Page 3 of Well That Happened

“So…” he says, hands tucked in his jacket pockets. “Bodily fluids, huh? Is that your usual small talk opener?”

I snort. “Only on first dates.”

“This is a date?”

I glance at him. “You insisted on walking me home.”

He shrugs. “Maybe I just didn’t want you to fall into a manhole.”

“Chivalry’s not dead, apparently.”

“Only mostly dead,” he says with a grin. “For you, it came back to life.”

Damn, he’s cute. Like annoyingly, dangerously cute.

And I haven’t had sex in… oh God. Between nursing school and keeping my life from imploding, dating hasn’t exactly been a priority.

My cheeks flush. “Do you flirt with everyone this much?”

“Nope,” he replies easily. “Just girls who talk about vomit and look like trouble.”

He has no idea.

“Ah. So you have a type.”

“Messy, mouthy, and beautiful? Yeah, I guess I do.”

My heart stutters, then sprints.

I try to sound unimpressed. “You practiced that line?”

“Not once.” He glances down at me. “Are you always this hard to read?”

“Only when I don’t know what I want.”

“You sure?” he asks, his voice lower now.

Nope. Not sure of anything. Except maybe how much I want him to kiss me. Or press me against that brick wall. Or—

The answer’s yes. It’s dangerously yes. But I say nothing.

Because the heat between us is saying it for me.

I still remember the first time I met Caleb.

I’d seen him at Fletcher’s games and in group pictures on his Instagram—always laughing, always with that easy smile, like nothing ever rattled him.

But the first time we actuallytalkedwas during finals last year. I was parked on a bench outside the science building, trying to will my brain cells to process pharmacology flashcards.

He sat down beside me as if we’d planned it.

No hello. No awkward small talk. He just pointed to one of the flashcards in my lap and said, “You spelled hydrochlorothiazide wrong.”

I blinked at him.

“Want me to quiz you?” he asked, as if we’d known each other for years.

I was too tired to argue. “You a nursing major?”

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