“I guess that’s how I’ll answer your question, then. I’m Cal Finnigan, jersey #23, right winger for the Monterey Ironhearts, and a work-in-progress.”
“And you’re a Daddy.”
Excuse me?My head whips up so fast, my neck nearly snaps.
“Plant! Plant daddy!” she corrects immediately. A charming scatter of pink dusts her cheeks as she stares at me, panicked. Mirth tickles the edges of my mouth as mortification darkens her blush to a crimson I could kiss.
“Your kinks are showing, Tots. Don’t worry, I’ll keep your secret.”
She groans, covering her face with both hands, mumbling, “This is almost as bad as when I kept saying ‘dicks’ when we first met.”
I burst out laughing, making her giggle as well. As our shared joy spreads into the corners of my home, the gnawing emptiness I’ve never been able to erase begins to fill.
Just friends, Cal,I remind myself, unconsciously committing her image to memory. That’s it. It can’t be anything more.
She doesn’t want that, and neither do I.
25
ALIA
My expectations for tonight were, well, not this.
Did I think Cal would cook for me? No.
Did I suspect he would buy me flowers, make me laugh, engage in meaningful conversation, and give me a non-date better than all the dates I’ve had before? Not even a little.
But all that did happen.
Flowers, music, candles, his attention. Our conversation flows so naturally, as if we’ve known each other for years, that I stop and marvel at the ease between us. With Cal, I’m more outspoken than I’ve been in ages.
I figure this means I won’t be stunted by my inhibitions when we move things into the bedroom. I expect I’ll be doing the horizontal mambo across some cushioned surface in Cal’s home and somehow miraculously take control of my sexuality and my independence in one go.
But as soon as I’m done with dessert, Cal leads me to his garage and ushers me into the front seat of his SUV. Our conversation keeps us occupied while he drives us to an unknown destination. It’s a rude shock to my system when he rolls into the visitor parking lot right next to my apartment building. Now I’m stuck wondering how my evening went off track. Did I say something wrong? Did I misread the signs again?
I don’t have time for another anxiety spiral because the passenger door swings open.
Cal, ever the gentleman, holds out his hand to help me disembark. I stare at the beige stucco covering my home, disappointment spiking sharp and clear. Why am I back here already?
“Thank you for dinner,” I politely say without looking at him. If I stay here much longer, I’ll end up doing something utterly pathetic, even for me. Like begging him to take me back to his house so we can finally indulge in the ‘benefits’ part of our friendship.
As I move forward, he blocks my path, forcing my gaze to his. He moves closer and instinctively, I scooch away. Another small step and I shuffle backward until my ass hits the cool metal of his car. Though our bodies are barely touching, his heat blankets me. The heavy weight of his palm settles at my waist, curling over my hip to keep me from fidgeting. My pulse scatters when soft lips brush against the hollow of my cheek, pressing so gently that I lean in, hungry for his touch. His stubble scratches my skin as he slowly straightens, his lashes tangling with mine in a sensual swipe that has me closing my eyes in a desperate bid to make the moment last longer.
“Cal?” My voice comes out gravelly and rough. If this man can make me feel like my insides have liquified just by kissing my cheek, it is well within the realm of possibilities I will leave his bed a changed woman.
Why are you not kissing me more? Why are we here and not in your bed?
Either I’ve verbalized my thoughts or Cal has become dangerously proficient at reading me, because he looks pained.
“Tots,” he sighs, affectionately tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. The tips of his finger stroke the sensitive skin there, lingering like he is aching for a reason to continue touching me. “Let me walk you to your door.”
Old feelings of rejection rear their ugly heads as I fight to drive them away. Cal isn’t cruel, so he can’t know how hard this is for me. How much is riding on him wanting to explore something sexual because, in this case, I know he’ll gain far less than I will.
Cal links his fingers with mine and leads me up the path. I should be wary of Irsia seeing us but I’m tripping on the fact that we’re holding hands. My eyes snag on my palm encased in his large one, a raised vein running along the back of his hand, his thumb resting over my curled pointer. This doesn’t feel casual, yet Cal seems so comfortable, I suspect I’m wrong.
I trudge beside him, silent, not only because I’m disappointed but also because I’m confused. As he reaches for the door, I tug at him to get his attention.
“You’re really sending me back home?”