Chapter 18 #3
“You came over to watch a movie and eat food?” I ask dubiously as he carries the plates to the living room.
“Yeah,” he replies casually.
“That’s it?”
He settles down on the couch. “Is that a crime?” I watch him reach for the remote, not sure how to answer his question. He doesn’t seem to have any ulterior motives.
I bring the wine glasses over and settle beside him, keeping a careful distance between us. We eat in comfortable silence, the movie providing background noise. It’s surprisingly normal—domestic, even. Not something I ever imagined doing with Caleb Wilder.
It’s hard to pay attention to him when my mind is swirling with thoughts about the man sitting on the opposite end of the couch.
The more I intended to stay away from Caleb, the more he’s weaved himself into my life.
Now we’re friends with benefits, and he’s hanging out on my couch because he wants to for some reason.
I glance around the room. Is this some alternate reality?
“Stop thinking too hard, Lopez. You’re giving me a headache.”
I blink, looking over at him. Nope.
I never took him for the considerate type, though, so I don’t know how to handle this.
I’ve never been with somebody who drove across the city to get me food I liked simply so that he could hang out with me.
On purpose. I’m well aware of my sharp tongue.
It does a fine job of acting like man-repellent.
But on Caleb, it seems to just make him more determined.
I wonder what’s going on in his head.
When we finish eating, I set our empty containers on the coffee table. Only then do I let myself relax completely, stretching my legs out along the couch. Being short has its disadvantages—my feet barely reach the other end where he’s sitting.
Before I can settle properly, he moves closer to me, and his hand wraps around my ankle and yanks, pulling my feet directly into his lap.
“Hey!” I protest, but he’s already settled his hands on my ankles, warm and solid, his thumb starting to trace lazy circles against my skin. I nearly choke on my wine. The touch is so casual, so intimate, that it catches me completely off guard.
“What?” He glances at me, his hand stilling.
“Nothing.” I take another sip, trying to ignore the way his touch is sending little sparks up my leg. “Just surprised you’re not trying to get me naked.”
“Would you rather I was?” His voice drops to that low rumble, but there’s a teasing glint in his eyes that makes my toes curl.
“I didn’t say that.”
His hand resumes its gentle massage, fingers working the tension from my feet. “We had a long day. Figured we could just... hang out.”
The words sound foreign coming from him. Caleb doesn’t ‘hang out.’ He seduces, he antagonizes, and he drives me to the edge of sanity. He doesn’t do quiet domestic moments.
As the previous movie ends, I put on another—some romantic comedy I’ve seen a dozen times—and try to focus on the screen instead of the way his hands are slowly working their way up to my calves.
“Why three jobs?” he asks suddenly, his voice cutting through the movie’s dialogue.
“What?” I try to keep my voice casual, but I’m surprised he even remembers that detail.
“In college. You mentioned working three jobs to put yourself through school. Why not get help from your parents?”
I set down my wine glass, trying to appear nonchalant even though the question surprises me. “My mother didn’t want to pay for my education.”
His hands pause their massage. “What did she want you to do instead?”
“Get married,” I laugh humorlessly. “She thought college was a waste of time for girls. Said I should find a nice boy and settle down.”
“But you didn’t.” There’s something almost proud in his voice.
“Obviously not.” I shift slightly, but he catches my ankle, keeping me in place. “My younger sister Gabriella did exactly what Mom wanted. Married her high school boyfriend right after graduation. Had kids immediately.”
“And how’s that working out for her?”
I shrug. “He’s a good man, but he’s the only one working. Controls all the finances.” I take a sip of my wine. “I send her money sometimes. Just so she has something that’s hers.”
Caleb’s thumb resumes its slow circles, but his touch is gentler now. “Why didn’t your sister go to college like you?”
A wry grin tugs at my lips. “Mom got to her first. Sold her the whole dream—white picket fence, babies, husband who takes care of everything.” I lean back against the couch cushions.
“Being a housewife and being a career woman are two very different things, and both are equally hard. But I was always ambitious, so I chose which kind of hard I wanted to handle—a career.”
“How does your mother feel about you giving Gabriella pocket money?”
“I don’t know.” I flash him a smile. “She doesn’t know about it.” I take another sip of wine. “Mom believes women are meant to stay home, serve their husbands, and have children. Traditional values and all that.”
