Chapter 20
twenty
I don’t even remember deciding to move, and then I can only hear my sneakers slapping the asphalt as I jog toward him. Calder meets me halfway, and for a second we just stand there, breathing hard.
“You were planning to give me that. Even before last night.”
He nods. “Yeah.”
“That could’ve been really creepy.”
“Right. I thought about that.”
“It wasn’t, though.”
He lets out a puff of air. “Well. I’m better when I write things down.”
“I’d say you're pretty good in person.” I can’t wait another second. I loop my arms around his neck and kiss him.
His hands slide over the small of my back, crossing like good shapewear and holding me snug.
I feel safe and protected in his arms, like I could burrow in deep and sleep for the winter.
And what a hibernation it would be with that mouth.
His lips are dragging over my jaw, sending a jolt to my middle as he kisses my neck.
I curl my fingers in his hair, in his T-shirt.
The wind picks up, and I tuck myself closer, nudging his lips back to mine. I warm my hands on his cheeks and kiss him deeply, my tongue brushing his.
When I start to shiver, he grasps my wrists. “Are we going back in there?” His voice is hoarse, and I’m instantly obsessed.
I groan. “My stuff is still there. I left my bag—”
Calder moves, leading me to his car. “Get in. I’ll go grab it.”
“Are you sure?”
“You’re freezing.”
“I know, but—”
“And I don’t trust you to get it without stopping to talk to a hundred people.”
I nod soberly. “That’s fair.”
He hands me the keys, and my eyes light up. “What if I steal your car?”
“Then I’ll steal your wallet.”
I scoff. “Rude!”
Calder closes the door and jogs into the building, the wind sending ripples of T-shirt across his back. I snoop, just a little, but he doesn’t have anything damning in his consoles. Just gum, a phone charger, and—ooh. I pull out a small bag of dog treats. That was information.
I swear he was only gone for five seconds when he opens the back door and catches me red-handed. I jump, dropping the bag back in the console and closing it while he puts my bag on the seat.
“You have a dog?” I ask.
“No. It’s for my sister’s dog. I take him to the park on Sundays.”
“It’s the perfect way to have a pet.”
“One day a week.” Calder settles into the driver’s seat and presses the start button, then grabs my hand and holds it. “So wher—”
“My place.” I say too fast. My face reddens. “If you want. I didn’t—”
“Are you sure? You have work in the morning.”
“I could call in sick.”
He gives me a look.
“I know, I know. Lies aren’t a good start to a relationship. But if I don’t get any sleep and I honestly feel sick—”
“Why wouldn’t you get any sleep?”
I laugh.
He somehow keeps a straight face. “Are we going to watch movies? Play board games?”
My stomach flips. “Frederick Calder.”
“You’re blushing.”
“Well, you make me blush.”
He has a self-satisfied smirk when he puts the car in drive.
We’re barely out of the parking lot before I start in on the questions.
I discover he grew up in a postage-stamp town in the Midwest, the kind where the biggest weekend event is the county fair tractor pull.
His parents ran a hardware store, his older sister moved here with her husband shortly after he did and teaches middle school art in Arvada.
He went to college in Indiana on a tennis scholarship, got a degree in kinesiology, and found pickleball by accident during his senior year when a teammate dragged him to a rec league tournament.
He walked away with a medal and a mild obsession.
A few sponsors, a few trophies, and a well-timed Denver tournament later, he decided the mountains were home.
These days he splits his time between coaching at Smash Point and working as a sports rehab specialist at a physical therapy clinic.
The same one that treated his shoulder when he wrecked it.
As we turn down my street, my confidence starts to wobble. “Just a warning,” I say, fidgeting with the zipper on the hoodie I grabbed from my bag. “My apartment is a work in progress.”
“No risk, no reward.”
I point, and he pulls up to the curb. “And the reward is movies?”
Calder puts the car in park. “Or board games. Either one.”
I laugh and get out, pulling my bag from the back. Calder grabs his, and the logistics of the situation flood my head. It’s a rare occurrence. “I didn’t think about clothes for you. Should we have stopped at your place?”
He pats his bag. “I’ve got a clean set.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Confident, huh?”
He chuckles. “I teach most days and then have to go to the office. I always have extra clothes.”
“Uh-huh.” I turn to the entrance.
“I’m serious.”
“Yeah. I believe you.”
Calder sneaks up behind me and slaps my hip, and I yelp.
We walk through the lobby and take the stairs to the second floor.
When I unlock the door, I see my place through his eyes for the first time.
The living room is a collage of colors—leather couch with mismatched throw pillows, a bright yellow lamp, art prints that range from landscapes to abstracts.
The slightly haggard decorative fig tree I got from my downstairs neighbor when he moved.
Calder steps inside slowly, taking his time to look around the room. “This fits.”
