Page 81 of Caleb
The complicated thing about revealing the news about me not going to New York is that the timeframe I was given to do so lands on her birthday weekend. So I can drop the bomb before her birthday and risk ruining her day, or I can do it once her surprise party is over. I’m more inclined toward the latter, but it would literally be a few hours before she grabs a plane and leaves. It would be too shocking and dramatic, I think. She might even get angry at me for holding off on telling her the truth.
So I don’t know what to do.
I wish I wasn’t legally forced to say anything and that I could get on that plane with her to New York. But I’ve slowly made my peace with it.
“Caleb?” she says as she steps out of the car, her voice soft like velvet. She’s wearing skinny jeans and a mint green sweater. Her long, auburn hair is down as usual, and now more than ever, I wish I could run my fingers through it and pull her face closer to mine. I can’t believe I’ll never get to kiss her. To know what that feels like.
We’ve just arrived from school, and there’s nothing on her schedule for the rest of the day. Good. That means I can run away and hide from her. It’s getting harder and harder to act like everything’s okay when it’s not—when she’s perceptive as fuck. And I admit that I haven’t stopped thinking about that asshole she met. Thomas. I wonder if he’s reached out to her. If they’re texting and have already agreed to meet in New York.
The curiosity to ask her about him is eating at me. But I don’t know how to do it without the evident jealousy seeping out from my words. She would notice my discomfort.
“Yes, Miss Murphy?” I smile, but even I can feel how it’s forced and fake. She can tell, too, by the way she’s looking at me. I’m emotionally spent.
“Are you—okay?” Her eyes narrow at me with suspicion. “You’ve been acting all weird and spacey today.”
“I’m just tired.” I stuff my hands into my pockets. “I think I overdid myself at the gym this morning.”
“Oh,” she says, looking relieved. “I was thinking of going out for a run, but I can get on the treadmill if you’re tired. We could skip—”
“No, no, no!” I shake my head twice and look away for a few seconds. “I mean, no, that’s fine. I’m fine for a run.” This is our last week here, and I sure as hell don’t want to skip one of our runs. That is one of the things I’m going to miss the most.
“Caleb, you just said you’re tired,” she insists. “I’ll run on the treadmill, and you can get some rest.”
Psh.
She starts walking up the flight of stairs toward the front door like her words are final.
“Let’s go for that run.” I hold her arm. Softly. Enough to get her to stop and listen to me. “Don’t be stubborn.”
She looks over her shoulder, rolling her eyes at me with raised brows, feigning annoyance. That right there is one of my favorite faces. TheI’m-pretending-like-I-can’t-stand-you-when-I’m-very-much-enjoying-this—please-keep-going, face.
“Or what?” She flips around and crosses her arms at her stomach, looking down at me from a few steps above.
Little devil. I narrow my eyes on her.
“Or … I’ll send an agent over to check on you on my behalf. He’ll let me know if you get on the treadmill or not,” I warn. “You don’t want to know what happens if you do.”
She blushes. Bites her lower lip. Fuck. I need to tone it down.
“Stalker.” She smirks, trying to keep up with the vibe.
“And proud of it.” I laugh. “That’s how the bills get paid. By following you around all day. And making it seem like we’re not there when we are.”
“As discreet as you think you are,” she says with a snort, “it’s hard for your presence to go unnoticed.” She wrinkles her nose and chuckles. “Girls at school would back me up on this.”
“Don’t change the subject.” I take another step to balance our heights. “Go get changed, and I’ll meet you here at whatever time works for you.”
She blinks slowly and holds out her hands, silently asking me to hand over her backpack and camera bag. I shake my head. She knows I hand those over to her once she reaches the front door.
“AndI’mstubborn?” She turns around and huffs a breath through her mouth that might not be as artificial as her previous gestures. And I don’t blame her. But I’m putting my foot down and taking her out for that run. I’m not even tired. It’s just a lame excuse I used to deflect her very accurate observations about me being “weird and spacey” all day, which I have been.
We climb the rest of the steps and reach the front door.
“Here you go, Miss Murphy,” I say triumphantly with a stupid grin.
“Ugh.” She grabs her things. “I’ll see you in fifteen minutes, Cohen.”
I usually do her bidding and let her win every argument. But it feels great getting my way for a change, if only for today.
