Page 24 of I Wanna Text You Up

“Here,” Caleb says, his gravelly voice slipping over me, curling into my skin. “Let me getit.”

His hand rests on the small of my back, a slight pressure to the touch, and for a moment, neither of us moves. He’s so close that I can feel his chest brushing against my ass with every harsh breath hetakes.

Our closeness is affecting himtoo.

I don’t know whether to be excited or alarmed bythat.

Part of me wants to fall back, see if he’ll catch me, wants to know what it would feel like in hisarms.

But Idon’t.

Instead I climb down, savoring the feel of his calloused hand through my thinshirt.

I stand back as Caleb easily reaches up and grabs the bag of corn, tossing it into thebasket.

“Anything else?” heasks.

I shake my head, not trusting my voice at thispoint.

“All right then.” He peers into the cart and around at the shelves one last time. “I think we’re good here. It’s a decent start at stocking up thefridge.”

“A decent start? You bought like two ofeverything.”

“And not a single box of mac andcheese.”

“But only because we have enough at home,right?”

He shakes his head, amused. “Sure. Now let’s check out before I think on it too much and make you put that chocolate milkback.”

“You caught that,huh?”

“You’d make a horrible thief. You’re not the least bit slick orsubtle.”

“Don’t be insulting,Caleb.”

He rolls his eyes as he pushes the cart up to the belt and begins loading the groceries. “Honest, Zoe—I was beinghonest.”

“Are you always sosassy?”

“Do you always have to have the lastword?”

“No.”

“Yousure?”

“No.”

The cashier, a high school student who looks bored out of his mind, pushes the groceries through the scanner and down to the bag boy, who looks just as enthusiastic as ourcashier.

“Paper or plastic?” he asks in a monotonevoice.

“Paper,” Caleb says at the same time I say, “Plastic.”

“Paper is better,sturdier.”

“I use the plasticbags.”

“Mittens uses the paperbags.”

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