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Wren
“Need you in my bed when I get back,Little Bird.”
“I need to be there too.”
“I’m gonna be selfish and ask to have you to myself.”
“Jenny can watch Ez. I miss you.”
“Fuck, I wanna feel you sayin’ that against my skin.”
“Then I wouldn’t miss you anymore.”
“Need to feel it. Need it.”
“Then I’ll say it.”
Two weeks had gone by since Ezra’s first sleepover at Callum’s place. We’d done another sleepover the following weekend, then Callum was gone. He’d been out in LA for the last week, shooting music videos and making appearances. By the middle of the week, we were both aching for each other.
I had to think it was a little easier for me because when I wasn’t working, I was with Ez and Jenny. When Callum wasn’t working, he holed up alone. I knew that because the second Ez went down for the night, Callum called me and stayed on the phone until I fell asleep, even if I was watching TV with Jenny or doing some cleaning. He wanted to hear me and be present with me from the other side of the country.
Jenny judged at first. And yeah, it was intense and might’ve seemed strange, but that was Callum. He needed the connection we had, and maybe he realized I needed the reassurance that, even though he was gone, I was still at the very forefront of his mind.
But now, he was back, and after a reunion that involved me jumping on him the second he’d opened his door to me and him kissing me so hard and for so long, my lips were puffy and tingly, we were going to a party.
A party!
Saul Goodman, CEO of Good Music, technically both our bosses, was hosting a party for some of his artists at his penthouse. Callum promised he had to go, be seen, and then we could make our exit. Back to his place, back to bed, our introverts’ paradise.
I stood in his bathroom, touching up the makeup he’d kissed off. My dress was slightly rumpled from being rucked up around my waist when he fucked me on the kitchen counter five minutes after I walked through the door, but I liked that. It was like a secret between us.
Callum wandered in, yanking his shirt over his head. He had a fresh one in his hand, but he stopped behind me, running his hands over my hips and sides, watching me in the mirror. His hair was mussed from my fingers dragging through it, and I liked that even more than my wrinkled dress.
“Hi.”
His chin propped on my head. “Hey, beautiful girl. Almost ready?”
“Almost.” I raised a brow at his bare chest. “Are you changing clothes?”
“Just my shirt. My girl turned into something of a hellcat and ripped the collar.”
I whipped around with wide eyes. “No. Did I?”
He grinned. “You did, Little Bird. I’m gonna frame that shirt.”
“Well, maybe if you’d taken it off—”
“So you’d rip my skin apart instead?”
I giggled. “I’d never hurt you and—” I stopped speaking.
“Wren?” Callum tipped my chin with his knuckle, trying to catch my eyes, but my focus was on his chest. Specifically, the tattoo that hadn’t been there when he’d left New York last week.
“What is that?” I breathed.
He actually looked down, as if he didn’t know what I was referring to. “Oh yeah. I got a new tattoo when I hit LA. My guy is based out there. I hit him up when I’m there and lookin’ for ink.” He dipped down and touched his nose to mine. “Speak, Wren. Do you like it?”
On his chest, right over his heart, was my name inked in black. Written in flowing script, the W had wings and looked like a little bird taking flight. There was nothing subtle about this design. There was nothing abstract about his intentions in getting this tattoo. He had my name on his body. Permanently.
