Page 73 of Caleb
Red catches me staring at her like an idiot. I look away.
“What do you mean you don’t know?” Aaron presses.
“A few weeks after I met her, okay?” I admit. “She was calling me Caleb, and I wanted to call her something other than Miss Murphy.”
“Of course you did,” he says, his head shaking with disappointment. “Look at me, Caleb.”
I meet his gaze, and it’s been a while since I’ve seen Aaron so worked up about something. Like, for real.
“What did she see when she went out looking for you?” He’s grilling me hard, and there’s no use in evading his questions because he will get to the bottom of things like he always does. There’s no need to lie or hide shit anymore.
What does it matter, anyway?
“I was kissing Noelle.”
Letting out the last plume of smoke to the side, I drop my cigarette on the ground and crush it with my heel.
“We’ve got less than a month left before we leave,” he reminds me. “Try to fucking behave. And stop calling her that. Her father would go ballistic if he knew you’re calling her anything other than Miss Murphy. You know how crazy he is about things being done his way, especially now with all the drama that’s gone down.”
“Okay.”
“You don’t want to test how far he’s willing to go.”
“I don’t.”
“Good.”
“What was that?” I say to Aaron, our gazes darting through the restaurant’s window to where Red sits with her friends. Relief washes over me when I realize Sophie must’ve been the one who made that sharp squeaky sound. They look thrilled about something.
Red shakes her head and raises an apologetic hand at us, letting us know everything’s fine, so Aaron and I resume our inconsequential conversation about last week’s UFC event. We’re excited to see Anderson Silva fight next month.
A few minutes later of us arguing about the fighters, Aaron says, “I think she needs you.”
Looking over my shoulder, I see Red gesturing for me to come inside.
“I’ll be right back.”
I make my way around the tables to get to her.
“Yes, Miss Murphy?”
“I just spoke to my father,” she says steadfastly, which is very much unlike her usual sweeter way of talking. It makes me panic for a second. I’m too paranoid these days. “And he agreed to let me go to a bar after dinner with my friends.”
My eyes widen. She’s never been to a bar, and I know she’s almost twenty, but I think she’s better off staying away from those places. At least for now.
“There’s a one a.m. curfew, though,” she adds. Surely, her friends are the ones pushing this agenda. I know they’ve been going out almost every weekend since they turned eighteen, and Red’s always told me how it never appealed to her to join them.
Until tonight.
“Yes, Miss Murphy.” I try—and fail—to hide the shock. “I’ll inform Aaron and take care of any necessary details.”
She thanks me with a smile, and I excuse myself to let Aaron know about this.
“They’re going to a bar after dinner,” I tell Aaron, the evident annoyance seeping out of my words.
“What bar?” Aaron’s not looking thrilled either.
“I don’t know,” I say, pulling my cigarette box out of my pocket. “They’re probably still deciding.”
