Page 13 of Never Yours

Turning to face me, her back against the counter, lightly biting her lip, she breathes, “You’re supposed to say ‘you.’”

ingrid

. . .

Ishouldn’t be flirting with Caleb; it’ll end in disaster. Part of me can’t help but wonder if he’s improved since we slept together. Mostly, I miss him. I miss the easy banter and the way we’ve always been there for each other. Sure, it’s selfish—he’s always been mine, even if I’ve never been his.

I look away, embarrassed at my admission, and mutter, “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

Cay tilts my chin until our eyes meet. His voice is soft and reassuring when he insists, “Stop apologizing.”

“This is a bad idea.” Even if it feels like the best idea.

He smiles wide, then leans in until we are only a breath apart, bracing himself on the counter behind me. “For who?”

“Haven’t you seen the news?”

“That you fucked your boss and left your job? Pregnant? Or the few where you’re mine?”

If only the last one was true. Fuck, he read them. I grimace at the admission.

“I don’t care.” Caleb brushes my hair off my shoulder and whispers beside my ear, “You deserve better, Ingrid.” Goosebumps erupt down my arms from his hot breath tickling my neck, and a shiver runs through every inch of me. He pulls back slightly, and just as I think he’s going to kiss me, he opens the pizza box wider. “Should I help myself?”

My breath catches, unsure if he's talking about the pizza or me. If he knows why I’m here, and doesn’t care that I'm essentially an unemployed slut, he could think I’m an easy lay. My mind is running through the possible options, and as if he can read my mind, he steps away and rounds the island into the kitchen to retrieve plates, giving me space.

He’s talking about the pizza.

Just another day in the life of an overthinker.

I breathe a brief sigh of relief until disappointment settles in my gut. Even after everything, I want him to want me as much as I want him. Taking a plate, I place two slices on it and rummage in the fridge to find the bottle of ranch I purchased this afternoon. Squeezing a dollop on my plate, I notice he’s removing the pineapples from his slices, scrunching his nose, and making me laugh.

“Well, you could have ordered pepperoni or something for your half. Want some ranch?” I lift the bottle as an offering.

“Absolutely not.” He shudders. “I’ll stick with my pineapple-less pizza.”

“Suit yourself.” I dip my slice in the ranch, take a large, unattractive bite, and let out an exaggerated moan. I mean it as a joke, but his eyes darken. My mouth full, I cover it as I ask, “What?”

His gaze burns into me as he takes a bite of his pizza. When he’s done chewing, he finally replies, “I was just thinking I’ve only heard what you sound like when you’re faking it.” I suck in a breath. “You think I didn’t know?”

“Shit,” I whisper. Maybe Martin knew, but didn’t care? I’ve mastered my act over the years, I don’t know why I’m doubting myself. But Caleb? Fuck. Shit… Every explicative in the universe.

“That's why it was the worst night of my life.” He braces himself on the counter and lowers his head in defeat. My heart lurches; I did this. When he lifts his gaze, he adds, “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want a shot at making it right.”

In an instant, the pain stops, and I’m left wondering if this is all it will ever be between us. Maybe he’s no different than Martin, or any other man I’ve been with, for that matter. I can try to rationalize that I wanted it with any of them, that I’m fine with a casual hook-up, sans orgasm.

Not now, not Caleb. I can’t do this.

“Ingrid, look at me.” When I do, agony is etched on his face. “I’m sorry. I’m fucking this up.” He rounds the kitchen island, and I stupidly let him take me in his arms. I wrap mine around his middle, letting him still be my person even if we’re both hurting. I can’t help but let out a contented sigh being this close to him. “It’s not about that. You deserve a man who gives you the world, not just between your legs.” I rest my chin on his chest, looking up at him. “Let me be that man until I have to leave.”

“One night of you pretending to be my boyfriend?” I laugh. “No, I think I’ll pass.”

“Three weeks.”

My brow furrows. “Three weeks?”

“I ship out in three weeks.”

“You, what?” I step out of his embrace. No wonder Cass would be fine with something casual between Caleb and me—he’s leaving. Any hopes I may have of rekindling whatever this is… officially squashed. “Are you serious?”

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