Simmer Down

by Sarah Smith

  CALLUM: Petal. Are you angry at me or something?

  The tiniest ping of guilt hits the center of my chest. He’s clearly not out with anyone if he’s texting and calling me this much.

  I text him back.

  ME: Sorry for making you worry . . . Nothing’s wrong, I just felt a little weird today.

  His reply is less than a minute later, further proof that he is definitely at home in his condo, not out with some hottie. My emotions are a cocktail of relief and embarrassment. I jumped on the irrational jealousy bandwagon way the hell too soon.

  CALLUM: Weird how?

  For three solid minutes, I try and fail to draft a suitable explanation. Anything I send over text would sound positively insane right now. Because how exactly would I explain my ridiculous behavior?

  I got irrationally jealous at seeing another woman flirt with you, even though you’re not mine, and you have every right to do whatever you want with whomever you want. Oops!

  So instead I write:

  ME: It’s hard to explain over text.

  Seven seconds later, he replies.

  CALLUM: Then tell me in person. Come over.

  * * *

  • • •

  When Callum answers the door, he’s stone-faced. Just like the day I met him, just like all those times we argued and bickered.

  I never thought I’d see him make that face with me ever again. But how can I expect him to act any other way when I’ve been so foolish?

  He shuts the door behind me. I gaze around the living room, taking in the sparse furniture. I’ve seen this space a million times before, but tonight I examine it with renewed interest. Anything to put off the inevitable. We’re about to have a very, very uncomfortable conversation about my adolescent behavior, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to stomach it.

  I scan the other end of the condo, where the wooden dining table sits.

  “You have a very spacious place,” I say, glancing everywhere but his face. “Have I ever mentioned that?”

  Callum steps from behind me, raising an eyebrow. I have no choice but to look at him now.

  “Is that why you came over? To talk about my flat?”

  I shake my head and drop my purse on the tile floor. My eyes drop to the light peach hue of the tile resting under my bare feet. My nerve still evades me. “I’m sorry I blew you off today.”

  “Don’t talk to the floor. Talk to me.” There’s an edge when he speaks, a hardness that hasn’t been there since we started getting along. But I’ve brought it back with a single moment of jealousy. Well done, me.

  Slowly, my eyes make their way up to his. I take my time, though, indulging in a scan of his thighs, that broad chest clad in a bright blue T-shirt. The color makes his honey-kissed skin glow even at night.

  I wish we could stop this uncomfortable conversation and go to his bed instead. I wish I could rip that shirt off his body and make him forget all about what a baby I was today.

  “I’m sorry. I guess I just . . .” I have to take a second and swallow. It feels like I’m free-falling into those grass-green pools masquerading as his eyes.

  I can’t bear to say the word. Because if I say jealousy, the jig is up. He’ll know everything. He’ll know that I’m getting attached to him; he’ll know that I’m reneging on the agreement that I came up with to keep things casual.

  And admitting that out loud would be a betrayal for me too. I promised myself I wouldn’t get close to anyone. It’s not worth the feeling of loss, the soul-crushing sadness that consumes every fiber of my being knowing that I’ll never, ever have that person again.

  My dad’s death was a caution. People come and go. The worst thing you can do is let yourself get close because of the pain you’ll inevitably feel when they leave. And I refuse to go through that kind of agony again.

  I clear my throat, renewing my focus. “It was just that . . . earlier today, I had a weird moment of . . .”

  “Of?” he says, that razor-sharp edge still present in his tone.

  Biting the inside of my cheek, I gaze in the direction of the kitchen, staring at nothing in particular.

  I go for the long version of the truth, just to avoid that pesky eight-letter word. “It was weird to see that hot girl flirt with you today. That’s all.”

  I wring my hand even though there’s nothing wrong with it, just to have something else to do other than stand here and bask in my self-inflicted humiliation.

  For several seconds, he says nothing. He simply stares down at me, his face still hard as stone, giving nothing away.

