His eyes roam over my scantily clad skin, his pupils dilating as he takes me in, clearly liking what he sees—and speaking of seeing, I’m certain he notices the way my chest begins to rapidly move up and down as his gaze rakes over me in the most sensual way possible.
It’s not predatory, and it doesn’t make me feel gross.
It makes me feel good, empowered.
Sexy.
And it’s all because of Caleb.
Shit, shit, shit! Caleb shouldn’t be making me feel sexy. This should not be happening right now.
I grab at the shirt nearest me and hastily pull it over my head, covering myself.
I glare at him. “This! This is why you need to start announcing yourself, Caleb. I was changing!”
He lifts his hands and finally covers his eyes. “I wasn’t trying to perv on you, I promise. I just didn’t think. I’m not used to living with girls.”
I want to berate him, to dig into him and give him a good tongue-lashing, but that feels so wrong when his eyes on my body felt so good.
“Well you better get used to it,” I huff out as I storm past him and back down the hallway to the living room.
I grab my bowl and walk it into the kitchen.
“I am coming down the hallway!” Caleb yells. “I am now exiting the hallway!”
I roll my eyes and walk back into the living room, snatching up my phone on my way through.
“I am entering the living room!”
I take a seat on the couch, curling back up under the other blanket we keep there.
“I am sitting on the couch!” he hollers as he plops onto the cushions.
“You are being a pain in the ass!”
“Hey, I’m just trying to announce myself, as requested.”
“I didn’t mean in every situation.”
He looks around the couch. “Is that the last blanket now that you’ve spilled milk all over the other one?”
I pull said blanket around me tighter. “Yep.”
“Well shit. It’s cold as hell. Why do you keep it freezing in here?”
“Because I’m hot.”
He gives me a teasing grin. “I know, but that’s not what I was asking about.”
“I mean I get hot easily. I’d rather be freezing my tits off than sweating. Just deal with it.”
Suddenly he reaches out and pulls the blanket off me with one quick yank.
“What in the hell!” I shout.
“What? I’m cold.”
“Caleb!”
“Yes, my dear sweet roommate?”
“Give it back.”
“Nope.” The word pops out of his mouth in the just the perfect way, his full lips drawing my attention.
“Caleb!”
“What?”
“Come on! Don’t be a dick. I’m freezing.”
“Weird, me too. That’s why I have the blanket.”
“It’s the only one out here and I had it first,” I whine.
“I know, but I’m too lazy to go grab my blanket from my room.”
“Me too, which is why I was using that old raggedy one you brought with you.”
“Old raggedy one, huh? Then why is it I’ve come home not once, not twice, but thrice to find you asleep on the couch with this ‘old raggedy’ blanket wrapped around you?”
“Pure desperation.” I wave my hand, not wanting to admit that it’s so much more than that.
The blanket smells like him, like warmth and comfort and Caleb all wrapped in one. It’s so…cozy, but I’m not about to tell him that.
“Uh huh,” he says in a tone that tells me he doesn’t believe that for a second.
He’s not wrong.
“Just shut up and give me the blanket back.”
“I will not, but we can share.”
He scoots down on the couch toward me, grabbing my legs and pulling them over his lap. He shakes the blanket out around us, and just like that, we’re almost cuddling.
What in the…
“Isn’t this weird?” I can’t help but say.
“Not if we don’t make it that way.”
“Huh.”
“Yep.”
I grab the remote and hit play, trying to turn my attention to the screen, trying to ignore how good it feels to be so close to Caleb, to overlook how normal and comforting it is.
It’s just Caleb. You’ve known him for months. He’s just your roommate. Don’t make this weird.
Right. Don’t make it weird. Don’t let him know I’m totally crushing on him.
Right.
Just then my phone buzzes across the table and I reach over, scooping it up.
I’m surprised to see Delia’s name flashing on the home screen. It’s late and she’s usually so grandma-like and thus already in bed at this hour.
Delia: Okay, it’s been long enough now, and I’ve been dying to ask—how’s it going with Caleb?
Me: You never told me he was so moody.
Delia: Surprise!
Delia: He can be quite the handful, but he’s a good guy.
Me: Yeah, I don’t doubt that at all. It’s going to be…interesting living with him, that’s for sure.
Delia: Well don’t let our past interfere with anything, you know. Just treat him like you would any other roommate.
Me: I will. He’s fun so far. Funny. A little flirty even. I think it’s going to be good living with him.
Delia: That’s Caleb for ya, endless flirt and the life of the party. I’m happy to hear that, Zoe. I was worried you were going to hate me forever for bailing on you.
Me: I could never hate you…unless you did something REALLY awful, like burned all my rap CDs.
Delia: I cannot believe you even still own CDs. You and Zach, you’re both so…OLDSCHOOL.
Me: Don’t hate us ’cause you ain’t us.
Delia: Ya know, that’s exactly what he would say.
Delia: You’re both exhausting. Good night.
Me: Night. XO
Treat him like any other roommate.
