by Casey Diam
My heart jolted as a voice came from behind. “Changed your mind?”
Caleb?
I spun around, and he was smiling, a hood pulled over his head and hands tucked into his pockets.
“Uh, um... were you following me? Why aren’t you inside already? It’s been at least twenty minutes since you dropped me off. And where did you come from?”
He grinned, removing his hands from his pockets and placing them on my hips. Then he turned me toward the door. “There’s nothing wrong with being careful, Paige, but you wouldn’t be standing here if you didn’t feel like you could trust me.”
As he passed a hand around me to shove a key into the lock, I knew he could be right, but I shouldn’t trust him. My mind wandered as I tried to push aside the heat radiating from his front onto my back.
“If I had known you were following me, I wouldn’t be here.”
“There’s also nothing wrong with a guy making sure the girl he likes gets home safe.”
His other hand slid away from my hip, and I noticed its absence right away. I liked his touch. It was comforting, and I wanted him to keep touching me, keep consoling me.
He stepped inside, raised his eyebrows, and held the door open. “It’s up to you.”
Not wanting to be alone, I looked over my shoulder to the eerie, muted streets, and then I stepped inside. I didn’t know what it was about Caleb because dealing with my fears alone had never been a problem.
When he opened the door to his unit on the fifth floor and switched on the lights, my head jerked forward. “There’s nothing here.”
Caleb shrugged. “I told you, I just moved. Besides, I like it. It’s cozy.”
“There’s nothing here,” I said again, still standing at the door for a quick exit.
He walked over to the kitchen in the studio apartment and placed his keys on a rustic wooden island with metal legs.
“Wrong. I do have a bed here.” He pointed to a mattress that was covered in white sheets and pushed against the brick wall.
I stifled a laugh and pressed a hand to my face. “Oh my God.”
He walked back to the door and removed his shoes, his closeness warming me again.
Why do I feel so comfortable here and with a guy I keep forgetting I’d known for only two days?
Then I remembered how I’d told him I wouldn’t see him again, and less than thirty minutes later, here I was. In his apartment.
“You must think I’m crazy by now,” I said, leaning against the door.
“Maybe just a little.” He smiled. “But I like crazy.”
“So, what now?”
He sucked in a breath through his teeth. “I didn’t get a chance to buy Scrabble, so... I don’t know. Make yourself comfortable.”
“I’m not here to sleep with you.”
He combed a hand through his dark hair, and I watched it all fall back into place. “I could sleep on the floor, I guess.”
The sincere look on his face was adorable, like he was genuinely thinking about sleeping on the hardwood floor.
I bit my lip to keep from laughing. “It isn’t what I meant, but if it’s cozy, then by all means. Can I use your bathroom for a quick shower?”
“Of course.” He flashed a smile and pointed, and I sighed inwardly as a weird fluttering descended in my belly.
“Thank you.”
Chapter Eleven
Caleb
I shrugged out of my hoodie and hung it on a hook inside my closet. Then I went back to pacing around the living room. Paige was in my apartment where I wanted her to be. It was much easier to get closer to her here, but there was a frenzied uneasiness roaming through my gut.
After she’d jumped out of my car, I’d parked in the first available spot I could find outside of her view so I could hurry back and watch her from afar. That was when I saw what could have been one of my father’s men walking on the sidewalk. He’d probably spooked her.
Why else would she be here after she’d planned to part ways with me tonight? Clearly, she didn’t want to have sex with me either.
“Caleb, would you freak out if I used your towel?”
I stopped pacing and smiled. “No, it’s all yours. Quick question, though, did you just realize you needed a towel?”
The shower had been running for the past ten minutes, and the floral scent of her body wash strong in the rest of the studio, I was guessing she’d been carrying it in her backpack.
As if this wasn’t her first time staying out after a shift at the bar. The thought of that wiped the smile from my face.
“No.” Her voice echoed in the bathroom. “I just figured, if a guy was cozy in an apartment with just a mattress and a towel, he wouldn’t mind me using said towel.”
My mind created images of her stepping onto the floor from the tub, naked and reaching for my towel. I swallowed. Sleeping on the floor might be a good idea, but there was a weaker side of me that wanted to feel her next to me. That strong need to touch her again.
Fucking weird.
I didn’t understand it. The only time I wanted to touch a girl was when we were sleeping together—as Paige had put it so nicely.
“Hey now, that isn’t the only thing I have. There are extra T-shirts if you need something to sleep in.”
The bathroom door opened, and our gazes locked. She was in a white tank top and black tights, her hair knotted at the top of her head. Then, my gaze zoomed in on her chest. No bra. She caught my stare and brought her backpack up to cover herself.
“I always have extra clothes,” she said.
Inhaling, I brought my palms together. “Oh, okay then.”
She walked to the mattress, set her backpack beside it, and then sat on the edge. “It’s pretty late—I mean, early. Should we go to bed?”
“Yeah. We can do that.”
Why was I so fucking nervous? I’d slept with a ton of girls... after screwing them.
Fuck.
She gave me a questioning look. “Are you still considering the floor? You don’t have to.”