“I find it hard to believe your mother actually made you work three jobs to pay for school.”
I grin, but it’s sharp around the edges. “She thought I’d break. That I’d come crawling back, begging her to let me marry some local boy and forget about my silly dreams.” I lean back. “That belief drove me to nearly kill myself getting through college just to prove her wrong.”
His hands go completely still on my feet, and I can feel the tension suddenly radiating from him. “What about your brothers?” The question comes out quieter than before.
“They had it easy.” The bitterness creeps into my voice despite my best efforts. “Mom got life insurance when my dad died in a workplace accident. She used that to pay for their college. Full ride, no questions asked. Because they’re boys, and boys are supposed to get educations.”
His grip tightens on my ankle, his fingers pressing deeper into my skin. We sit in silence for a moment, the movie playing forgotten in the background. The tension in him is palpable, his hands holding my feet like anchors.
“So she’s proud of you now, right?” he says finally. “I mean, you basically aced college and have a good job.”
I laugh, genuinely amused by the idea. “Yeah, right. She’s never been more disappointed. But it’s fine. It’s my life, and I’m not going to let anyone else run it for me.”
Caleb tugs my foot slightly. “You can act like you don’t care, but I can see it hurts you.”
“I’ve gotten over it,” I say lightly.
“Liar,” he says softly. The two of us hold gazes for a few seconds, and something passes between us that makes my breath catch. I look away first.
“Focus on the movie,” I tell him. He does so, but his hands keep massaging my feet. I wonder why. Now that I think about it, he’s always been a little touchy. His hands always find me, whether it’s my hair, my earrings, or whatever else he can find. He’s not that way with anyone else. Only me.
I should pull my feet away, but I’m getting a free massage. And it’s really relaxing.
As the credits roll, I stretch and get up from the couch, my legs a little wobbly from being in Caleb’s lap for the past three hours. “I should clean up.”
“I’ll help.” He’s already standing, gathering our empty wine glasses.
I pause, watching him stack our plates. “You don’t have to do that.”
He shoots me that crooked grin. “Since I came over uninvited, I wash and you dry. Fair trade.”
I follow him to the kitchen, genuinely confused by this domestic version of Caleb Wilder. “You’re acting weird.”
“How so?” He rolls up his sleeves and turns on the faucet, testing the water temperature.
“This.” I gesture vaguely at him, at the way he’s already located my dish soap and is squirting it into the sink. “The food, the movie, the dishes. It’s all very... considerate. I don’t even know if that’s the right word.”
His hands pause in the soapy water. “You have this image of me stuck in your head, Eve. And you refuse to accept that maybe—just maybe—I’m not the monster you think I am.”
“I never thought you were a monster, Caleb. Just supremely annoying.”
“Gee, thanks.” He hands me a clean plate, water droplets catching the kitchen light. “You know, you’re not the only one who worked hard in college.”
“I know that.” I dry the plate carefully. “But it’s different when you have a safety net.”
“A safety net?” His voice carries an edge now. “You think having parents with money automatically makes everything easy?”
“Doesn’t it?” I meet his gaze directly. “You didn’t have to choose between eating and buying textbooks.”
“No, but I was also working on establishing my own business. Taking online certifications, pulling all-nighters just like you.” He scrubs a wine glass frowning. “I was equally busy, Eve. Just because my parents had money doesn’t mean I coasted.”
The defensive edge in his voice makes me glance at him, and I notice the tension in his shoulders. “I know you have that side business you run,” I concede.
“It’s not a side business.” There’s something almost hurt in his tone, like I’ve dismissed something important to him. “I’ve worked with huge names. Major campaigns. I just don’t like showing my ambition the way you do.”
The edge in his voice makes me set down the towel. “What do you mean?”
He’s quiet for a moment, focused on scrubbing a stubborn spot on our takeout container. “You wear your achievements like armor, Lopez. Every promotion, every success story. It’s all right there for everyone to see.”
“And you don’t?”
“I don’t need external validation.” He rinses the container and hands it to me. “Never have.”
The comment stings more than it should. “So what, I’m insecure? Is that what you’re saying?”
“I’m saying we handle things differently.” His voice softens slightly. “There’s nothing wrong with being proud of what you’ve accomplished. But it doesn’t make you better than everyone else who chooses to keep their cards closer to their chest.”