Page 96 of Callan

I knew how conflicted he was, so when he wrapped his arm around my neck, locked me in, and crashed his mouth onto minewhile opening my lips forcefully and connecting with me at a profound, primal sexual level, I thought I’d pass out in his arms.

We kissed like two savages as if we were telling each other we wouldn’t stop until he was buried deep inside me, and I took all the force brewing in him and basked in it like it was a miracle of life.

When I slid my hands to his chest and feverishly sought the feel of his skin against my touch, he broke the kiss and wagged his finger at me, grinning.

‘We won’t be doing this now,’he reminded me, and I smiled, choking on my flared-up need to have him.

‘We need to go,’he then said, turning the ignition on, and minutes later, he dropped me off in front of my building.

There was no goodbye kiss, only a wolfish smirk on his lips and me acting silly, unable to take my eyes off him.

When he steered his car away, my street was quieter and more deserted than ever.

I tipped my gaze up and stared at my building.

The lights were faint in my neighbor’s apartment, while my windows were dark like almost every other window in the building.

I was happy.

And I was bereft.

And in the morning, I woke up hopeful for no good reason.We hadn’t made any plans to meet again.

Yet it felt like he hadn’t been gone at all.

It still feels like he is here with me, and I wonder if I’m the only one experiencing this. If his day is just another day with no memory of me at all.

My phone buzzes on the kitchen counter, and I walk there quickly.

Kayla’s name flashes across the screen, bringing a smile to my face.

“Hey, there,” I say in an unusually good mood the moment I accept her video call.

She looks at me with intrigued eyes.

“Have you gotten laid or something?” she asks without greeting me, with an eyebrow lifted.

My cheeks burn like a beach in the Caribbean.

“Hmm…”

I shift my eyes away to avoid her scrutiny.

“Kenzie?”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

I place my phone down, and she stares at the ceiling while I move to the refrigerator.

“Can I eat lunch while talking to you?” I shout over my shoulder, digging for food in the fridge.

“Of course you can. So you did…” she says, chuckling. “Who is it?”

“I’ll tell you. Just give me a second.”

A few moments pass while I reheat some leftovers––it’s mostly a broccoli, cheese, and rice casserole––and think about what to say to her.

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