In fact, it was incredibly stupid.
“Nah, man. You’re like super smart. Always reading and shit. I see you. We would have kicked ass in trivia if you had come.”
My fingers move across the fabric of the chair, drawing little designs. I stare at them, unable to meet his gaze. If I do, I may never look away.
“Don’t feel like you need to watch this. You can watch whatever you want.” His comment has me looking at the TV, and then I shake my head.
“This is okay.”
“Is it, though?” he asks, his eyes narrowing.
“It’s fine.”
Caleb huffs and then purses his lips. “Alright. No more of this. Get over here, Whit.”
I peer over at him, my heart thrumming in my chest, in my neck, right behind my ears. I must be hearing things.
“Come on. Don’t make me beg.”
No, not hearing things. My fingers tap on the chair.
Don’t do it. Don’t go.
No.
But then I push myself up and step toward him. And with a long breath, I lower myself down next to him, and Caleb, without batting an eyelash, crawls on top of me.
“No need to get weird about this,” he murmurs as he presses his forehead into my pounding pulse, his leg flinging over my thighs.
“We’ll just get it out of our systems today and then go back to normal tomorrow.”
Will we, Caleb?
I sigh loudly, and he wiggles deeper into me. I feel him in my chest, in my heart, buried deep inside my bones.
My fingers move through those long locks, doing something I told myself not to.
“What is normal?” I ask, wanting to know if this is normal for him. Does he do this with everyone he knows?
“Don’t ask me. My entire life has been weirder than aDr. Whoepisode.”
Those words make a small laugh escape me. He has no idea.
He really has no fucking clue.
“So tired,” he says as those fingers curl into my chest, and after several minutes, he falls asleep, leaving me to revel in the warmth of him still pressed against me.
CHAPTER FOUR
When I get stressed, I clean. And the doe-eyed, desperate look Caleb keeps giving me day in and day out is making everything in me itch. I can’t cuddle with him anymore. He’s no longer sick. There’s no valid excuse for doing it.
So, I stay busy each and every minute I’m home. The apartment has never been cleaner. The baseboards shine, the filter under the range hood sparkles, and don’t even get me started on the bathroom vents. They’re blowing air like never before.
And through it all, Caleb is there.
He watches me as I make his unruly bed and hold my breath while I fluff his pillow. His bottom lip is jutted out, the disappointment on his face clear.
But I can’t do it.
