier. By the third, the edges of everything start to soften, and Izzy's laugh sounds like a lullaby with claws. She's flush against me now, telling me about her recent spiritual awakening.
"It's like, everything happens for a reason, you know?" Her fingers trail up my neck, nails grazing the skin. "Like us meeting tonight."
"Another round?" I signal the bartender, my voice rough as Izzy's fingers slip under my shirt. The room's spinning in that perfect way where bad decisions become inevitable and I couldn't care less.
"Only if you dance with me." She's already pulling me up, and the sway of her hips is hypnotic. "Show me what you got."
Her body rolls against mine as if she's trying to prove something.
I slide my hands lower, pulling her closer, and the sound she makes goes straight to my head.
When she kisses me, it's all tongue and teeth and need that says this is ending in someone's bed.
She tastes of tequila and cherry lip gloss, and I deepen the kiss until she's practically purring.
"You're good at this," she gasps when we break for air, her lipstick smeared across her mouth. I want to mess her up more.
More drinks appear. The music pounds through my blood, or maybe that's just desire. Her hands are everywhere, teasing, exploring, driving me crazy. Every roll of her hips makes it harder to remember why we shouldn't find a dark corner right here.
"My place," she breathes, and her voice is pure sex. "No roommate."
"Yeah?" I manage to focus, finally dragging my gaze up to meet hers. Her makeup's smeared just enough to be hot instead of messy. Her pupils are blown, and her eyes say exactly what she wants: me, now.
"Unless you're scared." She grinds against me one more time and my grip on her hips tightens. "I did mention I'm certified in Shibari?"
I have no clue what that means, but it sounds hot enough not to ask questions. "Lead the way."
She tugs me toward the door, all confident swagger despite the tequila. "Trust me, you're going to love it."
The night air hits but I barely feel it. Between the alcohol, and the way she keeps looking at me, I'm already thinking about how good this is gonna be. And from that gleam in her eye? Pretty sure she is, too.