She’s right. I need to do that. I need to treat him like he’s just Caleb, not like he’s her ex…not like we have some weird scrambled history together.
He’s just Caleb.
Just Caleb.
If that’s true, why does my heart beat a little faster when he’s around? Why does my breathing pick up like I’ve just climbed fifty flights of stairs? Why is all my attention focused on him?
Every time he comes home from his late nights at work or at study sessions, I hear him, and I lie awake in my bed listening, waiting…for what? I don’t know, but I feel so…tuned in to him.
Which is so stupid because we haven’t spent that much time together, and when we do, it involves grocery shopping and him annoying me until I laugh.
But still…there’s something there, something sitting just beneath the surface.
“What in the hell are we watching?” he finally enquires after the episode is nearly half over.
“Parenthood.”
“Like that old movie with Steve Martin in it?”
“No. Well…sort of. This is a very loose adaptation of it.”
“It’s…”
“Sad? I know. I cry like every episode.”
“That is not what I was going to say at all. Wait, that chick…is that Lorelai Gilmore?”
I pause the show and stare at him. “You know who Lorelai Gilmore is?”
He lifts a shoulder. “We had TV and they showed these things called reruns. It was on one of the three stations we got.”
“And you watched it?”
“What? She’s hot.”
I fall into a fit of laughter. “Total dude response.”
“She’s got fire, kind of like you, lots of spunk—I like that.”
“Like me? You like my spunk?” I can feel my lips twitching at the words.
He narrows his eyes. “Don’t be a perv, but yes, I like your spunk.”
“I like your spunk too, Caleb.”
“
Zoe! It’s not as funny when you say it. It’s more…real!”
“What? You can be all pervy but I can’t?”
“I wasn’t being pervy at all. That was you! You sure do like to leave your mind in the gutter.”
“I can’t help it,” I say, tapping my temple. “It’s like a twelve-year-old boy up in here.”
He shakes his head. “Oh, I can tell. I can fucking tell.”
I give him a gentle kick. “You like it, and me.”
Caleb glances over at me with a look in eyes that’s something a little more than friendly. “I do.”
I rest back against the couch, not asking him to clarify what he meant because part of me doesn’t want to know. As silly as it is, I like this flirty thing we have going on. On one hand, it feels strange because he’s Delia’s ex, but on the other hand it doesn’t, because it’s just who I am. It feels natural, and if I’m supposed to be treating him like any other roommate, this is exactly what I’d be doing.
Right?
“I’ll be leaving early in the morning,” he says.
“Because it’s Sunday?”
“Yep. I’ll be back late tomorrow night…I hope.”
“Do you want a ride?”
“No, I got it.”
“Do you want to tell me where you’re going?” I try to push.
“Not yet.” His response is stoic, but that word he put there—yet—it implies that maybe one day he could tell me where he goes.
Huh.
“Are we really going to keep watching this?”
“Yes, Caleb, we’re really going to keep watching this.”
He lets out a loud groan and snuggles into the couch more, but I don’t miss the way his eyes don’t stray from the TV screen once.
He likes it, and he likes me.
I grin to myself and focus back in on the latest Braverman drama.
I wake up to the growling voice of Hatebreed’s Seven Enemies reverberating off the walls.
A body shifts beneath me and I freeze.
Caleb.
Oh hell. We fell asleep together on the couch, somehow tangling ourselves up more than we were before. I’m practically draped across him. I remember moving at some point during the night, flipping around so my neck wasn’t propped on the arm of the couch. I remember Caleb’s voice whispering, “Shh, just sleep,” in my ear as he pulled my head into his lap and ran his fingers through my hair. It lulled me back to sleep in no time.
I glance to the clock hanging near the front door, checking to see what time it is. Two AM. Who in the hell is calling this late at night?
“Hello?”
I don’t move and barely breathe, trying not to alert Caleb to my consciousness as he answers his phone in a sleepy drawl.
“Yeah. Yeah.”
He lets the person on the other end of the line speak, and I can faintly hear their voice. Whoever it is, it’s a woman, and she isn’t happy at all.
“I got it.”
Another raised voice.
“I got it, Mom. I’ll bring them.”
Mom? Why is his mother calling at this hour?
“I said I will bring them. Have I ever not before?” He’s practically growling the words out at this point. “Yeah. Yes. I will. Now?”
He lets out a long sigh and runs a hand over his head.
“Yeah. I’ll leave now.”
He ends the call and throws his phone onto the other end of the couch.
“Son of a fucking bitch,” he mutters. “Dammit. Motherfucker.”
I can feel it as he scrubs his hands over his face, hear as he scrapes over his five o’clock shadow.
He’s irritated, and I can’t say I blame him. It’s early as shit and unless it’s an emergency, there’s no reason he needs to leave for his Sunday trip right now.
I want to sit up and tell him all this, but it’s not my place. It’s not my business.
He carefully scoots out from under me and I lie there, listening as he moves about the apartment and gathers his things.
