11. Ruth
Chapter eleven
Ruth
Ruth
C al was definitely drunk. I could smell it on his breath, but more telling, he was looking at me like he’d found a mermaid on the pier. And a mythical, beautiful creature I was not. I released another breath, ignoring the stinging in my knees, and tried to lift myself away from him. “Thanks for catching my fall.”
“Yeah,” he said, his mind clearly running away somewhere I couldn’t follow.
“Maybe we should get you two a cab,” Cal’s dad suggested with a laugh in his voice.
I patted Cal’s firm chest. “I think that’s a smart idea.”
Cal groaned, sitting up straighter and tightening his hold on me as he stood. He helped me up but didn’t loosen his hold. “Alright, yes. A cab is smart.”
“Cal,” Jayla said with reprimand in her voice. “How old are you?”
“Two drinks old,” Cal grinned shamelessly. “Which is like three drinks less than it used to take. Jesus.”
I laughed under my breath, and as he swayed, I supported him. “He got a hotel already. No worries. Thank you so much for a lovely dinner,” I added. “It was great to meet you.” Ooh, that sounded super normal, Ruth. You’re doing it!
“Ooh, a hotel,” Jayla said with sharp interest.
My mouth went dry. “Not for sex,” I said hastily.
Cal laughed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Ruth.”
I cringed. “Oh fuck.” I paused after I realized I had just cussed, and then I groaned out a sigh. “I mean, sorry.”
Jayla and Cal’s dad, Terrence, exchanged amused looks, and Terrence took out his phone. “Fuck is a well-loved garnish in the Reed house,” Terrence assured me. “I’ll order the cab.”
I clamped my teeth together hard. “Right,” I gritted out.
“Ruth,” Jayla said, coming forward to hug me. “It was an absolute pleasure. I hope we’ll see you again.”
You won’t , I thought with a little pang of sadness. I’d gotten so caught up in getting to know Jayla and Terrence, I’d almost forgotten that none of this was real. I couldn’t help but feel that Cal was wonderfully lucky to have been adopted by them. And the obvious fierceness with which he loved them back told me he knew that.
The rideshare came remarkably fast, and after another round of goodbyes, I clambered into a small eco-friendly car with Cal. He had to fold his long legs up in the back seat, and I took a mental snapshot of Cal scrunched up in the back seat like a giant in a tiny house. Cal gave the driver the address of the hotel, and then he sat back, poking his forehead with his pointer finger. “Is’been years since I got drunk.”
I flashed my teeth, leaning against the car door with a measure of some satisfaction. “Well, we all get stressed and make random choices now and then,” I quoted back to him.
Cal peeked one eye open and rolled his head my way. “I’m just drunk enough to make you pay for that.”
A trill of anticipation fluttered through me like a flute aria. “Is that right?”
“Mm.” He nodded, closing his eyes again. “Just give me fifteen minutes to get not inebriated.”
“Of course,” I agreed sarcastically. “That’s how that works.”
My phone buzzed again, and rather than ignoring it, I pulled it out of my pocket with a dose of trepidation. Sure enough, it was the text I feared it was. Vaughn had texted me earlier today, but his most recent messages were butted up against the texts from November still. The evidence of his betrayal sat neatly on top the insanity of his decision to text me today.
Ruth:
I just got home. Saw your note. I’m confused. Could you call me?
Vaughn:
About to board for Italy. Sorry. You got this, kid.
Ruth:
What? That’s it?? Why is the door locked?
Ruth:
Vaughn?
Ruth:
You can’t be serious.
Ruth:
Fuck. You.
Vaughn:
Hey gorg. Back in the states. Heard u were in Eugene. Up for a chat?
Vaughn:
Just landed in Portland. You free tomorrow?
I inhaled slowly through my nose as my stomach swirled uncomfortably. I knew Vaughn was self-absorbed, and I knew he had more confidence than he deserved, but I hadn’t realized he was straight-up delusional.
Ruth:
My last msg stands.
