by Nina Levine
His face is so close—so close I could stand on my tiptoes and kiss him—and that proximity is fucking with my mind. I can’t think straight when he does this. While my inner feminist wants to tell him there’s no way in hell I’m conceding control ever, my inner princess wants nothing more than to be swept off her feet by a knight in shining armour. I mean, what woman doesn’t want that at some point in her life?
He only said sometimes.
You could totally take charge all the other times.
Yeah, like Luke’s really going to let that happen.
My princess wins.
She and I are going to be having words later.
I nod. “I’m good with that.”
He holds my gaze and doesn’t let me go. “Good.”
And just like that, Luke steals another little piece of my heart—the piece that totally wants a man to protect her and take charge when needed.
The piece I never knew was in there.
9
Luke
“Do you want a drink?” Callie asks as she peers inside her fridge.
I spend a moment admiring her ass while she bends at the waist to search a lower shelf. This friends routine she insisted on is causing me some physical pain, but if it means I get to spend time with her, I’ll happily do it forever.
Her head whips around to look at me and she catches me staring. I grin. “Have you got a drink on the very bottom shelf there?”
Shaking her head at me in mock exasperation, she says, “Do I seem like the kind of woman who knows what’s in her fridge at any given moment?”
“I refuse to answer that question.” I’m not getting on her bad side this early in the night.
“Good decision, buddy. Now, I have water, coke, beer or vodka.”
“Since when do you drink beer?”
“I don’t.”
I consider that for a moment. “Fat Yak?”
She smiles. “Of course.”
Jesus. She’s bought my favourite beer. “Beer it is then.”
She passes me a Fat Yak and grabs a Vodka Cruiser for herself. Closing the fridge, she turns and walks to where I’m standing in her tiny kitchen. Callie’s apartment is small and cluttered. Her decorating style is the complete opposite of mine. Walls are filled with paintings, photos, and quote prints. Shelves are stacked with books and ornaments. But as different as her place is to mine, this space that is all hers feels homely and welcoming. It’s Callie all over—just like she’d draw a new friend in for a hug, her home envelopes you and encourages you to open up to her.
I’ve been looking forward to this night for days. I couldn’t give a fuck about the roast she’s promised me; I’m here only for her. Having her stand so close to me is dangerous, though. When she lifts up onto her tiptoes to brush a kiss across my lips, a shudder of need consumes me.
“Sorry,” she murmurs. “I know I shouldn’t have done that, but I’m all sorts of distracted by having you in my kitchen.
I don’t touch her. I refuse to snake my hand around her waist even though it’s begging me to. Pinning my gaze to hers, I rasp, “If you do that again, I won’t be held accountable for my actions.”
Heat flares in her eyes. She takes a step back. It’s the quick flick of her tongue over her lips that anchors my attention and causes me to stumble a little more.
I’m not sure how long we linger in this moment together.
Watching.
Longing.
Fighting the unyielding pull to each other.
It’s not until she speaks that we drift from it. “Did you bring me something?”
I blink. When I realise her gaze is focused on the bag I placed on her table, I nod. “Yeah. I found it online a little while ago and knew you’d like it.” I’ve had it sitting at my house for a month, before anything ever happened between us. I’ve spent that month trying to figure out whether to give it to her or not.
Her eyes glitter with excitement as I pass it to her. “Luke, I freaking love presents! Thank you.” Her joy hits me in the gut. It’s been too long since I’ve seen this kind of happiness. Hell, it’s been too long since I’ve had a woman thank me for anything.
She rips into the present, and the glittering excitement in her eyes quickly turns to a bulge. “Oh, my God… Oh-my-freaking-God!” Her face angles up, and she stares at me in shock. “How did you know?”
“I pay attention.”
“Ron Pope is one of my favourite singers.” She holds the signed vinyl album up. “This is amazing. I didn’t even know he sold them signed.”
I shrug. “It’s amazing what people do when asked.”
Her eyes bulge a little more. “You contacted him and asked him to do this?”
“Yes. He’s a great guy.”
Her breathing picks up, and she appears to be at a loss for words, which is out of character. “This is the best gift I’ve ever received. Which means you are in danger of having my lips on yours again. And that means I am in danger of the consequences. And that means we are both screwed. So, you need to go into the lounge room right now and give me a minute to get a handle on this.”
Fuck. This could go south very quickly. Not that it would be south for me, but Callie’s made her position on this relationship clear, and I’m fighting to honour that decision. “You want me to put the album on?” She’s one of the only people I know who still has a record player. Vinyl is a love we both share.
She holds the album close to her chest. “No, I’m not letting this go until I absolutely have to.”
I chuckle because she actually looks panicked at the thought of giving it up. I’m about to leave the kitchen when a sudden wave of fuck-it washes over me. A moment later, she’s in my arms, and our mouths are inches apart. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?” I demand, my breaths quickening.
“Luke, what are you doing?” She presses her hands to my chest as if she’s trying to push me away, but there’s no force behind her movement.