“No. I’m—” I walked toward the wall. “I’m just going to turn the lights off.”
I lay on the opposite side of the bed, her scent engulfing me as I watched the ceiling through the darkness around us. Scared to move but dying to touch her. My fingers did an impatient tap against each other. This had never happened before, and it was so strange. I couldn’t even figure out the problem, much less come up with a solution.
Why was I so tense with her?
I imagined her being in the same dilemma because she hadn’t moved either. My fingers began to shake by the time I worked up the courage to move my hand to the huge space between us, edging over until they touched her side, but she was beneath the sheets and I was above.
I moved closer to the middle, and it could have been in my mind, but I believed she had, too. We kept shifting after that until our sides touched. But I still wasn’t satisfied. I needed to feel her skin. Her warmth. My cock pulsed as it grew harder. Thankfully, the lights were off.
“Aren’t you cold?” Paige asked.
I shook my head. If she only knew. “No. My body runs hot. Are you cold?”
“No.” A few seconds went by, and then she said, “Just a little.”
“Well, I’m like a furnace.”
I was going to ask if she would mind if I put my arms around her, but she was in my bed, damn it. It wasn’t like she’d pulled away when I touched her in my car or at the entrance to my apartment.
Turning onto my side, I wrapped an arm around her waist. “Is that better?” As a powdered rose scent traveled up my nose, I leaned my head into her neck. “You smell so good.”
“You do, too.”
“Good night, Paige.”
“Good night,” she whispered, turning her head as if to say something else. “Caleb—” was all she said before I kissed her cheek... then her mouth.
Her mouth, Jesus. I could have died a happy man right then, knowing I’d kissed this mouth.
Her succulent lips caressed and sucked on mine. I pulled the sheet down, freeing her arms. My hands glided over her bare shoulders as I devoured her lips. If my body had been a furnace before, I had turned volcanic. Lava was running through my veins. There was no other way to put it. Her lips on mine were an eruption waiting to happen. I eased up in the bed, taking her with me and maneuvering her legs over my lap.
As we continued kissing, her hands went around my neck, up into my hair, and over my shoulders. My hands slid up her thighs and under the tank top at the small of her back. My cock strained in my briefs, and I gripped her waist, tugging her down until the center of our desire made contact. She moaned, her gasp dying on her lips as I captured her mouth.
Brushing my mouth across her jaw, I kissed down her neck while she writhed against me. A groan vibrated in my throat because, somehow, her just doing this to me felt almost as good as sex, almost like I could come like this. My cock throbbed as I thought about how much better this could get. We were only kissing. When was the last time I’d enjoyed kissing this much?
I sucked the skin on her neck as my hands skimmed up her rib cage.
“Oh, Caleb,” she purred.
My lips continued their assault on her, moving back and forth between her mouth and neck. Her little moans spurred me to do more each time. So my hands traveled farther beneath her tank and covered the warm, soft mounds with their protruding peaks. I manipulated her nipples with my fingers, feeling and enjoying how she responded to me.
“Caleb,” she moaned again, her hands pulling on my hair.
I clasped the low neckline of her tank and pulled it down enough to expose her tits. Not enough light came through the windows, but I didn’t need to see. Even if I were blindfolded, I’d still find the nipple I sucked into my mouth. My tongue and teeth would still tease her nipples so she could squirm. My erect cock would still create the perfect cliff for her to leap from. The perfect board for her to dive from. The perfect shore for her to crash on.
Panting, she threw herself back, squeezing my shoulders, while I flicked my tongue over the hard tips of her delicious tits.
“Caleb.” Her voice broke, and then her body trembled.
Pulling her close, I kissed my way to her mouth.
I wanted to tell Paige that I played because the buzz I got from touching her was the same as I got from my guitar.
“What just happened?” she breathed.
I nipped her lips, smiling.
Chapter Twelve
Paige
I opened my eyes but closed them again as the sun glaring inside the apartment sliced through my vision. Stretching my limbs, I stirred around and then remembered where I was.
Caleb.
I scrambled to the edge of the bed, ensuring my backpack was where I’d left it. The rest of the studio apartment was quiet, no sign of Caleb.
I threw my backpack over my shoulder and looked at the empty mattress behind me, my cheeks heating. I’d never experienced that before. He’d barely touched me, and he lit up my entire body. And, some time ago, when I had tried dating, my ex-boyfriends—if they could even be called that—used to slip their fingers into my underwear as soon as we started to kiss. It was awkward and didn’t feel good, so I would spend some time trying to stop them from touching me down there instead of just enjoying the kiss.
Caleb hadn’t even attempted to shove his hand into my pants.
He’d just started kissing me, and the next thing I had known, I was having an orgasm. My nipples hardened as I remembered the feel of his mouth and tongue.
“Caleb?” I called out.
Nothing.
I checked the closet, the bathroom, the door where he’d left his shoes. Like an illusion, he was gone. No sign of him ever being here. I removed my backpack and pulled my phone from the pocket. It was a few minutes after noon.
“Shit!” How had I slept that long?
