“You say the worst things.”
“Okay. Let me correct my assessment. You look like a pretty young teacher who’d make my eight-year-old heart flip over itself.” I clutch my chest for extra emphasis.
She’s trying to hide the smile that wants to take over her face. “You can’t stay in here. I’m going to be changing in and out of clothes.”
I drop my hands to my sides. “I can’t go back out there. She’ll keep flirting with me.”
There’s a knock on the door, just before Skylee asks, “Everything okay in there? Do you need any different sizes?”
Gracie’s gaze holds mine as she says, “We’re just peachy, thanks.”
Twelve
Gracie
The pleading expression on Caleb’s face would almost be hilarious if I wasn’t so irritated at him for locking himself in my dressing room to get away from some random girl he messed around with in his not-so-distant past.
“You can’t stay in here,” I whisper hiss at him.
He puts his hands together like he’s praying. “Come on, G. Be a homey and help a friend out.”
This is not exactly how I envisioned friends helping each other out, and he knows it. “I don’t want to strip in front of you.”
“Why not?” He raises a brow. “We’re just friends, right? Besides, I’ve seen you in a bikini before. There’s not much difference between that and panties and a bra.”
He makes it sound like no big deal. Panties and a bra, so what? The problem is the panties I’m currently wearing are really a thong and my entire ass hangs out. Plus, I’m not that thrilled with that particular body part. I have smallish tits, but I sort of revel in that fact. Not having to wear a bra sometimes is liberating.
My butt though? It’s kind of flat. When I was younger, my mom always told me I was one long line, and I never took that remark as a compliment. I’ve also always been more on the lean side, when all I wanted was curves.
We always want what we can’t have, am I right? Case in point—curves and Caleb.
“Turn around,” I tell him with a sigh.
He automatically turns so his back is facing me. He’s currently wearing a red Fresno State T-shirt and navy basketball shorts. Nothing special but, somehow, he’s rocking it. Maybe that’s because he’s so damn attractive, it’s hard to look bad when your face and body are both so perfect.
Quickly I shed the dress and pull on a new one, tugging it into place as I tell him, “You can face me now.”
Slowly he turns, his gaze scanning me from head to toe, lingering. Making me warm. “You look good in that too.”
The dress is the same style as the first one but in a different print. Red with tiny cream- colored flowers. I don’t usually wear this color, but I couldn’t resist the dainty pattern of the flowers. “Do I look okay in red?”
“We match,” he says, pointing at his T-shirt. “And yes. You definitely look good in red.”
I shift around him so I can study myself in the mirror with a critical gaze, ignoring the twinge in my side. Maybe my appendix? Nah, feels more like a cramp. I’m sure it’s just a period thing. No big deal.
Caleb takes the opportunity to plop his butt onto the single bench in the dressing room, leaning against the wall with a sigh as he pulls his phone out of his pocket.
“May as well be comfortable,” he tells me, his gaze never straying from the screen.
“I’m getting this dress,” I tell my reflection, liking how confident I feel in it.
“You should. You look beautiful.” The compliment is offered so nonchalantly, I almost miss it.
Beautiful? I bask in the word for a moment, and in the knowledge of the one who gave it to me. Usually his compliment of choice is hot. He tells me that a lot and after a while, it doesn’t mean anything. He thinks pretty much every girl is hot.
But beautiful? That’s something else entirely. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him call a single female beautiful.
Huh.
“I’m getting both dresses,” I decide.
“Good choice.” Again, his gaze never lifts from his phone screen. He’s tapping away at it, a faint smile curling his perfectly kissable lips.
Nope. Can’t think about how kissable his lips are either. That’s a dangerous path to go down, one I don’t need. He is temptation personified. My drug of choice, and I’m an addict looking to get high every damn day on this guy. How I’ve had the strength not to just throw myself at him and beg him to take me, I don’t know.
