15 - Lauren #2
That didn’t quite sit well with me, but the moment Callum led me onto the dancefloor and took me in his arms, everything else ceased to matter.
Dressed up or not, he was still Callum; still the warm, dependable, easygoing guy who taught me about staining red bricks, and breathing life into decades-old bronze hardware and how to seamlessly caulk window frames.
Those same steady hands had held mine during the community meeting, had knocked that bucket out of the way and shielded me from being hurt.
Those hands had traced my skin like it was the most exquisite piece of artistry he’d worked on yet, like his palms were memorizing every inch of me and committing it to memory.
That strength and softness held me now, enveloped me in warmth that was almost overwhelming. I could drown in that soft strength. I hadn’t realized just how much I missed him, even though we hadn’t even been apart that long. Was that normal?
“You truly look beautiful tonight,” he repeated, his words featherlight against my ear as he rested his cheek against mine. I found myself leaning into him, enjoying the sturdiness of his body.
“So do you,” I said.
When he laughed, I pulled back. “I mean it. I think you’re breathtaking.”
His laughter guttered out, brown eyes shadowed now by something less amused. His hand on mine gripped just a little bit tighter. The space between our bodies grew even more narrow, until we were practically pressed against each other.
“Miss Lauren, there’s another reason I pulled you away to dance,” he said, sounding like he was confessing something.
I held my breath. “And that is?”
“I’ve been thinking a lot these past few weeks, ever since that night we…you know, the night of the community meeting,” he said.
He was such a marvel. I found it kind of ironic that a man this shy could do the things he did to me in his truck.
He’d practically worshiped my body right there in public, and now struggled to even mention it just between the two of us.
I moved a hand up his neck and wrapped it in his hair affectionately.
He shivered lightly, his eyes closing before he turned his head to the side and kissed the inside of my wrist.
“I’ve been thinking about that night, too,” I admitted in a whisper. “Often, actually.”
The hopefulness that lit up his face was enough to bring a smile to my own.
“Well, I just wanted to tell you that I don’t regret it. It may not have been the most professional thing to do but it was one of the best nights of my life. And I…” he paused, pulling me in just that much closer. Possessively, almost. “I want to experience that again. So badly.”
“You do?” I asked, using my nails to lightly scratch the back of his neck, my touch just as teasing as my voice.
He nodded eagerly. “Yeah, I do. And I know that you’re into Rafe too, but I hope that doesn’t mean I’m completely out of the picture.”
If Rafe was a live wire and Brock was a solid wall, Callum was a window.
I didn’t have to guess with him, didn’t have to play any games or work around his ego or break down his defenses.
He just was—steadfast, reliable, open. This time I pulled him in closer and leaned up until my forehead rested against his.
“I look at all of you with a wide angle lens. You’re definitely still in the picture,” I said, only half joking.
I could feel his grin as I pressed my lips to his.
I let myself melt into him, almost sighing with relief at the feeling of safety that he provided me.
His hand was firm on my lower back, his heartbeat steady against my chest as he returned my kiss with that quiet, simmering passion that stole my breath in his truck.
When I pulled away, it took me a while to come down from the high and it was spotting Brock near the bar area that finally brought my hazy mind to a screeching halt.
He’d been watching us the entire time.
I couldn’t see Rafe anymore but Brock was rooted to the spot. He skulked off, taking part of my conscience with him. I rubbed my hands down Callum’s arms and excused myself, asking him to give me a few minutes before going after the foreman.
I passed from the warmth of the main hall to a side gallery tucked into the side of the building, my heels making a series of rhythmic clicks that marked the transition from raw concrete to hushed, dark plaster.
The sounds of the party were drowned out here, a muted ambiance for the almost smothering feel of the room I now stood in. The dark walls seemed to absorb the limited light coming from recessed LED tracks, and the effect was that it cast long, dramatic shadows across the space.
Brock was just a silhouette against it all.
I felt my throat tighten, like I’d done something wrong even though I really hadn’t.
“Brock?” I asked tentatively, taking a step towards him. His broad back was facing me, and he waited a second before finally turning around. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, his voice as flat and stingy as ever. If there’d been anything else to give away in his expression, he’d masked it before I noticed. And it infuriated me.
“Is that why you chose to run away here?” I asked, gesturing to the rest of the room around us.
“I didn’t run away,” he said stiffly. “I just needed a moment to breathe. I don’t usually do this kind of thing.”
“And yet you came here anyway,” I shot back, folding my arms and sticking my hip out. “Is there a reason why you did?”
He said nothing.