Page 29 of I Wanna Text You Up

This isn’t the first time today we’ve leaned into one another, not the first time his eyes stayed trained on my lips for a beat too long or the first time I’ve wanted to press against him, wanted to touch him in any way Ican.

There’s something about Caleb that’s magnetic, enticing me closer with each passingmoment.

If I’m not careful, he’ll reel me all the wayin.

There’s no turning back fromthat.

A soft, bluesy tone drifts through the surround sound speakers in the living room, and it pulls me back into the moment and away from the dangerous thoughts bouncing around inside myhead.

I laugh at what I hearplaying.

“See? I knew you’d be into classic rock. Zeppelin’s a goodchoice.”

He shrugs and starts pulling boxes of mac and cheese from the cabinets, organizing them on the counter so he can make room for the new groceries we bought. “Guess I’m a predictableguy.”

“Far from it.” I return to my spot at the counter. “I never expected that massive comic book collection youhave.”

“That’swhat surprisedyou?”

“You scream jock, notnerd.”

He chuckles. “I suppose that’s a fair point since Idoplay baseball.” The can of corn he’s holding is suspended in midair as he halts allmovements.

His broad shoulders sag and I itch to reach out to him, to comfort him in his obvious pain. I hate that he lost something that meant so much tohim.

“Did.I did playbaseball.”

“Even still,” I say immediately, moving on and hoping he does too. “You have that look about you. I don’t think of you being the first to the store when the new issue hits or waiting in line at cons, but based on the number of comics you have and the stacks of badges I saw, you’ve done both…alot.”

“No? Then what do youthink?”

“Friday nights beneath the lights, keggers on the weekends, homecoming—you know, good guy homegrown boystuff.”

A huffed laugh escapes him and he shakes his head. I don’t know if he’s amused or annoyed. “You’re way off base,Zoe.”

“Howso?”

He moves around the kitchen, ignoring my question as he continues to empty and then refill the cabinets just how he wantsthem.

Finally, when he’s putting up the last pile of groceries, he responds. “I wasn’t homegrown. I justwas.”

I sit there, blinking, unsure what exactly his words are supposed to mean. I’m stunned by the way he drops what he’s doing and marches out of the room, bad attitude intow.

He doesn’t slam his door closed, but the message is loud and clear:leave mebe.

My brows pinch together as I stay seated at the counter, chewing my bottom lip and staring at the spot Caleb was occupying only momentsago.

Did I pry too much? Was I too invasive? Are questions about his past off limits? Does it get thatdark?

Not once did I get the vibe from Caleb that he was carrying around anything but sunshine. He’s always been that easygoing, happy guy. I assumed he had the golden childhood, parents still together, prom king and allthat.

But the light that shines off him isn’t a reflection of his past, a dark gray area I never knew existed; it’s a glimpse into his future, a demonstration of the person he strives tobe.

* * *

My phone vibratesagainst my bedside table, and I’m hesitant to put down my paintbrush forit.

I’m in the middle of what I like to call aget this stupid shit off my mindpiece. Basically, I’m going balls to the wall and letting my hands takecontrol.

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