It’s been nice though, spending time with Caleb and not letting our mutual attraction get in the way. I can definitely consider him a friend now. I feel like I know him better than all of the guys I’ve dated.
Kind of wild, when I think about it.
There are a few more dresses I want to try on and I nibble on my lower lip, contemplating how fast I can whip this dress off and slip on a new one. He might not even notice. He’s concentrating pretty hard on his phone right now, and to tell him not to look will, of course, make him automatically check me out. It’s a given.
Giving in, I gently pull the new dress off the hanger and drape it over the hook, then tug the other dress off my body, fully facing forward so Caleb doesn’t get an eyeful of my entire ass. I slip on the new dress in seconds, already kind of hating how it fits, but not quite ready to give up on it yet.
“See, that wasn’t so bad.” He says this to his phone screen.
I pause mid-tug. “What do you mean?”
“Stripping in front of me.” He taps on his phone again.
I’m dying to know who he’s texting, but I have no business asking. “Did you look?”
He lifts his gaze to mine, a little snort escaping him. “Of course I looked. We may be friends but I’m not dead.”
I should be mad, but I’m not. Not at all. “Like what you see?”
He lifts a single brow. “Do you want me to like what I see, Gracie? Because that’s going against friend code, you know.”
Deciding it’s best to drop the subject, I start tugging the dress into place once again, annoyed with myself for caring. He realizes quickly I’m not going to answer him, so he resumes paying attention to his phone instead of me.
The dress I’m wearing sucks. It’s not flattering at all. I immediately take it off, standing in front of Caleb in just my bra and thong as I ponder what to try on next. Am I doing this on purpose? Yes. Yes, I am. Does he notice?
No. No, he does not. The asshole.
I make a big show of taking a new dress off a hanger, letting the hanger clatter to the floor before I bend over and pick it up, clutching the dress close to my front, my butt basically in Caleb’s face.
The dude doesn’t even notice me in all my half-naked glory. He’s too busy texting. Probably some random chick he met once at a party. I’m sure she’s pretty and easygoing and doesn’t friend zone him ever.
With a huff, I slip the dress on, my arms still up in the air as I let it fall into place. I tug the front down and away from my face to find him blatantly watching me with an amused expression.
“Are you trying to get my attention?” he asks.
I glare at him. “Not like you care.”
“I shouldn’t,” he says.
“Right. Too busy texting…whoever.” I wave a hand toward the phone he’s currently clutching, gazing at myself in the mirror.
The dress is just okay. Way better than the last one.
“I’m texting my mom,” he says.
Surprised, I focus all of my attention on him. “Really, Caleb?”
“Yes, really, Gracie.” He thrusts his phone toward me and I squint as I take in the screen, noting the name Mom at the top of it. “I was telling her I took you to her favorite store and we’re finding you stuff to wear for your new job.”
“Uh huh.” He probably has every hookup he’s ever had under the name “Mom” in his phone. That way he doesn’t look like a complete douche when his phone is blowing up with calls from his various l
ist of females.
“Read it.” He waves the phone at me and I can’t help myself. I snatch it out of his hand and read the texts, slowly realizing that he’s actually telling the truth.
He’s also telling his mom about me, and how we’re shopping together at the mall.
Mom: You actually agreed to go to the mall with this young lady? You must really like her.
Caleb: We’re just friends.
Mom: You’re friends with no girl.
Caleb: I am with this one.
Mom: You must really like her then. You usually don’t even bother being friends with a woman, though I think you should.
Caleb: I’m not friend material when it comes to women. They all want me too much.
Mom: Caleb Richard Burke, you should never talk to your mother like that. I mean it. That’s the last thing I want to hear.
Caleb: Sorry, Ma.
Aww, his mom seems sweet. Look at her chastising her son, and he wasn’t even that bad.
Wait a minute.
“Your middle name is Richard?” I ask him, lifting my head so I can stare into his stupidly beautiful blue eyes.
He nods. “No dick jokes, please. I’ve heard them my entire life.”
