Chapter 17
Of all the things I expected, for Caleb to show up at my doorstep with wine and flowers wasn’t one of them. And even that, apology flowers.
I sip the wine, my gaze lingering on the empty hallway.
I was pissed. Once my body had stopped thrumming in the staircase, it occurred to me that if anybody had stepped in, my reputation would be in shreds.
As I had fixed my hair, running my fingers through it, I had to sneak out to the washroom to clean up.
It took me a good amount of time, including borrowing a brush from a random woman.
I’m known to hold a grudge. I let my anger simmer and marinate for weeks on end till I either find a way to get my revenge or just let it go.
So why was I swayed so easily by a bouquet of roses and a simple apology?
I don’t like Caleb Wilder, which is all the more reason to stay mad.
Surely I can’t be softening towards him.
I shudder, disgusted with myself for even thinking that. He’s annoying and cocky, and I hate that about him.
Except when he’s got me under him in bed…
My thought process is interrupted by the door’s buzzer.
I collect my pizza and slam the door, my chest tight with irritation. The delivery guy probably thinks I’m crazy, but I don’t care. I just want to eat my pizza, drink my wine, and forget about Caleb Wilder’s existence.
I set the box on my coffee table and grab the remote, scrolling aimlessly through Netflix.
I’m not actually watching anything—just waiting for him to finish his shower so he can leave and I can eat my pizza in peace.
The sooner he’s gone, the sooner I can forget about those blue eyes and the way his hands felt—
“Fuck,” I mutter, shaking my head. I’m not doing this.
I keep scrolling, not settling on anything, when I hear the bathroom door open. Steam billows out, and then Caleb emerges, his hair dark and wet, water droplets still clinging to his shoulders.
He’s only wearing his pants.
“What the hell?” I bolt upright, nearly spilling wine on myself. “Put a shirt on!”
He runs a hand through his damp hair, completely unbothered by my outrage. “My shirt’s still wet. I threw it in your dryer.”
“I don’t care if it’s soaking wet. Put. Something. On.” I gesture wildly at his bare chest, trying not to notice the way water trails down his abs.
“I’m fine the way I am.” He shrugs and makes a beeline for my pizza box.
“Don’t even think about it.” I lunge forward, snatching the box away from him. “This is my dinner.”
“Come on, Eve. Share a little.” He reaches for it again, and I twist away, clutching the box to my chest like it’s made of gold.
“You just came from dinner! Why do you need my food?”
“I’m always hungry.” His eyes glint with mischief as he tries to grab the box again. “You should learn to share.”
“I should learn to—?” I stumble backward, trying to keep the pizza away from him, but he’s faster. His hands close over the box, and suddenly we’re in a ridiculous tug-of-war over pepperoni pizza.
“Let go,” I demand, pulling harder.
“You let go.” He tugs back, and I can see him fighting a smile.
“I paid for this!”
“I brought the wine.”
“That was an apology, not a trade agreement!”
One final yank, and he wins. The box flies open, and he triumphantly grabs a slice before I can stop him.
“Get out,” I snap, pointing toward my door. “Right now.”
He takes a massive bite and grins at me, sauce on his chin. “Can’t.”
“Why not?”
“My car broke down.”
I stare at him, incredulous. “Your car actually broke down.”
“Yep.” He takes another bite. “Dead as a doornail.”
I grab my phone from the coffee table. “Fine. I’m calling you a cab.”
“With what money?” He raises an eyebrow. “My wallet’s in the car. Keys, too.”
My finger hovers over the Uber app. “Then call your brothers. Call your sister. Someone can come get you.”
“It’s late, Eve. They’re probably busy.”
“I don’t care if they’re in the middle of performing heart surgery. You’re not staying here.” I try to sound stern, but my heart is hammering against my ribs. I need him gone before I do something stupid.
He leans against my kitchen counter, looking completely at home in my space. “Why? Afraid you can’t control yourself around me?”
Heat flashes through me, part anger, part something I refuse to acknowledge. “You’re the one with zero self-control.”
“You didn’t exactly seem to mind it last night.” His voice drops to that low, rough tone that makes my stomach clench.
“Get over yourself.” The words feel hollow, even to me. My chest does something funny as I say them, like my heart is trying to climb into my throat.
His eyes hold mine as his mouth quirks knowingly. “Look, we should celebrate. We’ve got wine, food, and...” He gestures at the TV with his pizza slice. “Entertainment.”
I shake my head, backing toward the couch. “I’m planning to watch a movie and eat pizza, and you’re not invited.”