  “You were jealous?” The way he says it, it’s not teasing. It’s like he’s reading off a grocery list to double-check that he hasn’t missed anything.

  I mutter what I think sounds like a “yes.”

  “Did you honestly think I was interested in her?”

  I shrug. The lines between his eyebrows may as well sign a lease to stay. I have a feeling I’m going to be on the receiving end of countless Callum frowns during this conversation.

  “She grabbed your arm and you didn’t pull away. It seemed like you liked her touching you.”

  He sighs, like he’s disappointed in me. “Finn told me I needed to be nicer to the customers. I was trying to listen to his advice.”

  His explanation makes sense. It doesn’t make this hurt any less though.

  “I made plans with you tonight,” Callum says. “Do you think I’d break them to pursue someone else?”

  My head falls back in a groan. “I have no idea, Callum.”

  His fingers grip my chin, and he directs me to look at him. The firm contact sends heat pulsing through me.

  “Why were you jealous, petal?”

  I pull my face out of his hand. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  He steps forward, pressing against me, his hands at my hips. His chest heaves against mine. He breathes, then I breathe, then we do it all over again until we’re panting. It’s both heaven and agony.

  “Tell me,” he growls. “I want to know why.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Why?”

  “Because . . .”

  My voice shakes with the need to tell him how I really feel. I want to tell him that I’m jealous because I care about him more than just some casual arrangement. I want to tell him that I don’t want to share him with anyone else. I want to tell him that I think of him as mine, even though he’s not and never will be.

  “Why do you even put up with me?” My attempt at a diversion fails, because he answers promptly.

  “Because you’re one of my favorite people on this island. You call me on my shit and it’s sexy as hell. You’re passionate and caring. You work hard, you fight hard, and you love hard. Not to mention you’re gorgeous.” His hands press into me harder, and it’s heaven. “Do you want me to keep going?”

  I shake my head. Any other time I could listen to him talk about what he adores about me all night long. But that’s not what I want right now.

  “What do you want, Nikki?”

  It’s the millionth time he’s asked me this. I remember the first time he posed that same question while standing in the foyer of his parents’ empty house back in London. He asks me what I want almost every time we hook up, and I usually show him with my hands or mouth. But now the words sound like a completely different language in this conversation where we’re both fire-breathing dragons ready to demolish the other.

  “I want you, Callum. Right now.”

  His left hand slides to my forearm. “You’re burning up,” he growl-whispers.

  Hot with jealousy, simmering with arousal. The flames are the same; it’s just the feelings that change. And he’s the root of them all.

  “I can’t help it,” I pant. “You do this to me. Every single time. I’m burning whenever I’m around you
. I act like the biggest fool because of you.”

  That’s the watered-down truth of my behavior today. That’s as much as I want to tell him.

  He leans down and his mouth lands softly on the side of my neck. My eyes flutter as I let the tingles make their merry way down the rest of my body.

  “I suppose I should cool you off, then,” he says against my shoulder.

  He takes me by the hand to the bathroom in the hallway. He turns the knob in the tub, and a rush of water shoots from the showerhead. We both shed our clothes in silent unison. There’s no need for words right now.

  Callum steps in the shower before I can get a proper look at him. It doesn’t matter how many times I see him naked. I’m forever in awe. Under the brightness of the overhead light and the sheen of the water, he is stunning. Like always.

  I claw at the wet muscle in front of me, and he captures my mouth in his. We’re kissing so hard, so rabidly that I can hardly breathe. The only air I get is through tiny gaps between our mouths when our movements are too rough.

  I breathe, he breathes, and we do it over and over.

  He’s grabbing at my waist, the fleshy curve of my hips, my generously rounded backside. I give his chiseled chest one last eager grope with both hands. And then I stroke along his always impressive length, speeding up with every groan and grunt he gives me. It’s two minutes until he’s done for.

