Chapter 19
ASHA
Well, this is unexpected.
If you had told me anything else would happen today, I would have believed it easier.
If you told me the sky would turn green, I would have believed it before believing Callum wants to be close to me.
If you had told me that the British Museum was going to finally give back the Parthenon Marbles or that Rob was going to implement any of my suggestions, I would have believed it before this.
Instead, I’m less than a foot away from the man and he said the words, but I still don’t quite believe he said them. Maybe I’m having a hallucination. I did have eggs for breakfast, and maybe they were off and I’m imagining Callum saying sexy things that make my nether parts tingle.
Although I do find it telling that I can’t even get a smile from him in my own imagination. But he doesn’t look as unhappy as he usually does, so that is an improvement.
“You want to stay here?” I’m not going to tell him I want him more than I want chocolate. And I love chocolate.
I’m not going to be vulnerable first with someone who thinks happiness is a weakness.
“Yes. I would like that.” His lyrical voice is low, whispering an ancient Irish spell over me that’s keeping me rooted to this spot next to him. He’s a siren, is what he is.
And that never ended well for the poor sailors.
“Why, though?” But I’m moving closer, despite knowing the myths and how badly it ended. Isn’t knowledge supposed to serve as a warning?
Maybe it’s hope, making me think that this will end differently for me than it did for them. Or hubris, to think it won’t happen to me because I’m smarter than them.
Or maybe I don’t give a shit either way, I just want him closer. Damn the consequences.
“Because you get under my skin in a way I don’t want to escape.” He sounds frustrated at that, so there’s something realistic about this whole situation.
He moves in closer too, his right hand reaching out to touch my face. Like it’s the scout to see how he’s going to be received. Silly hand; I want it there. Which I hope to communicate by leaning into the warm, calloused appendage, warmth seeping into my cheek.
“I want you here, too,” I say, licking my lips. His eyes trace the movement.
“Then I’ll be here,” he whispers.
“Good.” I don’t get out any more because Callum is kissing me. Going from zero to a hundred in the span of a second. No slow, teasing kisses from Callum. Not that I should have expected any restraint from him.
He rarely holds back, whether in his opinions about me, or tourists, or souvenirs. Usually it’s annoying.
But usually his mouth isn’t on mine when he’s not holding back. I like it when he isn’t holding back in this one particular arena.
His soft lips are pressed firmly against mine and his tongue confidently caresses my mouth. His hands find my hips and dig in, dragging me closer until I’m pressed fully against him from lips to knees.
My own hands abandon some of their usual restraint and hold him tight around his wide shoulders, in case he has any doubt left about how into him I am. No—how into this I am. I’m still unsure how I feel about Callum, despite lusting after him. Because I doubt he would be a good fit in my life.
I need someone with a little more optimism in their outlook.
But I’ll still take this now. This amazing kiss from a pessimist. Who cares about his outlook when he’s making me forget my own name?
Soon I’ll forget that he’s even a pessimist, and that we’re competing for a livable wage, instead staying in the utopia of this kiss.
Which is somehow making my pulse race and providing the same comfort as an overstuffed chair by a roaring fireplace at the same time.
Callum rubs my back up and down as he gentles the kiss, and then pulls away completely. I have a moment where I lose any dignity and my lips chase his. But then I remind them that they have self-respect and that gets them back to my side of this embrace.
Just barely.
“That was nice.” Callum’s voice is gruff now, so I don’t take too much offense at the word nice. Here I am having a semi-religious experience and he’s using words like nice that can be applied to the things as mundane as a unique cloud formation or a cute card with a pun.
But it’s fine (another word that should not be applied about or around a kiss), because his tone is still affected by the kiss even if his words are borderline offensive.
“Yes, it was.” And then some.
Callum nods, then looks around for someone in the multiple paintings, tapestries and sculptures we’re surrounded by to come to life and help him out in this scenario. He’s kind of cute all unsure. A nice change from grumpy.
“We should get back,” he says.
“Yeah.” I don’t know why we have to be back, since we’re technically off the clock—unless someone calls us with an emergency—until tomorrow morning, but I let him have the copout.
Despite how cute he looks uncertain, it’s not in my nature to let anyone suffer.
After a stop at the gift shop, I slide my hand around his elbow on the walk back, the efficient way this time. Through the designated front entrance.
I see him look at the gate we just exited, right in front of the train station. Conspicuously in front of the station. Where we should have noticed it earlier to walk up to the house. I was distracted by how nice Callum looked in a tight blue henley; I’m not entirely sure what his excuse was.
The train rocks back and forth on the tracks as it pulls us back into London. Callum still hasn’t said anything to me, aside from the absolute minimum needed to communicate with someone he’s traveling with.
I don’t know what this means, but I’m choosing to look at this as a good thing. One that means he was as affected by the kiss as I was.
But does he want to take it further? I want to. I want to see what this grump can do in bed. Is he going to crab at me while making me come, or will he leave the negativity entirely like he did when we kissed? When his mouth was otherwise occupied.
I pretend to watch the countryside give way to buildings as we get closer to London, but I’m really staring at Callum’s reflection in the window.
He’s not ignoring me, per se. But he hasn’t initiated conversation about what happened, or anything else.
Just enough interaction that it isn’t entirely awkward. Just some awkwardness. Awkward-lite.
The train pulls into London as the sun goes down, and we walk back to the hotel. Before I can ask if Callum wants to join me for dinner, he says goodbye.
All right. That’s an answer then. Does he just feel awkward, or does he regret the kiss? I certainly don’t. It would suck if he did, when it gave me so much pleasure.
It’s even more awkward when he walks into the same takeaway place that I’m in fifteen minutes later.
“For how big these cities are, we do run into each other a lot,” he says.
“This is close to the hotel. It offers takeaway so we don’t have to interact with people in a job that already involves a lot of interacting. I don’t know; this one probably makes sense.”
“I suppose.” He puts in his order then returns to me to wait. “Since we’re both here, do you want to eat it? Here. Together.”
“I don’t want to impose if you have plans.” He was in such a hurry to get away from me earlier.
“The TV will be gutted to miss our quality time, but I’m sure she’ll recover.”
“Wait, did you make an intentional joke?”
“As opposed to all the times you think I’m a joke unintentionally?”
Eeek. Hoisted by my own petard. Or my own words, which are mightier than the petard anyway, if Shakespeare can be trusted. And high school teachers across the country want me to trust him.
“Making people laugh is a joy, Callum.”
“Even if they’re laughing at me instead of with me?”
“Well, they’re laughing, right? So still a win, in overall joy that you’re sending out into the world.”
“It’s not going to work, Wee Sunshine. You’re not going to convince me that it’s fun to be laughed at.”
“Yeah. That was probably asking too much.”
Our orders are called, and we take the food to an outside table. I mostly talk, and he mostly grunts, but I think the dinner goes well. We don’t mention the kiss, and even though I don’t like it hanging over us all un-analyzed and un-discussed, I do like the easy conversation with him.
I almost forgot we’re supposed to be competing. This can’t be a healthy dynamic. But I’m having too much fun to care.
Eventually, we have to address the lust and issues between us, right? We can’t just ignore them forever. Can we?
No. We need to discuss it.
As soon as I figure out if I want him to kiss me again or not.