“But I brought the wine,” he says, following me. “And I like movies. And pizza.”
“We’re not friends, Caleb.” Before I can react, he’s beside me, his hands on my waist, pulling me down onto the couch. I land beside him with a soft thud, the proximity making my skin burn.
“Then let’s pretend,” he says with that determined gleam in his eyes. I don’t get the chance to protest because he shoves a piece of pizza in my mouth. “Besides, it’s not like you have the most raging social life. You should just enjoy the company, even if you hate me.”
I chew angrily, glaring at him while sauce threatens to drip down my chin. He grabs the remote and starts scrolling, completely ignoring my murderous expression. “Perfect,” he says, stopping on a cooking competition I’ve been following religiously. “I love this show.”
I swallow the pizza with difficulty. “Since when do you watch cooking shows?”
“Since always.” He settles back into my cushions like he owns the place. “This chef’s brilliant. Watch this technique.”
I want to stay huffy, to maintain my anger, but despite myself, I find my body relaxing beside him. This is getting weirder and weirder. Caleb Wilder is sitting shirtless on my couch, watching my favorite cooking show while eating my pizza, and I’m in a silk robe letting it happen.
What the hell is my life becoming?
We fill up our glasses again, the wine bottle already half empty.
The show plays on, some intense pressure test where contestants are racing against the clock, but I find myself getting distracted by the warmth spreading through my limbs.
The wine is good—really good—and I’m starting to feel pleasantly loose.
Somewhere during the second episode, I realize I’m leaning into Caleb’s side. His arm has somehow found its way around my shoulders, and I don’t remember either of us moving. The wine’s warmth mingles with his, making his steady presence beside me feel like the most natural thing.
“This guy’s going to burn his sauce,” Caleb says, nodding at the screen.
“No way. He’s got this.” I take another sip of wine, feeling bold. “Twenty bucks says he pulls through.”
“You’re on.” He clinks his glass against mine.
The contestant does indeed burn his sauce, and I groan dramatically while Caleb laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest where I’m pressed against him. “Pay up, Princess.”
“That was a fluke,” I mutter, but I’m smiling despite myself.
By the time we’ve finished the pizza and are halfway through our second bottle of wine, which I managed to find in the pantry, I’m definitely tipsy.
The apartment feels cozier, and Caleb’s presence beside me has shifted from annoying to.
.. comfortable. Which should terrify me, but the wine has muted my panic response.
“My brother was really pissed at me today,” Caleb says during a commercial break, his voice slightly slurred.
“Which one?” I ask, though I’m not sure why I care.
“Ethan. Got a full lecture about professional conduct.” He takes a long drink. “Didn’t rat you out, by the way.”
I snicker, the sound bubbling up before I can stop it. “You shouldn’t have messed with me in the first place.”
“Yeah? And why’s that?”
“Because I grew up with five brothers and one sister. I know how to get even.” I turn to look at him, and he’s closer than I expected, his blue eyes amused.
“Five brothers? Jesus. No wonder you’re so vicious.”
“I prefer the term ‘strategically vindictive.’”
He laughs, and the sound does something fluttery to my stomach. “Okay, I have a proposition for you.”
“I’m listening.”
“Truce. You agree not to mess with me anymore, and I’ll do the same.” He shifts to face me better, his arm tightening around my shoulders. “We call it even.”
I consider this, twirling my wine glass between my fingers. “I want my parking spot back.”
“It’s my spot now.”
“It was mine first.” I lean forward, the wine making me bold. “I want it back.”
His eyes drop to my lips for just a second before meeting mine again. “I’ll give it back to you if you kiss me.”
The words hang between us, charged with electricity. I should say no. I should laugh it off or tell him to go to hell. Instead, I hear myself saying, “Fine.”
I lean in and press my lips to his, intending it to be quick, perfunctory. Just a means to an end. But the moment our mouths touch, something ignites.
His eyes grow heated, and his hand tangles in my hair, pulling me closer. The kiss deepens, and I can taste the wine and want on his tongue.
He pulls back, breathing hard. “You drive me crazy.”
“Good,” I breathe back.
“I’m serious.” His thumb traces my bottom lip. “We keep ending up like this anyway.”
I stare at him, my heart hammering. “So?”
“So maybe we stop pretending it’s not going to happen again.”
The implication hangs between us, heavy and electric. I should be scandalized, should push him away and tell him he’s mad. Instead, I hear myself asking, “Are you suggesting we become fuck buddies?”
“Don’t be crude,” he says with a smirk. “Friends with benefits.”
“We’re not friends,” I add quickly, even as my body melts against his.