  I rinse my hand in the stream surrounding us, but then he grips my hips and directs me to sit on the ledge at the far end of the shower. I watch him kneel down in front of me, biting my lip to suppress a groan. The water is lukewarm right now and that’s a good thing. I’ll need to cool off soon.

  He pushes his face between my legs and works his magic. Endless swirls and licks and sucks. I’m howling. It echoes against the walls of the bathroom, the only appropriate soundtrack to the filthy actions taking place in this steamy haven. Legs shaking and muscles twitching, I explode. He doesn’t dare let up, digging his fingers in my thighs.

  Still no words. It’s exactly how I want it, how I need it.

  He helps me up, we rinse, towel off, then reconvene in his bed. He cuddles me into his chest. Every muscle inside me that was formerly tense is now relaxed into goo. This is the effect Callum James has on me. I’m a wildfire one minute and Play-Doh the next.

  “I’m sorry for how I acted today,” I whisper against his chest.

  “It’s all right, Nikki. I just wish . . .”

  When he doesn’t finish right away, I open my mouth to ask him what he wishes, but I stop myself. I don’t want to know. Because if he told me what I want to hear, I’d be stuck. How could I date the man who could put me out of business?

  And that’s not even the worst part. The worst part is that I’m so into Callum, that in the right weak moment, I might actually choose him.

  A weak moment a lot like this one, where I’m tucked against him in the dark, surrounded by his mass, protected, his entire body feeling like home.

  But then I’d be the worst daughter who ever lived, and I have a promise to keep. I refuse to break it.

  Before he can finish, I kiss him. I pull the bedsheet over the two of us and close my eyes, hoping his silence lasts until I fall asleep.

  * * *

  • • •

  When I open my eyes, Callum’s lead pipe of an arm is on top of me, and I’m tucked securely underneath. I close my eyes and let out a long, silent breath so I don’t wake him. It’s so damn comfortable under here, under Callum, under his super soft bedsheets.

  There’s a soft wheeze above my head. One pleasant surprise after all this time together is that he doesn’t snore like a freight train. His breaths are soft and slow, almost rhythmic. I turn my head to see the few inches of space between us. Everything about waking up next to Callum in his bed is soothing bliss. The feel, the sounds, that delicious musky spice his body somehow naturally produces.

  But then my bladder reminds me that it’s early morning and I’ll burst if I don’t do something about it soon. Holding my breath, I slowly roll out from under him, slip on his T-shirt, and quietly pad to the attached bathroom.

  I relieve myself and wash up, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My cheeks sport a healthy amount of pink still. Leftovers from last night when I embarrassed myself in front of Callum by admitting my jealousy to his face. I take a breath, thankful that he’s not yet awake so we don’t have to face the awkward aftermath. Because what do you say the morning after you almost spilled all your feelings to your fuck buddy?

  I stand in the open doorway, gazing at his sleeping form like a creep. My heart thuds. What the hell will I say now? I can’t drag him into the shower for more sex. I mean, I want to, but he’ll see right through that. And then he’ll ask me about last night, why I got all angsty and emotional. And I may not have the strength to lie.

  I take two slow deep breaths before taking a step toward the bed. And then I hear keys jangling at the front door.

  “Oi, Cal!”

  Finn’s voice booms from all the way at the other end of the condo. Callum slingshots into a sitting position, rubbing his eyes.

  I grip the edge of the doorway. “Hide me!” I shriek-whisper.

  Callum slow-blinks. “Wait just a—”

  I karate chop the air in front of me to silence him. “No! No time. Finn can’t know that I’m here. Hide me. Now!”

  “Callum, you still sleeping, you lump?” The sound of Finn’s voice grows louder.

  Callum jolts up from bed and ushers me into his closet. “Sorry, he said he was going to be gone today and tomorrow. I didn’t know he’d be coming back.”

  I tuck myself in the farthest corner and point my wide-eyed stare at him.