I only had thirty minutes to get to the gym for my shift. That meant I didn’t have time to take more than the one metro I used to get there. Someone could easily follow me. Why hadn’t he woken me? I hurried into my shoes and out of his apartment, a creepy sensation settling over me, making me feel as if he had taken the comfort and warmth when he left.
On the train to work, I thought about what he’d told me last night as we laid in each other’s arms.
“TTM, I have a guitar, and I like my hands on it as much as I like them on you.”
It wasn’t exactly a confession or the most romantic thing to say. But he’d said TTM, and that meant it was something personal, something he didn’t like sharing, which sparked many memories from my past. I hadn’t picked up a guitar since I set it down on the floor that night. After a trigger like that, I was surprised I’d even closed my eyes, much less fallen asleep for hours.
As I thought about it, it uncovered a memory I’d long ago tucked away.
“Dad,” I had whined, snuggling up under my pink blanket on the corner sofa in his studio, “I don’t like singing. I can’t sing. I like when you sing. I’ll play.”
Mom had opened up the door and walked in with milk and a platter of cookies.
“Or Mom can sing.”
“Oh no, sweetie. There’s a reason I’m the one making cookies. This is between you and your father. I do not sing,” Mom said, placing the milk and platter on the coffee table before me.
“Well, Alaina can sing. My voice sounds like... like Grandpa’s old truck.”
Mom bent and pressed her palms to my cheeks until my mouth formed fish lips, and then she kissed my forehead. “Your sister is in bed, where you should be, too. And you have a beautiful voice. Maybe just not for singing.”
“Mom.” Pouting, I folded my arms across my chest.
“Honey, don’t mess with my favorite girl. She’s keeping me company,” Dad said, playing a soft chord.
Mom smiled and cupped my chin. “I’m simply agreeing with her. I enjoy having a mini-me who can’t sing. Besides, you have the magical fingers, like your father.”
“Because I’ve been practicing since I was two.”
“Now, you’re twelve, playing at levels way above your peers, and you might not have the best singing voice, but you know what? It isn’t as bad as Grandpa’s truck.”
I had giggled. “Grandpa’s truck does sound pretty bad.”
She had combed my hair back with her fingers. “I know it’s the weekend, but don’t stay up too late.”
“I won’t.”
My memory bank hitched on something I’d never thought about before as the train stopped and I scurried through the door and jogged toward the concrete staircase leading to the street, pulling the last thread of the memory.
“And I’ll see you later, Mr. Sawyer,” Mom had said. “By the way, you’ll never guess who I got a letter from in the mail today.” Folding her arms over her chest, she stood in front of Dad’s chair.
Dad stared at Mom, his fingers idling over the guitar strings. Then, his smile faded. “What’s wrong?”
“Starts with a P and ends with an I. David, you promised.”
“Sorry, I just—I’ll be up in a few minutes. We’ll talk about it.”
My attention reverted to the present as I got an odd feeling in my gut. I tried to decide if the feeling was from the memory or from the eyes I felt were always watching me. With a quick glance behind me, I continued walking toward the gym at the corner of the block.
“Starts with a P...” I reflected.
PI... private investigator. Why would Dad have needed to get a private investigator?
I’d never paid much attention to my parents when they were having adult conversations. So, it was strange that I even remembered this. But there had been so much sadness on his face after Mom mentioned the letter when, moments before, he’d been so laid-back. After Mom had left, he’d gotten up, placed his guitar on the stand, and sat next to me, hugging me to him as we ate milk and cookies together.
The police had seen them as criminals
and me as the victim. Case closed. My situation didn’t make sense to strangers, but I had known my family. They hadn’t been criminals. They’d loved me. But, now, I was curious because why would Dad have needed to get a private investigator behind Mom’s back?
“Paige.”
As I pulled myself out of my head, I saw Andy holding the gym door open for me, a circle of sweat apparent on the neckline of his shirt.
“You’re working early. Don’t tell me this means you won’t be here later.” He grinned.
“What are you even doing here this early?”
“Popeye needed an extra dose of spinach.” He curved an elbow, flexing a bicep.
“Right. Although you might be right; he does look like he’s been getting smaller.”
“Hey, now, he has feelings, too.”
I laughed. “Later, Andy. You, too, Popeye.”
“Come here for a second,” Andy said, jerking his head for me to come back out of the gym. His expression grew serious as he released the door.
Immediately, I feared him asking me out again, because even if I had made out with Caleb last night—who hadn’t even woken or contacted me since morning—I still wasn’t looking for a boyfriend.
“You okay? Seems like you went somewhere for a second.”
Shit.
“Uh...” Please don’t ask me out. “What’s up?”
“I’ve seen you in the Dungeon. You’re good, and you like training with us. Why don’t you go pro?”
Training with lethal fighters, shooting at the range, changing apartments, transportation routes—everything I did was either in preparation for, or to help me evade, the people who had taken my family away. Going pro would mean deeper ties. Unnecessary attention.
“I like it,” I said, “but it’s a hobby. Not something I could see myself doing professionally.” I grinned at him for added effect as I opened up the door. “Plus, it would mean I would have to hang out with you more. You know how I would hate that.”
“Ha, good one!”