I smile, a little self-conscious. “Too much color?”
“No. Exactly right.”
My chest feels like an overfilled balloon. “Okay, well, if you want to shower, I can make us something to eat. Wait, you’re not a vegan are you?” I definitely should’ve asked that question on the way over.
He gives me a quizzical look. “No, why?”
I blow out a relieved breath. “Good. That could’ve been really bad.”
“Because?”
“Oh. Because I would never.”
He laughs out loud. “That’s your red flag?”
“Are you kidding? We could never have nachos late at night? Or DoorDash greasy tacos? Order Thai basil pork?”
Calder stills, adjusting the bag on his shoulder.
“What?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing. That all sounds good.” He sniffs and clears his throat. “Shower is . . .”
“Oh right, just down the hall. Bedroom is on the right. I have another bathroom that way,” I point to the room behind the table, “but mine’s better.”
He nods and heads toward my room.
“Towels are in the cabinet, top shelf.” I try not to sound flustered, but I’m already imagining him in my shower. I briefly consider joining him, but I tried that once and it wasn’t nearly as sexy as advertised. I was freezing, and there were no good angles.
When he disappears down the hallway, I press both hands to my face and exhale. Then I busy myself in the kitchen, pulling out pasta, tomatoes, basil. Something I can make on autopilot since my rational brain is completely offline.
Calder is in my house. He kissed me twice and now he’s naked in my house.
The shower starts. I focus on chopping tomatoes, humming under my breath. The scent of garlic and olive oil fills the air by the time he reappears in joggers and a clean T-shirt, his hair damp and messy.
He watches me stir the pan, amused. “You cook.”
“I do. Rarely. I’m trying to impress you.”
“Mission accomplished.” He leans against the counter.
“It just has to simmer for a sec. If I go rinse off, can you drain the pasta when the timer goes off?”
He nods. “Yeah, of course.” Green flags, A. I dry my hands on the dish towel and round the counter, planting a kiss on his cheek before taking my bag to my room.
I’ve never taken a faster shower. Turns out I did have time to wash my hair last night, because I accomplish it now in less than three minutes.
I rush to towel off and wrap my hair so it can dry for a few seconds while I moisturize.
I comb it out and put on my nicest sweats and a tank top, then hit the light and leave the lamp on next to the bed.
I step into the living room barefoot and stop short. Calder’s sitting at my table, one arm draped casually over the back of the chair. The food is plated, and he’s filled water cups with slices of lemon.
“I found them in the fridge. Hope that’s okay.”
I smile. “Definitely.” I walk over and sit next to him. “Hi.”
“Hi.” He leans over and kisses me.
I smile against his lips. “You smell like my soap.”
He kisses me again, twisting my damp hair around his fingers, then pulls back and looks at me. I’m lost in those glacier pools when he says, “The food will get cold.” He doesn’t have to say the rest. I’m thinking the same thing.
“I have a microwave.”
He pulls me up off the chair so fast, I gasp. “Calder!” His laugh is rough as he moves me back and scoops me into his arms. I curl into him since the hall is narrow, and he has to adjust our angle twice to make it through the bedroom door.
Lamp light for the win. He drops me onto my floral comforter and lowers himself over me. Yes. This. I reach for him, threading my legs with his. “I love board games.”
“Mm. My favorite.”
I tug his shirt up, feeling goosebumps rise on his skin under my fingers. I touch even lighter, and grin when he shivers.
“Proud of yourself?”
“Very.”
He pushes himself up and rolls me onto my stomach, then bunches up my tank top, sucking in a breath when he sees that’s all I was wearing. Calder brushes his knuckles along my spine, then rubs my shoulders, pressing his thumbs into every tense muscle.
“That. Is the most amazing thing in the world,” I murmur into my pillow. The next thing I feel is the scruff of his jaw against my skin. His hands clasped over my hips.
Okay. I stand corrected.
I reach back and wrap my hands over whatever I can find. His wrists, his forearms, and when I can’t take it a second longer, I flip back to face him and pull his shirt up. He straightens and takes it off, tossing it on the floor.
I suck in a breath, taking him in. The dark hair on his chest, the lines of muscle that expand and shift with his inhale.
He settles next to me, his fingers splaying over my stomach as he finds my mouth.
He listens to my breath, notices when my body reacts to a kiss or a touch, and does it again to make sure he got it right.
All that intensity and focus he uses on the court is doubly effective in this situation, and I can’t believe I ever thought I could only want this for a night.
My touch grows more desperate. “I love melatonin.”
Calder laughs. “What?”
“Shh. It’s our inside joke.”
It takes him a second, but when he remembers, he kisses me harder. I push at the waistband of his joggers, done with subtlety.
He cups my face in his hand and tilts my head, kissing a line down my throat. “Enchanted. Definitely enchanted.”