“I have to be crushing you,” he finally says, breaking me out of my spiral.
“I’m used to it.”
He huffs and seems to sink into me further. “That so?”
“Feel free to move if you’re concerned.”
“Is that a passive way of asking me to move?”
“No.”
I half-expect him to get up, but instead, he reaches over, grabs the remote, and turns on the TV. He loses himself in some obscure cooking show, and I sit there, trying to coax feeling back into my legs and tell myself that he’s absolutely not my type.
I read like my life depends on it. Caleb doesn’t move. Instead, he sinks into me further, dozing and nestling against my neck. His hand rests on my chest.
I swear he’s doing this on purpose.
He’s driving me crazy, making something dark and sharp uncoil inside me.
I open a book about the Civil War to take my mind off him.
It doesn’t work.
He’s everywhere.
I hear his stomach rumble, and I murmur that he’s hungry.
He grunts a response, obviously not wanting to move.
I need him to fucking move.
“Let me heat you up the soup your aunt made,” I finally say, my hand unwillingly moving up to squeeze the back of his neck. It’s warm, firm. I, unfortunately, don’t want to let go.
But Caleb just huffs and rolls off me, looking slightly forlorn at the loss of contact.
I can’t think too much about that. So I stand up and stretch, moving to the kitchen to warm up the soup. It gives me something to do with my hands besides reaching for him.
A few minutes later, it’s ready, and I set two bowls on the table.
“Come on, Caleb. Time to eat.”
He sighs loudly and ambles over to the chair, lowering himself into it and picking up the spoon. I do the same.
It’s good. I’ve had some already. I can tell the care that went into making it. What must that be like? Having someone love you enough to cook a meal for you, to deliver it, to call and check in?
I don’t know if I’ll ever know.
Caleb lifts some of the soup to his mouth and slips the spoon between his lips.
He moans, and I shift in my seat. Absolutely not.
“You having some?” he asks me when he notices how I’m not eating.
I purposefully take a spoonful.
“Yeah. Of course. Your aunt insisted. I don’t want to report back that I didn’t do as she commanded.”
He snorts, and I swallow. “Good man.”