With my twenty-four-hour obligatory notice given, I rang the doorbell.
Smoke alarm inspection. Totally routine.
Totally legitimate.
The fact that I knew only Callie was home was irrelevant.
I heard light footsteps on the other side, followed by a pause—probably her checking the peephole.
Good girl.
I adjusted my stance and waited.
The door cracked open, and there she was, her glasses slightly askew, hair damp like she’d just showered.
Why was I here, tormenting myself?
“Hi,” she said, eyes flicking to the toolkit in my hand. “Smoke alarm stuff, right?”
“Yeah,” I said, my voice steady. “Quick check. Shouldn’t take long.”
I didn’t add that I already knew the alarms were fine. I just wanted to see her up close, to smell whatever shampoo she used that lingered in the hallway long after she passed.
And if I caught a glimpse of that infamous vibrator?
Well. That would be her fault for not hiding it better.
“You’re not at uni today?” I asked casually as she led me into the kitchen.
“No, the lecture got cancelled,” she said, just as a droplet of water slid from her long hair and landed on her grey shorts.
I tore my eyes away from her bare legs. “The sink hasn’t leaked again?”
“I didn’t know it was leaking to begin with,” she said, glancing over her shoulder.
Her eyes lingered on my chest before she looked away.
While I checked the smoke alarm, she pottered around the kitchen, opening drawers, wiping the counter, and fiddling with the kettle, but I felt her eyes on me. Every now and then, subtle and curious.
And I had to wonder if she was as attracted to me as I was to her?
Chapter 7
Callie
Thank God I’d put Dottie outside before he came. I was sure he would go mental if he found Dottie inside the house. I wasn't taking any chances.
There were more smoke alarms upstairs, but he started in the kitchen. He stood on one of our dodgy chairs, reaching up to open the smoke detector.
Didn’t those things have a little button you could press without taking them apart?
My brain wasn’t functioning. I’d become addicted to my new vibrator, and it was seriously impacting my sleep schedule.
And it didn’t help that he’d turned up in tight jeans, perfect butt cheeks, and bare arms. When did arm hair become sexy?
I wiped the counter again even though it was already clean, then filled the kettle.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” I squeaked—then cleared my throat and tried again. “Tea?”