He’s quick, only taking about five minutes to get ready.
I do everything in my power not to jump when I sense him standing over me, when his fingers gingerly meet my cheek. He swiftly brushes a lock of hair back from my face and then just as fast, he’s gone, grabbing his bag and disappearing out the front door.
My phone chimes not even three minutes later.
Caleb: I’m off for my Sunday funday. I’ll see you later.
I don’t respond. Instead I place my phone back on the table and sit up, curling his blanket around me.
I don’t fall back asleep.
I don’t move until the sun comes up.
I sit there, thinking about Caleb…about the phone call, his hand, his anger toward his past…about everything involving him.
He was right to masquerade as The Riddler.
Caleb’s an enigma through and through.
Seven
Me: Okay, it has officially been three days since I’ve seen you. You came back from your Sunday outing, made me an omelet for breakfast, and then disappeared again. I’m starting to think I made you up.
Caleb: I told you my schedule was insane. This week is going to be hell for me. Shift after shift, study group after study group, and class after fucking class. Don’t forget all the other little shit I have to do in between.
Caleb: Friday the 12th is my next day off.
Me: THAT IS NEXT FRIDAY! WHAT THE HELL!
Caleb: Tell me about it. I need a damn nap.
Me: You really don’t have a day off until then?
Caleb: Fully off? No. I’ll have some time to sleep and maybe a few hours in the mornings every now and then.
Caleb: How’s Mittens doing, by the way? I saw your door was cracked last night and when I couldn’t find him I assumed he was with you. Sorry kitten duty has fallen to you.
Me: Don’t you ever apologize for allowing me to snuggle that adorable fluffball all night long.
Me: He’s good. He was a little skittish at first, but we’ve worked it out. Now he won’t leave me be. I had to repaint a spot that was drying last night.
Caleb: Shit. Sorry about that.
Caleb: My hours are officially cut starting next Thursday. I’ll still be gone on Sundays, but I’ll only be working one double instead of four days a week after classes. I’ll be out some money, but the sleep and study time will be nice, especially with finals slowly approaching.
Caleb: Why’d you ask when I’d be home next? You missing me already, Zoe?
Me: I miss your cooking. You? Not so much.
Me: Thanks for making enough dinner for leftovers when I was at work last night. My stomach and my co-workers love you.
Caleb: I’m not too bad of a cook, huh? Learned that shit growing up in the trailer park too.
Me: I’m impressed.
Me: I’m sorry, but it is INSANE how our schedules don’t line up, right? I’ll be at work and you’ll be at work. I’ll be home and you’ll be at work. You’ll be home and I’ll be in class. What kind of shit is that?
Me: Though I did hear you in the shower this morning. You sounded a bit…preoccupied. ;-)
Me: (THAT WAS A MASTURBATION JOKE.)
Me: Caleb, you there? I’m bored. There’s a project I could be working on, but nothing is inspiring me. Nothing is speaking to me. I hate that part about being an artist sometimes—you have to wait for that spark when you just want to hit the ground running. Hard balance to maintain.
Me: I guess you’re busy and I’m just rambling anyway. Good night.
Caleb: Sorry. Study group ran late last night and then I didn’t want to be the rude ass passenger on the way home. Then I just passed out once I sat down on my bed, and now it’s early morning so you’re probably in class.
Caleb: Don’t think I haven’t heard your late-night moans, Zoe. The walls in our apartment are thin. (MASTURBATION TRUTH, NOT JOKE)
Caleb: I can’t imagine being an artist. One, I don’t have the skill. I’m a ho
rrible drawer. Two, I don’t have the imagination. Nothing speaks to me the way baseball does, but now I don’t even really have that anymore.
Caleb: I won’t lie, I’m bummed about my hand. I was excited as hell when the minors wanted me, even talked myself into doing it and trying for the majors, but now that’ll never happen. The fracture wasn’t enough that I need surgery, but I messed up a tendon and nerve. So yeah, my grip is gone. I’m screwed.
Caleb: Anyway, I guess it will all work out. Good thing I have a backup plan, and there’s always coaching. Now I’m rambling. Good night.
Me: I hate that you lost baseball, especially since I know you’re not a fighter. Whatever/whoever it was about must have been something special if you put your dream on the line for it.
Me: Also, the walls aren’t THAT thin. Ass.
Caleb: They ARE that thin. Maybe you should pipe down, and maybe one day I’ll tell you the story about my hand—if you’re lucky.
Me: Dear Ghost Roomie, you get to see me this week. How excited are you?
Caleb: I’m not.
Me: LIAR!
Me: You miss me, and you know it.
Caleb: Missing you is a stretch. I haven’t known you long enough as a roommate to miss you. I do miss your cookies though. ;-)
Me: Uh huh. Trying to use a euphemism there I see, but you failed—you’ve never had my COOKIE, now have you? Nice try, loser.
Caleb: It’s the thought that counts.
Me: YOU WERE THINKING ABOUT MY VAGINA?
I Wanna Text You Up Page 6