I blew out another breath, trying to steady my nerves, but the damage had been done. That slithering, insidious fear, and the sickening rush of adrenaline, hurt, and fury washed over me like a haunting specter. It caused me to shiver and draw in on myself. I didn’t know what Vaughn wanted, but I knew it wasn’t me. Not really. Because there was a reason he hadn’t wanted me to begin with. It was the same reason this date with Cal was fake. It was the same reason I kept to myself and wrapped myself in the safety of that acceptance. I wasn’t lovable. I wasn’t fun or desirable—I was just easy to use.
We both went quiet as the car drove slowly past warm, gold-lit bars and cozy, mom-and-pop shops, and then we headed a little out of the city proper to a building that had been nestled into the cliffs. It overlooked the Pacific Ocean with a long, thin structure made to ensure every room got an ocean view. The ride pulled up to the hotel, and Cal thanked the driver before getting out and coming around to my side.
He looked put together again, with his pressed, black T-shirt pulling deliciously against his broad chest and his green eyes sparking with humor. He held out a hand to help me out of the car. “Ready for that payback?”
I gave him a blank stare. “Did you seriously get ‘not inebriated’ in fifteen minutes?”
“Years of residency beat inebriation right out of me,” he grinned lopsidedly.
Okay, so maybe he was just hiding it better. I took his hand, and it was only then I realized my purse was still in his car. Sighing to myself, I followed Cal to the hotel lobby where he told them his name. They gave him two key cards, but the attendant with round cheeks and goth eyeliner only named one room on the third floor.
“Thanks,” Cal smiled in his usual, charming way. Miraculously, he did not look tipsy. Not one bit.
I followed him, bobbing my eyes left and then right. “Um, do I need to get my own room?”
“No,” Cal held up the key card. “We have one.”
“Right, you have one,” I said pointedly.
“I believe I said payback.” Cal got a wicked curve to his mouth, and then he took my hand in his.
“Oh boy,” I muttered. “There had better be a couch.”
“Right, because the room is not for sex,” Cal said with mocking severity.
I pinched my lips between my teeth. “Funny.” That churning in my stomach lessened some, soothed by Cal’s teasing smile and bright eyes as we took the elevator to the third floor. Sure, this was a fake date, but it had still been fun, right? I could have fun. There wasn’t anything wrong with that.
Cal finally stumbled a little as we maneuvered into the hotel room. He flicked on the light for the suite, which sported one king-sized bed, a small sofa with a walnut coffee table, and the usual inoffensive but bland artwork, wallpaper, and carpets that hotels managed to consistently choose. Still plastered to his side, I fell sideways with him, and we bumped into the narrow entryway before tripping forward, past the bathroom to the left and into the main space. “Cal,” I grunted, grabbing for his shirt and righting him. “What was in those drinks? ”
“Apparently,” he wrapped his arms around me in a bear hug and walked us both toward the bed, “a little too much of everything.”
“What are you doing?” I squeezed out from between his hard arms.
“What does it look like?” Cal wrenched us down to the mattress, and we fell hard, poofing up the coverlet and leaving our legs dangling off the edge. Cal didn’t release me. “Hmm, you smell like apples.”
“That would be my shampoo,” I replied, my voice strained as I pushed against him. It was no use. He had both my arms pinned to my sides, and my face had pressed into the soft cotton of his T-shirt. “Get off me, you massive troll.”
He laughed, and the vibration purred through me with a satisfying trill. “I’m the troll under the bridge. Are you going to pay the toll?”
“I’m not under a bridge,” I gritted out, still pushing against him as we lay facing each other on our sides. “I’m under five hundred tons of muscle.”
“Thank you,” he said seriously.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake.” I rolled my eyes. Giving up a physical fight, I glanced up at him. With his arms tightly wound around me and his eyes closed, I got a perfect look at the sharp line of his jaw and the way his light-tinted eyelashes fanned out over smooth, bronze skin. I found myself momentarily speechless. We were so close, I could see the little cracks in his lips and the five-o-clock shadow that had grown along his chin and jaw .
