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“Oh, honey.” There’s no judgment in her kind expression. No censure for wanting my ex’s brother. “Have you ever told him?”
“God, no. It took months for him to call me back after I learned about witness protection. Weeks for him to hang out with me after he moved home. He’s only letting me stay at his place because I had nowhere else to go. And Cal hasnevershown an ounce of interest in me. Which is for the best since my history with Jake would make everything a complicated mess.”
Her face pinches. “Jake is a selfish asshole, who only thinks about himself. I wouldn’t worry too much about hurting him.”
“Jake’s a good guy,” I say emphatically. It’s the same line I use whenever she attacks his character, which is often. To say I’m dying to know what happened between them is an understatement. “Hurting Jake would hurt me, and it would devastate Cal. So, yes, itwouldall be a disaster if Cal had feelings for me, which he clearly doesn’t. He keeps talking Jake up to me, like he wants us back together.”
She makes a disgruntled sound and taps her nails on her wineglass. “From an outsider’s point of view, meaningmypoint of view, Cal was in love with you when you guys were younger. Mooned over you constantly. I’d be shocked if he didn’t have feelings that ran deep—at least back then. Maybe he only sees you as a friend now. Maybe I’m wrong and he didn’t crush on you as teens. Or maybe he’s terrified to like you because ofJake.” She spits out his name like it’s poison. “Cal might shut down on you because he likes you too much and doesn’t want to hurt his brother.”
I replay how often he dodged me when he first moved back to Windfall. How weird he acts at times, like when he barricaded himself in his room after he got our Cool List and we collided in my room. He’s barely at home, which might be normal for him with how much he works, or he’s avoiding me.
Fear of his feelings could provoke those behaviors, but an interested guy wouldn’t push me to date his brother. Cal certainly didn’t fight for me or suggest he was interested when we were young and inseparable.
“Avoiding your feelings won’t make them go away,” Larkin says. “So, my offer still stands—if you tell Cal you have it bad for him, I’ll go on a date.”
“First”—I lift my index finger—“you asked me to admit toyouthat I like Cal, not to tell him. Second”—another finger—“I’m not fifteen. I don’thave it badfor a guy.”
“First,” Larkin says, mimicking me with her raised finger, “I changed my mind on the bet. You definitely have to tell him, so deal with it. Second, you totallyhave it so bad. Unless there’s another reason you’ve been stress-eating the greasiest food on the menu every night, followed by an ice-cream chaser.”
I scowl at her. “Shaming a woman for eating is a low blow.”
“If you want to just blow Cal, that still counts.”
I snort out a laugh. “Jesus, Lark.”
“Don’t tell me you haven’t pictured it. I saw him from a distance before I barged into your office that first night. That man is all brawn.”
My face is suddenly on fire, the memory of catching him mostly naked burning a path up my chest. “I saw him in his briefs the other day,” I whisper, as though speaking too loudly will strike me down with lightning. “Like, without his shirt.”
“And you’re just sharing this detailnow? What kind of friend are you?”
I duck my head, embarrassed. My vibrator has been overused since that night. “His body isn’t human.”
“That good?”
“Oh my God” is all I can say.
Chiseled doesn’t begin to describe Callahan’s body. The man should be bronzed and mounted on a pedestal—a sculpture for the world to enjoy. Smooth rock. Hard lines and shadows. Slashed hip bones. Thick thighs. His obvious erection that night nearly did me in, jutting to the side, bigger than I imagined.
And I have imagined.
“We should talk more about you starting to date,” I say, feeling like I’m stuck in a sauna. “Or maybe tell me why you hate Jake so much.”
She stares into her wineglass and doesn’t speak, but she looks more sad than angry at his mention this time. Almost on the verge of tears.
“It’s late,” she says quietly and offers me a weak smile. “Think I’ll head home.”
* * *
An hour later, I walk into Cal’s duplex, tired as usual but also wired. That’s the thing about bar work. It drains you but leaves you keyed up. His door is closed. No noise drifts out. I quietly kick off my shoes and place my purse on the couch. I change into something more comfortable, then head to the kitchen for a snack.
The space is spotless, as usual, which has my attention whipping to the coffee table. I went on a rampage before work, annoyed that I couldn’t find any hair elastics. Those things live in the land of lone socks and pens, stolen by elves who love fucking with us humans. I went through all my pockets and drawers, found some missing ones, proud of the mound I collected on Cal’s coffee table. But I don’t remember putting them away.
The table is clean now, and I wince.
Cal was probably cursing me earlier, grumbling about my hurricane ways. Hopefully the stew I made him was apology enough. Or he didn’t eat it. He might have been annoyed with me and can’t wait for me to leave his home and isn’t sure how to tell me because he’s too sweet.
Swallowing through my tightening throat, I open the fridge and blink.
