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“I swear you’re trying to beef me up so no other man will want me.”
He grabs my hand and pulls me out of the spare room. “I’m feeding you because you need more meat on your bones. You’re too skinny. I want something to hold on to when I’m fucking that ass from behind.”
I have absolutely nothing to say about that.
I follow him into the kitchen. Easton turns, catching the flushed color of my cheeks.
“Relax. I’ll make us some sandwiches. Then we can head out.”
“After a comment like that? The last thing I can do is relax.”
Easton lets off a sexy chuckle. “Fine. I’ll be quick. Maybe I’ll let you drive the snowmobile today.”
“Really?”
“Hell no.”
“Jerk,” I mumble under my breath. I twist around, hiding my smirk, and walk over to the radio. “Care if I turn this on?”
“Uh, sure. Go ahead.”
I plug it in and turn on the small radio. It takes me a minute to find a working station, but then the static is replaced by music. “Bingo.” An old Smashing Pumpkins song plays, and I turn it up. “I love this song,” I say, singing the words. I dance around the living room while Easton watches me. He looks happy. At peace. It mirrors exactly how I feel. “What’s got you all smiling, Mr Cruz?”
“Love seeing you here. Missed you, Cal. Promise you. I’m not leavin’ you again. Ever.”
My heart does a double flip. “Same,” I reply, my voice hoarse. I continue to dance, breaking our connection because it’s too intense. The song ends, and another one plays. This one I also know well.
“Damn, good song. Woulda sold a nut to see them live.” My shoulders tense at his comment. “Callie—”
“It’s fine.”
“I didn’t mean that. . . the tickets.”
I wish I could, but I can’t hide the pain in my eyes. The tickets I bought for Rage Against the Machine. The ones hidden in a box in his closet. “Callie, say something.”
“I have nothing to say.”
“Yes, you do. Say it.”
“I have nothing to say!” I raise my voice. “I don’t want to talk about it. It’s in the past.”
“But, it isn’t. That look on your face says it’s very much lingering in the present.”
“Well, what do you want me to say? That all is well in the world, and anything in the past is in the past?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, that’s not really how I work. I can’t erase the pain or what you did to me.”
“Here we go. It’s all about what I did to you, which was nothing. We can’t move on if you continue to want to bring up the past.”
“I continue to bring up the past?” I say, my tone dripping with venom. How dare he? “I’m sorry. Is my pain a problem for you?”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t. Please explain.”
He throws the dish towel onto the counter. “It means we can’t fix the past. But we can move on from it. I am. I’m over being angry with you. I’m willing to bury the—”