Cal opened his eyes, and bright green ensnared me. “You want up, Shortstop?”
Did I? I couldn’t remember anymore. “Yeah,” I replied, my voice breathy.
“Then you have to pay the toll.”
I licked my lips, staring up into his mossy green eyes. I couldn’t help but think that Cal had been made to perfectly mirror the lush landscape of the state he’d been born in. My eyes darted down to his dusky lips and then back to his eyes. “What toll?”
Cal tightened his arms around me, drawing me up his body so my hips pressed into his lower belly and our noses nearly touched. His breath, tinted with alcohol and sugar, fanned over my lips. I swallowed hard, and my heart thudded to life, pattering away at an uneven tempo. How had I wound up in bed with Cal-the-Hot-Doctor Reed? And why, on God’s green earth, was he staring down at me with hooded eyes and an expression like he wanted to kiss me?
“How drunk are you?” I whispered.
“Sober enough to want to kiss you.” His lips pressed, curving into a soft smile. “And drunk enough to ask.”
My lips parted like they were inviting him in without another thought. “I think you’re drunk enough to want to kiss anyone, Cal.”
Cal rolled us, and suddenly he hovered over me, his long, hard body poised just over mine and his knee between my legs. He supported his weight on his forearms, but his body pressed mine into the mattress as he hovered his mouth over my parted lips. “I want to kiss you . No one else—just you. I wanted to do it three days ago, and the time in between has only made it worse.”
I stared up at him, my chest pressing against him and retreating again with sudden, labored breaths. “You don’t mean that.”
Cal nudged my nose with his. “I do. Kiss me, Doc.”
Desire roared to life inside of me, a latent dragon that had been asleep and curled tightly around my insecurities. But now it was awake and breathing fire through my limbs and up to my face, heating me from the inside and sending want straight between my legs. I darted a look from his lips, so close they blurred, and then back to his striking eyes that watched me with a warm intensity I echoed in my core. I let my eyes flutter closed, and with the barest tilt of my chin, I brushed my lips against his.
That was all the invitation Cal needed. He pressed his lips to mine, soft at first and then teasing as he slid like silk on satin over my lips. I hadn’t kissed anyone in a long time, but it didn’t matter. Kissing Cal was like dancing. It didn’t matter how long it had been—it was effortless. It was in my DNA. I sighed, my body melting under his, and he let out a puff of sound, low and eager, and then he deepened the kiss. My hips arched up, pressing into him, and he slanted a kiss over my lips, coaxing them open and flicking his tongue in a delicious slide across the roof of my mouth and then to my upper lip before plunging in deeper.
I moaned into his mouth, clutching the front of his shirt and then moving my hands to wrap around his solid torso so he could get closer, press even firmer and relieve some of the pressure that was building inside of me. Cal tilted his head, capturing me in a feverish kiss that felt like it had never had a beginning and, please God, might never end.
He leaned his weight onto his left forearm, freeing his right hand to lift and brush strands of hair away from my face and then tickle down to my neck. A ripple of pleasure swept down my arms, and I wiggled under him, hot and needy. He had only touched my neck and I was about to rip off all my clothing.
Wait. The thought burst through my brain like a cartoon fist through a drumhead. Ruth, what the hell are you doing? This is your fake boyfriend, he’s clearly drunk, and you’re falling at his feet and begging for physical affection like a pathetic loser. Again. Do not do this again. I gasped, stiffening and angling my head away.
Cal paused, his body tensing, and then he lifted away from me. “Ruth?”
“I have to go,” I said thinly. Suddenly, this all felt surreal. There was no way this guy was into me—there was always a catch. Always something lurking beneath their kind words and heated looks. I pushed at him. “Cal, please.”
He sat up immediately, removing his body from mine and leaning his weight on one hand to look down at me with assessing eyes. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
“No.” I sat up too, running a hand down the front of my jumper and then resting it at the base of my throat. I stood up and backed away a few steps. “I’m fine. I’m just—I’ll just—thanks for dinner.”
