Page 29

Callum

Lydia Aston is not my problem. Not anymore.

At least, that’s what I tell myself as I drive home from my gym. I went in for a solo boxing session to let off some much-needed steam after walking out on Lydia yesterday. She didn’t deserve that, and it’s another reminder of why I’m not the right person for her. She can do better than me, surely.

My phone rings, breaking me from my thoughts. I glance over at the center screen, pressing accept on Riven’s incoming call.

“Hey, man,” I answer.

“Hey, Cal. Hope this isn’t a bad time. I wanted to chat about something real quick,” he says.

“Nope, all good. What’s up?” I ask.

“So, I know that you said you and Lydia are … just friends or whatever, but I thought you might want to know that Sloane is planning to throw her a birthday party in a few weeks.”

Birthday party? I had no idea her birthday was coming up. But why would I? It’s not like I ever asked, or like I even care.

“Okay, and? What does this have to do with me?” I ask.

Riven coughs, clearing his throat. “Well, I don’t know, man. I thought maybe you’d wanna know, is all.” He pauses. “Anyway, how’s your hand doing? I’m working on rescheduling that show over in Sonora.”

“It’s fine. I saw Brian, and he says I should be able to play in a month or so. But honestly, I feel like I could pla—” I pause, spotting Lydia’s truck up ahead on the side of the road. “Hey, man, I gotta go. I’ll talk to you later,” I say, hanging up before Riven has time to respond.

I pass by Lydia as she stares blankly at the engine under her hood. She’s parked on the side of the road about ten minutes out of Hollowcrest, in the middle of the fucking wilderness. I told her the piece of shit was going to break down at any second.

I sigh, watching in the rearview as she stands back from the truck with her hands on her hips like sheer attitude might bring the damn thing back to life. Slowing to a near crawl, I continue watching as she does nothing but stand there.

Surely, she’ll call someone. She doesn’t need me to come to her rescue. She is not my damn problem. I continue to spout off nonsense in my mind as I whip my gray BMW M8 around and head back to her. I watch as she closes the hood and heads for her open driver’s door. She reaches inside and grabs her phone, staring down at it as I pull up in front of her truck so that our vehicles are facing one another.

Lydia glances up from her phone briefly. On a double take, her eyes lift to mine as they widen before narrowing in suspicion. She shoots daggers at me through the windshield, her gaze fixed on mine. She looks angry, annoyed, and mildly curious. And fuck if it doesn’t make me want to push her buttons just to see what she might do.

I flick away reckless thoughts as I climb out of the car and walk over to her. She heads toward me, stopping a couple of feet from me and crossing her arms over her chest. I take in her button-down, sleeveless jean crop top, and flowy floral skirt. Her dark hair is pulled up into a knot, bangs framing her bright blue eyes. My eyes drift down her frame to watch as a bead of sweat trails down her neck and collarbone and disappears right down the middle of her perfect fucking tits.

She arches a brow, catching me staring. “What the hell are you doing here, Callum? Are you stalking me?”

She’s trying hard as hell to act pissed off, but I can hear the amusement laced in her words. I scoff, leaning back against the hood of my car, facing her.

“Of course not. I was passing by, and I thought I’d stop and tell you that I told you so.”

I didn’t intend for it to sound as snarky as it did, but I can’t help myself. Not when my words bring out that bratty side of her that makes me want to put her on her knees and punish her. The thought brings all sorts of images to my mind, and I have to work really fucking hard to suppress every last one of them.

It’s that damn frequency. That’s all this is.

She rolls her eyes and glares down at me. Her stare betrays her for a moment as she drags her eyes down my body and back up again, leaving an unfamiliar sensation in their wake. I dig my nails into my palms to dampen the feeling.

“And what exactly did you tell me?” she asks, tilting her head and placing air quotes around the last two words.

“That your truck is a piece of shit and was eventually going to leave you stranded like this.”

“Junie,” she corrects. “Her name is Junie.”

I try to ignore that she’s sort of sexy when she’s trying to be this serious about something so fucking stupid. I clench my jaw to stop myself from smirking.

“My bad,” I say, raising my hands in surrender. “I told you that Junie was a big hunk of shit and would eventually break down on you.”

I’m unable to hide the smirk a second longer. She studies me, biting the inside of her cheek like she’s fighting a similar feeling. She uncrosses her arms and leans back against her truck, and that smoldering fire returns to her eyes. I can’t help the way my pulse accelerates in response, wondering what she’ll say next, wondering what she’ll do next. Do I want her to do something?

“No, you know what?” she asks, pushing from the truck and walking my way.