“I’m surprised you don’t go by the name Dick. It goes with your theme.”
“What theme?”
“How you continuously think with your dick and nothing else,” I answer sweetly.
He glares at me. “I should tell my mom you said that. She’d get mad at you.”
“Maybe she’d get mad at you, because if you ask me, it sounds like mama knows what kind of guy you are.”
He rolls his eyes, completely unfazed. “At least you believe I’m talking to my mom, right?”
“Oh, it’s definitely your mom.” I hand the phone back over to him, and he seems awfully pleased with my agreement.
“Told you.” His gaze lingers on the newest dress I’m wearing. “I don’t like that dress.”
“Why not?” I glance down at myself.
“It fits you funny.”
I immediately shed the dress. I’m not even bothering to hide the goods. He wants to take a long look at me like this? He better do it while he can. This is his last chance.
He slouches against the wall, his spread legs eating up a lot of space as he crosses his arms in front of his chest, watching me. “You know, I’ve always wanted to hook up with a girl in a dressing room.”
“When you say ‘hook up,’ are you meaning…” I let my words drift.
“Exactly what you’re thinking, yeah. Have sex. Do the nasty. Fuck around. Whatever you want to call it.” His gaze is heavy as he studies me. “Look at you. You’re halfway ready for a hookup. Want to come on over here and give it a shot?”
He slaps his thigh, indicating exactly where he wants me.
“Caleb.” I rest my hands on my hips, not giving a shit that I’m about to lecture him while half-naked. “Are you for real right now?”
“Sure.” He grins. “Why not?”
“I think you need lessons in seduction.” Pretty sure I saw a movie called that once. Maybe on Lifetime?
“I need no lessons. Everything I do always seems to work.” He frowns. “Except with you.”
“Yeah. Because the way you go about this sort of thing is downright awful. At least it is to me.” I don’t hold back. If these are his so-called moves, then he needs serious help because they’re pathetic. And super sleazy. “No girl wants to be propositioned like what you just did to me.”
“I beg to differ.” He sits up straighter, dropping his arms to his sides. “I’ve been hooking up with girls using these very same lines for years. They work like a charm.”
“And how far has that really got you though, huh?” I ask him.
“Far enough,” he says, looking smug.
“Aren’t you tired of the endless hookups?”
“I should ask you the same question,” he throws back at me.
“I haven’t been with a guy in a while,” I admit softly.
“And I haven’t been with a woman in a while,” he admits, just as softly.
We’re quiet, watching each other, me in my undies, his gaze zeroed in on my face, not drifting down once. It must be taking tremendous control for him to keep his eyes off my exposed body.
His phone dings, making us both jolt, and he checks it, smiling as he reads. “My mom said I should bring you around to meet her sometime soon. She thinks you sound like, and I quote, ‘a keeper.’”
“Aww, your mom sounds nice.” I don’t think anyone’s described me as a keeper before. No one really noticed me in high school. And in college, I became the good-time girl. The one who never stuck around with one guy for too long for fear of missing out on something—or someone—better.
That sort of attitude has gotten me nowhere. Sometimes, I’m lonely, and here’s the weird thing: Caleb is filling the void.
Yes, the biggest horn dog on campus is practically like a boyfriend to me, yet we keep it strictly platonic.
We make no sense.
“My mom is pretty damn sweet,” Caleb agrees, finally letting his gaze scan downward, lingering on my chest. “But I’m not thinking about my mom right now, thank fuck. You need to cover up, G. It’s suddenly getting pretty hot in here.”
“Hmm. You can look, but you can’t touch.” I turn away from him, unclipping a denim skirt from its hanger when I feel fingers drift across my left ass cheek. I whirl on him just as he snatches his hand away, a guilty look on his face. “You touched.”
“Sorry ‘bout it.” He doesn’t sound sorry at all.
