There’s nothing more I can say right now. Nothing. I have his truth.
Pyrolysis
Process of converting a solid substance to combustible fumes by raising its temperature.
The storm that ripped through the city the other night wreaked havoc on everything from knocking out power for days to our hotel, over-booked and me running around like someone cut my head off and burned my body.
Mostly my thoughts are on Caleb. I can’t believe I said those things to him. Who does that?
Undeniably, I’m distracted at work today thinking, no, wishing I had the guys phone number to apologize. I know what you’re thinking, bitch, you don’t have his number yet?
Sadly, no. It hasn’t come up, and most of the time, other than that one time where I stalked him, he shows up exactly when I need him to.
I don’t hear from Caleb for two days, and because of the storm, I think it’s because of that, but I don’t know for sure.
I’m beginning to think he isn’t going to come by anymore until he shows up at the hotel just as I’m leaving this evening.
When he walks in with the rugged arrogance constantly surrounding his presence in my life, “Bad to the Bone” starts playing in the lobby. I’m lying. That didn’t happen. But it should have, huh? It’d be fitting for a man like him.
Making his way over to me by the front desk, he stands there with his hands buried in the pockets of his dark jeans, flakes of snow peppering his dark hair but doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t say anything. He only watches me, our eyes meeting for a long battle of silent communication.
I don’t win.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him, feeling like the biggest jerk of all time. And that includes the time I faked my own death and word got back to my grandma.
For a week, she thought I was.
He chews on the inside of his cheek, considering my apology. “Don’t be,” he mumbles, watching a couple as they fight in the lobby over which restaurant they’re going to dine at. “I would have come by sooner, but I worked a tour.” There’s something strange about him tonight, something in his eyes I can’t place. He almost looks lost and vulnerable. It’s hard to imagine him being that way, but I’ve also grown to understand that’s Caleb. His reactions are never what I expect them to be.
Or maybe he’s annoyed? Maybe it was just a bad day at work.
I raise an eyebrow. “What’s a tour?”
He stares at the distance between us, then me. “Three days straight at the firehouse.”
My mouth gapes at him and naturally, his eyes move to my lips. “Holy shit, aren’t you tired?”
Those green eyes I dream about find mine. There’s a hint of a smile forming, but it doesn’t go all the way, like maybe he’s not ready to give me a smile yet. “Yeah.”
I take another step toward him, his eyes roaming over my dress and heels, no doubt imagining the last time I wore these particular heels and my legs were draped over his shoulders, and my ass prints stayed on my desk for two days. “But you’re here?”
Caleb shifts his weight, leaning into the concierge desk and nods. Always so relaxed, but I don’t miss the stiffness in his tensed muscles. “I’m here.”
I’m here.I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean. I’m not sure he does either.
I don’t know why I hadn’t noticed it before, but when he’s leaning, I see he’s got something in his hand. “What’s in your hand?”
Licking his lips and swallowing hard, he holds out the bag and says, “Something for you.”
With my enthusiasm, you would have thought he’s giving me a diamond bracelet, which, by the way, that one from Nixon is in the fuckin’ garbage.
“Really?”
“Whoa. Settle down. It’s a bottle of whip cream.”
You’d think I’d know what that means, but I’m staring at him, confused. “For what?”
His brow lifts. “What do you mean?”