I ignore the shake in her voice. Instead, I focus only on my need. I’m a complete bastard in this moment, but fuck, I want Callie so damn much, and with each passing minute tonight, I’m less sure I can do as she’s asked.
Resting my forehead against hers, I say, “I’m trying here, Callie.”
We cling to each other for a few more minutes until eventually I let her go and stalk into the lounge room. Pushing out some harsh breaths, I attempt to get myself under control.
The divorce will be filed soon.
Not fucking soon enough.
“Luke…” Callie’s hesitant voice fills the room.
I turn to find her staring at me with the same turmoil I’m feeling. Raking my fingers through my hair, I say, “This is going to be tougher than I thought. Keeping my hands off you is something I’m going to have to work harder at.”
“I’m sorry.”
I frown. “Why are you sorry? This is all on me.”
“No, it’s not. You’re not with your wife anymore, and you’re getting a divorce, so really we could be together. That’s what society does these days. I get that. But, I’ve got these old-fashioned beliefs about love and marriage, and I hold them sacred. I mean, what if you decided you really did love Jolene and could forgive her anything? I wouldn’t want to stand between a husband and his wife.”
“While I appreciate what you’re saying, and really fucking respect you for those beliefs, I want you to know it’s crazy talk to even suggest I would forgive Jolene for what she did.” I move closer and cup her cheek. “And I need you to know I’m invested in this, Callie. I don’t love Jolene anymore. You’re the woman I want in my life.”
She sucks her bottom lip into her mouth and bites it for a moment. “Okay,” she says softly. The hesitation in her voice kills me. This was why I wanted to have my messy life tidied up before I pursued a relationship with her.
My mouth curls into a smile. “Right, so where’s this roast you promised me?”
Her eyes widen. “Oh, God, the roast!�
�� She makes a mad dash into the kitchen, and I hear a lot of cursing and banging around as she deals with the roast.
By the time I make it into the kitchen, she’s pulled the roasting pan from the oven and has it sitting on top of the stove. Her back is to me, and she’s staring down at the dish, her shoulders slumped in what looks like defeat.
“All good?” I ask.
She doesn’t move except to shake her head. “No. It’s bloody burnt.” At that, she swings around to face me. “I’m really fucking annoyed too because I spent hours over the past few days practicing. I even had my neighbour show me her way of cooking.”
She looks so disappointed that I want to wrap her in my arms. I don’t dare do this, though. Instead, I take a look at what we’re dealing with here. “I think it’s okay.” Taking the carving knife and fork from her, I begin slicing the burnt parts from the meat. She’s cooked roast beef, which is my favourite, and I wonder if she already knew that, just like she knew my favourite beer.
“You’re just saying that to make me feel better,” she mutters.
“No, I’m not. Look here,” I say, showing her the meat that’s good. “It might be a little dry, but that’s nothing a good helping of gravy won’t fix.”
She covers her face with her hand, shaking her head. I sense another Callie-meltdown coming. Eyeing me between two parted fingers, she says, “I forgot to buy the gravy mix. We should have just gone out. Or ordered take away. Or had mac and cheese.”
“Mac and cheese?” I do my best not to laugh. Fuck knows that would not go down well right about now.
“I’m a pro at mac and cheese. You’d be assured of a meal that wasn’t burnt.”
I want to do nothing other than make her feel good, but a quick look around the kitchen tells me this is going to get worse before it gets better. “Right, so I can make gravy. What veggies were you thinking of cooking besides roast potato?” The potatoes aren’t looking so good—they’re overcooked and dry.
Keeping her eyes on mine, she takes a deep breath and exhales it slowly. Reaching for her Vodka Cruiser, she waves in the air as she says, “Whatever you find in the freezer would be good.”
I can’t help it. I laugh. Placing my hands on her shoulders, I guide her to the small table in the kitchen. Pulling a chair out, I order, “You rest your feet while I finish this off. I imagine they’re sore after being on them all day slaving over this food.”
Her lips twitch. “Yes, so damn sore.”
I spend the next twenty minutes cooking the peas, broccoli and cauliflower I find in her freezer while also making gravy from the pan juice. Callie’s eyes track my every movement. I know this because she talks non-stop the entire time, telling me how her mother could have forewarned me that this dinner would be a complete failure. She also tells me how her sister, Melissa, is everything her mother ever wanted in a daughter, while she is a big disappointment to both her parents.
When I finally place the meal on the table, I say, “It would have been a lie if your mother had told me this dinner would be a failure because I’m having the best time I’ve had in a long while.”
She sighs as she spoons peas onto her plate. “How do you always say the exact right thing, Luke Hardy?”
I chuckle. “You never used to think that way.” I take the dish of peas off her as she passes it.
“Well, that was before I got to know the real you. And something tells me that there are so many layers to the real Luke, that I’m only just getting started.”
After we finish loading our plates with food, I ask, “How many times did you practice cooking this?”
She pulls a face as if she’s pained to tell me. “Three times.”
“Fuck, Callie. Roast is expensive, and you can’t afford that at the moment.” While I’m annoyed she wasted that money on me, my body is alive with want. Actions speak louder than words, and Callie’s actions scream so loudly. This woman wants me enough to give up something precious.
