Page 50 of I Wanna Text You Up

“Are you serious?” He nods. “You don’t go out much, doyou?”

“Notreally.”

I give my head a small shake and exhale audibly. “Wow.”

“What?”

“I’m surprised isall.”

“And why is that? Because I’m a baseballplayer?”

“Welllll…honestly? Yeah, that’s exactlywhy.”

He holds his hand to his chest, his mouth dropping open. “Are you…are youstereotypingme, Zoe? Do you think I catch a few balls and then head out to drink and chase girls in my freetime?”

“I mean, is thatnotwhat youdo?”

“I thought we talked about this. I wasn’t that guy in high school, and that is one trait that carried over into college. Delia’s only the second girl I’ve dated in the entire four years I’ve beenhere.”

“Noway.”

“Yesway.”

“Likedateddated?”

He tilts his head to the side. “Is there anotherkind?”

“Well, I mean…you know…like, ‘dated’?”

Caleb stands to his full height, towering at least five inches above me—and I’m not short by any means. I tilt my head back to meet his eyes as he studies me, a devilish smirk on hisface.

“I’m going to assume the air quotes are an indication that you don’t mean dated. You mean slept with. You asking about my sex life, Zoe? That where we’regoing?”

“I suppose you could say that,” I say, standing my ground and stepping into him, into hiswarmth.

We’re nearly touching, and there’s no denying the electricity passing between us in thismoment.

His grin grows and he leans down, his lips hovering only inches away from my ear. “I know my way around a woman’s body, Zoe.” My knees shake, ready to give out at any second with the way his voice lowers. “That’s not something you need to be worriedabout.”

I want to push him away and draw him closer with every word that leaves his lips…those stupid, full, kissablelips.

His eyes bore into me once more, heat blazing inside them with an unspoken promise, and just like before, I’m squeezing my thighs tight together, trying not to let his words affectme.

He brushes past me, his hard muscles sliding against my body, sending tingles to the tips of mytoes.

I’m standing there alone, nearly panting over two measly little sentences like a weak, lust-drivenmoron.

FuckingCaleb.

* * *

“Two light beers, please.”

The bartender nods and scurries off to grab thedrinks.

I brace my elbows on the bar top and glance out into the sea of bodies. Even for a Friday night, Lola’s is extra packed. The makeshift dance floor is full of grinding bodies, every table atcapacity.

I find Caleb sitting alone at a table off to the side of the bar, shoulders slumped inward as he sits there scanning the room, eyes steady andsure.

---