Page 143 of Burn

I’m thinking he’s going to tell me to go home already, but he doesn’t, he takes my hand and leads me back upstairs to his room without saying a word.

I stand there, waiting to see what he’s going to do when he steps toward me, our bodies in line, his hands reaching up to cup my cheeks. Wrapping my arms around his bare back, I run my hands over the hard ridges of his muscles, my body sagging into his. I love his hugs. They’re so consuming and addicting I get to the point during the day I want to call him just for this.

He’s watching me, eyes intent on mine and part of me is wondering if he’s remembering what I said earlier this morning. That I loved him and I knew he loved me too, despite him not saying it.

Will he say it now?

His lips make their way to my neck, then my jaw and my lips. He kisses me tenderly, once, twice, then angles my head to deepen the kiss. I don’t think it’s going to go any further than kissing because Owen and Jacey are downstairs. Not that we haven’t had sex with them in the house, but it’s been late at night when they’re more than likely sleeping.

Right now they’re not sleeping. They can hear us from below the loft.

Waking me backward, Caleb keeps kissing me until he lays me down on the mattress, his hands cradling my head. “I’m sorry.”

I stare at him. “For what?”

“That you love me.”

I want to laugh, or cry. “You’re sorry for that?”

He nods, careful eyes searching mine. “I’m sorry because I don’t how to love someone else. At least not in the ways you need me to.”

Raising my palm, I touch his cheek, and he leans into my hand. “You don’t know that. We haven’t tried. Let me try.”

Again, he nods but doesn’t say anything. The passion behind the kiss that follows does.

He wants me to have his babies. I know it.

GUESS WHOSE PHONE number I have now?

It rhymes with Jamaica. Actually, no it doesn’t. I can’t rhyme.

He gave me his phone number, and I cherish it like it’s a goddamn ring. Are you surprised?

Didn’t think so.

I’m at work on Friday night, in my office, when my phone rings. It’s Caleb. Staring at the screen lit up with his number on it, I flash back to being in high school and memories of boys calling me. Whenever they’d call back then, my mom would answer for me and pretend I was on the other line, you know, too busy to take their call and prolong it a little. Then like the perfectly choreographed routine we had, I’d make the boy wait five minutes and answer, always asking who it was. Sure, I knew because we had caller ID, but they didn’t need to know I’d been sitting by the phone all day waiting for their call or the fact that those 100 hang-ups they had from the blocked number last night was from me. All they needed to know was that I was a busy girl and playing hard to get.

I can’t play hard to get with Caleb. It doesn’t work that way with him. Mostly because I’m too excited that he’s calling.

Sliding my finger over the screen, I answer and literally fucking sigh. So pathetic.

He even laughs at me. “Expecting my call, were you?”

“Uh, no. I’m a busy girl.” Lie. All lies. Well, I am busy but whatever. “How’s work?” I ask, redirecting the conversation but happy as hell because, dude, this is relationship status stuff. Phone calls, texting . . . sigh. Again.

“Slow.” He sounds annoyed. “Not much going on besides MVAs and a few false alarms. We thought for sure the snow would cause some cool shit, but nothing yet. It’s fucking cold, and the freezing rain is supposed to hit soon, so you never know. Could be a busy night. Calm before the storm or some shit like that.” He laughs.

It’s true. It’s the beginning of March and still fucking cold. Stupid weather. It’s drunk.

“Hmmm.” My voice drops as I look out my window down at the city below. “Maybe I should tie myself up and then call in a fire.”

Caleb growls, the sound fucking adorable as hell. “Fuck that. No way in hell the boys are seeing you naked. It’s bad enough they have a video of you half-naked giving me a lap dance.”

“Ineversaid anything about being naked,” I point out, twirling a piece of my hair around my finger.

“Yeah . . . but you would be in a matter of minutes if I walked in and you were tied up.”

I smile, my cheeks heating at the twist in our conversation. “Do you have some sort of fantasy you’re not telling me about?” I’m sure he can hear the smile in my voice.

---