“I can afford whatever I choose. I do have savings,” she says a little snappishly. And then her voice softens when she adds, “I wanted the first meal I cooked you to be perfect.”
“Perfect is overrated. I prefer real,” I murmur.
“Well, you got real. This is the real me. I can’t cook for shit and I’m no domestic goddess, but I can keep indoor plants alive, am always on time and can play any song you want on the guitar. If none of those things are of any use to you, feel free to bow out now.”
I grin. “You can’t get rid of me that easy. Besides, I think guitar skills are an underrated commodity in this world. Making people smile should be at the top of everyone’s priorities, and I’m fairly sure most people smile when they listen to music.”
“Shut up, Luke. Stop talking, because seriously, you’re just digging yourself deeper into my swoon cave, and I might pass out from all that swooning.”
“What the hell is a swoon cave?”
“That is secret women’s business. Now, be quiet and eat.” She is too damn cute when she tries to boss me around.
We eat in silence for a good minute before she starts talking again. I figured it wouldn’t take her long to break her own directive—I’m convinced Callie could talk under water.
“How did you know I love Ron Pope? I know you said you pay attention, but when? When did I ever bring him up?”
“Do you remember that time you and Avery went to see that local band? The one that does covers of his songs?”
She’s quiet while thinking. When she finally remembers, her eyes light up. “Yes! But that was like seven or so months ago.”
“So?”
“So, you’ve remembered that all this time?”
“I have a good memory, Callie.”
Her eyes narrow. “What else do you know about me that I don’t know you know?”
“Fuck, that’s a riddle.”
“Well?” She watches me expectantly, as if she doesn’t think I know anything.
I put my cutlery down and rest my elbows on the table. Holding her gaze, I say, “For reasons unknown to me, you love Taylor Swift; you’re a Netflix addict, with comedy, crime and documentaries being your favourite; you love going to see live music; you love visiting the markets on Sundays and especially love churros from there; the beach is one of your favourite places in the world; you love going to the movies and also to art galleries; surprisingly you love both country music and heavy metal; and you prefer to support indie artists rather than mainstream. You don’t back down easily when you’re passionate about something or believe you’re right, but you will begrudgingly admit when you’re wrong. You have a fantastic sense of humour. You like to go out a lot, but you also seem to be a homebody at times. You hate wearing heels but will put yourself through hell to impress a man. Oh, and you ask a lot of fucking questions. All the time.”
She’s stopped eating and is staring at me in shock. When she speaks, her voice is shaky. “Where the hell have you been all my life? Even the guy I dated for years probably didn’t know all that.”
A rush of possessive dominance hits me. The thought of another man with his hands on her twists in my gut. But I have no right to say the things I want to say to her about other men because she has to deal with my past more than I have to deal with hers. So, I change the subject instead. “Your mother? You’re not close?”
All the energy blazing around her dissipates when I bring up her mother. Her body slumps, and it’s clear this is not a topic she likes to discuss. “As far as my mother is concerned, I’m average at everything I try in my life. I’ve never measured up to my sister. Melissa is good at every-fucking-thing and was into all the same shit as Mum. She’s like a bloody clone. They both love the same fashion, music, TV shows, movies… Fuck, Melissa probably hates sex just as much as my mother for all I know.”
“So I take it you’re not close to your sister either?”
She shakes her head. “No. I mean, I wish we were, but that never happened for us. Mum took away any opportun
ity we had at an amazing friendship.”
“What do you mean?”
“Anytime I started to get close to Mel, Mum swooped in and dragged her away. She took her shopping or to the beauty salon or some other girly thing she knew I wouldn’t be interested in. I was always invited, but I’m convinced Mum knew I’d say no.” She leans forward. “As well as never being smart enough for Mum, I’ll never be girly enough for her either.”
“Callie, I’m a man, so I have no fucking clue what women classify as girly, but as far as I’m concerned, you’ve nailed it.”
A smile sparks in her eyes and travels to her lips. “You can come for roast dinner anytime, Mr Hardy.”
I smirk. “Should I cook it at home first?”
She scrunches her face up at me. “That would be acceptable. And you can also do the dishes, smartass.”
As I sit laughing, I pray that I will one day be this woman’s everything. Though, when your life has been turned upside down in ways you never imagined, and you’ve lost most of the hope you ever had, it’s hard to believe a prayer will be answered.
10
Callie
“I bought you gifts,” I say as I step through Avery’s front door.
“Coffee and Chupa Chups. Best friend ever,” she replies as she swipes them out of my hands.
Exhaustion clothes Avery today and my worry over her intensifies. I follow her into the lounge room and am surprised to find a huge mess of products and packaging supplies scattered across the floor. Avery is usually OCD about her setup.
She waves at the mess and mutters, “Sorry, we’ve got some sorting out to do first.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “What’s going on, A? First, you cancelled on me the other day for this, and now you’re in a mess, and you’re never in a mess. Is Helena worse?”