  Callum grabs a pair of boxers from the floor of his closet and pulls them on. He wobbles, nearly falling over, he does it so fast. Leaning against the closet doorframe, he steadies himself.

  “Just . . . just hold on, I’ll get rid of him.”

  Callum shuts the closet door just as I hear the whoosh of his bedroom door flinging open.

  Finn’s chuckle hits my ears and I hold my breath. Please God, don’t let him see me. Given how close he and Callum are, I don’t believe he’d rat him out even if he did find us together. But the fewer people who know about our secret, the better.

  “It’s nine thirty, mate. I didn’t know you slept in this late anymore.”

  With the amusement in Finn’s voice clear, I let out the air in a slow hiss.

  Callum clears his throat. “Did you barge into my bedroom just to make fun of me for oversleeping?”

  There’s a soft patting noise. Probably Finn smacking Callum on the back. “Of course not. Look, I have a dilemma and I need your help. Do you remember Ted from uni and rugby club back home?”

  “How could I forget,” Callum mumbles. I imagine him running a hand over his tired face.

  “You know how he manages Travaasa Hana? Well, he needs someone to take over the Easter dinner service at the resort this evening. He rang me in a panic about how the chef he hired fell through at the last minute and he doesn’t have anyone to cover. Can you do it?”

  “Can’t you?” Even as I sit hidden away in the closet, the curt way Callum grumbles makes me flinch.

  “We’re fussy when we oversleep, aren’t we?”

  In my head I can picture Finn holding his arms palms up at a scowling Callum.

  “Sorry,” Callum grumbles. “I just . . . you caught me a little off guard, Finn.”

  A heavy sigh fills the silence. “I can’t take it, Cal. I already committed to that camping trip with Grace and her friends. I don’t want to back out now, even though I’d kill to cook at Travaasa.”

  “Meeting her friends already?”

  The lightness of Callum’s tone makes me think he’s half smiling. It makes me smile too. There’s another soft smack
sound, probably Callum playfully hitting Finn this time. I wonder if Finn is blushing.

  “You know how it goes,” Finn says, the grin obvious in the flustered way he speaks.

  “I don’t actually.”

  There’s a few seconds of silence.

  “Well, that’s no one’s fault but your own,” Finn finally says.

  “Don’t start, Finn.” Callum’s tone turns curt once more.

  “It’s so bloody obvious how you feel about her,” Finn says. “You’ve got history together. Why don’t you just tell her already. No use in putting it off like you’ve been—”

  “I don’t need my little brother to lecture me on my love life.”

  My ears perk in the silence that follows Callum’s comment, delivered in his trademark hard tone. Who the hell is Finn talking about? Is Callum seeing someone else besides me? Maybe he’s rekindling something with an ex? Finn did mention the word “history,” and that’s a for-sure code word for exes. Maybe that’s why he rejected sexy Tinkerbell yesterday, because he’s still carrying a torch for someone in his past. But last night Callum made it sound like there wasn’t anyone else, though maybe he was just trying to spare my feelings because he could see how upset I was . . .

  I force myself back to the present. No. None of that is my business. Callum and I are just hooking up, that’s all. He’s moving back to Chicago soon anyway. And since we’re not even close to being a couple, he has every right to see exes, other women, whoever he wants—which it sounds like he’s doing from what Finn says.

  I silently thank Finn for his abrupt entrance. That wave of emotions I’ve been battling the past twelve hours ends right now. I need to just enjoy our no-strings-attached arrangement for the uncomplicated and enjoyable setup that it is and stop longing for more.

  There’s a throat clear, then Finn speaks. “Do you want to do the dinner service tonight? Or am I calling Ted back to break his heart?”

  “I’ll do it,” Callum says.

  Finn says something about forgetting a bag he packed for the camping trip. Soft footsteps lead out of the room. A minute later there’s an exchange of muffled voices, then the front door closes.