“Ruth.” Cal’s dusty brown eyebrows took on a concerned tilt, and he stood slowly. “What’s wrong? Did I do something you didn’t want? If I did, I’m sor—”
“Nope.” I held up a hand, backing away. “It’s really—it’s fine. I’m fine. You were fine. I just remembered something.” I pulled my phone from my pocket, like that was going to make any sense. He knew this was crazy and I knew this was crazy. But I couldn’t help the jitter in my bones and the echo of pain that cried out, hollow and jarring. It’s not real. It wasn’t real with Vaughn. It’s not real with Cal. You don’t do relationships. Get out before you make a fool of yourself.
“Ruth.” Cal started toward me with confused anger creasing his brow. “Where are you going?”
“I have to—” I gestured uselessly toward the door. I have to run. I have to get away from you before I make a complete and total idiot of myself.
“Okay, wait.” Cal dug into the pocket of his jeans before pulling out the keycard. He held it up like he was showing me it was harmless and not a weapon. Then he set it on the bedside table. “Stay here. I’ll go.”
“No, I really couldn’t.” I backed away until my butt hit the entry door, but Cal was there before I could reach for the handle.
He took my arms in his hands, and with a slow but inexorably steady pull, he rotated me away from the door. Releasing me and standing between me and the door, he held up a hand in an unthreatening gesture. “Stay here. I’m going to get my own room. Okay?”
My heart thundered, painful and constricting so tight, it was like rubber bands had been twined around it. “It’s really okay, Cal. This is your room.”
“I got it for you,” he reminded me. His eyes danced over my face, and I wondered what he saw. Did I look as crazed as I felt? “Ruth, you’re safe with me. Always. I promised you that when I brought you home from the bar, and I mean it now. Alright?”
I swallowed, but it wouldn’t go down. I was choking on my own stupid, inane emotions. Why was I even reacting this way? He’d kissed me, and somehow, that had led to me falling apart. What the hell? “I know,” I managed to force out.
His hand pressed down on the door handle, and with a little tug, he had it open. Worry and regret swirled in his gaze. “You have my number. I’ll come if you need me.”
I clasped my hands together tight. “Okay.”
“I didn’t mean to pressure you, Shortstop,” he added gently.
If I could have turned into a sea lion and flung myself into the ocean to hopefully drown myself, I would have done it. I couldn’t possibly have made this more awkward. I rubbed my forehead. “You didn’t. I’m just… me.”
One corner of his mouth lifted softly. “And you’re perfect the way you are. I mean that. I’ll meet you downstairs at nine for breakfast?”
“Sure.” I was starting to feel like there was no oxygen in the room. Like we were in a bizarre vacuum that had sucked all the life and air and normalcy out of the room. But then Cal backed out, closing the door behind him, and I collapsed against the wall.
I thought having him leave would make it easier to breathe, but it didn’t. I gasped and struggled for air, sliding slowly to the floor with my hand on my chest.
I’m having a panic attack, I realized dimly. Why am I having a panic attack?
My knee throbbed, and as I struggled to draw in a complete breath, I stared at it with the faintest realization that when I’d fallen at the pier, I’d gotten a large splinter of wood under the skin. A little trickle of blood had seeped out from the wound, dry now and crusted over.
I hated splinters—nasty, piercing, painful things. I closed my eyes and tried to focus on the pain in my knee instead of the pain from my emotional splinter that was giving me a panic attack out of nowhere. Because that’s really what Vaughn was now, wasn’t he? A splinter that had stabbed through my heart and flared up with pain when I’d tried to kiss a perfectly handsome, miraculously interested man.
The pain of what he’d done had been lodged deep in my soul, and seeing a text from him today had only exasperated that pain. It had only brought my attention to that sliver that remained wedged in my subconscious and prevented me from loving or being loved. I opened my eyes again, and with a shaking hand, I picked at the splinter in my knee.
If only the emotional splinters were as easy to remove.