“Caleb…”
“What do you expect? You can’t stand here with your ass in my face and not expect me to do something, am I right?” He shrugs, as if he has no other explanation, and I clutch the skirt tighter, holding it in front of me like some sort of shield.
“I should slap your face,” I say, my voice shaky. My butt cheek still tingles where he touched me, which is crazy.
Unexpected.
Wait. Not really.
“Why? Do you think I took advantage of you?” He rises to his feet, all six-feet plus of him looming over me. I take a step backward as he steps forward, until I’m the one with my back against the wall and he’s standing directly in front of me, the denim skirt I’m still holding the only thing between us. “Or were you trying to tempt me on purpose?”
I was totally trying to tempt him and maybe I shouldn’t have. I’m playing with fire with this guy, and it’s like I’m dying to get burned.
“Because I got the sense you were—toying with me.” He braces his hand on the wall above my head, leaning toward me. “One kiss wasn’t enough, you know.”
Oh God. He would bring up the fact that we’ve kissed. “It was more than one kiss,” I correct him.
“Yeah. Definitely more than one. With lots of tongue too.” He shifts even closer, his body heat radiating, seeping into me. “I’d be down to do it again, you know.”
“Do what?” I ask warily.
“Kiss you. See where that takes us next.” He reaches out, his fingers drifting across my cheek.
I suck in an inaudible breath, dropping my gaze, scared to look at him. Everything about him is potent. Alluring. I want to lean into him and let him kiss me.
Guess he doesn’t need lessons in seduction after all.
“I don’t know…”
He silences me with a finger pressed against my lips, just like he did earlier, when he first shoved his way into my dressing room. He slips his fingers beneath my chin and tilts my face up, our gazes meeting. The intense, sexy look on his face leaves me breathless. I part my lips as he leans in, anticipation racing through my veins as I feel him draw closer, his breath wafting across my face. My eyes drift closed. His mouth hovers above mine—
“How are you doing in there? Do you need any other sizes?” Skylee asks from the other side of the door.
Caleb presses his forehead against mine and I open my e
yes to find his still closed, his expression pained.
“I’m good,” I say, my voice shaky. I clear my throat. “Thank you.”
“Cock-blocked yet again,” he murmurs once she’s gone, right before he pulls away from me. “This is turning into a habit, you know. I’m starting to think it’s never going to happen between us.”
I watch him, hating how everything inside of me feels pulled tight. Like I might explode. All because of an almost kiss, while I’m standing in just my underwear, with one of Caleb’s one-night stands on the other side of the door. “You really believe that?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugs. So nonchalant. While I’ve got nothing but chaos happening inside of me. “Maybe we are better as just friends.”
Thirteen
Caleb
I’m tired of this near miss shit. Seriously. This woman has been driving me crazy since day one. Day. One. I met her, I was instantly attracted, while she instantly hated me. We haven’t been able to get on the same page since we first crossed paths. When I’m thinking maybe, she’s thinking definitely not. And when she’s considering me, I’m not interested.
Okay, that last part is a lie. I’m always interested. I just try and play it cool with this girl because…I don’t know why. I care about what she thinks of me.
Frustrated, I leave the dressing room, ignoring Skylee when she calls my name. She doesn’t bother asking me again what I’m doing tonight, which is a good thing.
I might’ve taken her up on whatever offer she made.
God, I’m a dick. A sexually frustrated, annoyed, out of my mind dick.
Fleeing the store, I pace around in front of it, thrusting my hands in my hair, my gaze snagging on Gracie as she goes to the counter and makes her purchase. She’s chatting up Skylee as if they’re old friends, which irritates me. Everything about Gracie aggravates me right now.
But intrigues me, too. I can’t lie. She’s a mystery. She keeps herself locked up tight, only revealing bits of information here and there. Little clues that leave me hanging, wanting to know more.
Me? I’m an open book. What you see is what you get. I’d even go so far as to call myself a simple man.
The Junior (College Years Book 3) Page 12
