Page 7 of Never Yours

I’ve successfully avoided Caleb for a decade, blocking his profiles on social media so I wouldn’t have to be broken-hearted by a possible engagement announcement, wedding photos. Or worse, puppy thirst traps and delicious gray sweatpants. I don’t blame him for anything that happened, but I certainly don’t want to relive how our friendship ended or how it went down after I left. Especially after this week.

I finish the shot, and as he is about to pour me another double, I shake my head. “I can’t. I’ll get drunk. When I get drunk, I do the talking thing. We don’t need to do the talking thing. No good can come of—” He takes the shot for me, no chaser. “Thank you.”

“Go have a seat in one of the booths, finish reading about a chick getting railed, and I’ll drive you home when I’m off.”

“That would be great, I… Wait.” My eyes narrow. “I’m not reading about a chick getting railed.” Before I can continue, he snatches my ereader from across the bar. “Hey!”

He scrolls for entirely too long as I try to swipe it from him, unsuccessfully. “You’re right. Your fiction has three men. That’s a lot of dick, Ingrid.”

“The woman comes in later,” I insist, and he cocks an eyebrow as he passes the device back to me. “I mean, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He’s about to take it from me again, so I admit, “Fine! Yes, it’s a ‘why choose.’” He stares blankly at me. “I’m not going to explain it. I’ve had a shitty week and wanted to read some plotless sm— fiction when I ran into Travis.”

Caleb laughs, but it’s a deep rumble that makes my thighs clench. He points to the booth in the back of the bar. “Enjoy your plotless fiction. I’m off in a bit, and Pop should have your place fixed up by then.”

I reach for the shot glass, lifting it with a small shake. “If it’s going to be a while, maybe one more?” He pours me a half shot, and I deadpan, “Really?”

He shrugs. “You said you didn’t want to do the ‘talking thing.’”

“I changed my mind.”

“You don’t need it,” he insists.

“And what is it that I need?” A flicker of fire dances in his eyes. I know I walked into that one, so I add, “I’m a paying patron, Cay. One full shot.”

He looks over to the woman at the end of the bar. “Lo! Her money is no good here, and she’s eighty-sixed.”

“What the fuck?” I screech, drawing attention to us. I repeat in a whisper, “What the fuck?” He rounds the bar until he’s towering over me, and fear creeps in—he’s fucking massive. As if he can sense it, he takes a seat on the stool next to me, making my heart slow down.

“Trust me,” he says softly. “You don’t need another drink. Tequila won’t fix whatever brought you back here.”

“I know,” I breathe. I can’t look away from his sparkling honey-brown eyes. I’m lost in them… or maybe the tequila is.

Caleb tucks my hair behind my ear, but I don’t flinch like I thought I would as he keeps his fingers cupped behind my neck, his thumb resting on my cheek. “You’re home.”

“I am.” He is home. Maybe this is fate?

No, I’ve been reading too much plotless smut.

“It’s slow, Cay!” the woman calls to him, making him pull back from me. “I’ll close up.”

“Thanks,” he replies to her, though his eyes never leave mine. Then, he tells me, “Your place isn’t ready yet. Want to stay here?”

“Honestly, I’m exhausted. I think I’ll take you up on the booth offer and crash for a bit.”

“I’ll do you one better.” He stands and kisses my temple, something he used to. After all this time, his touch still grounds me. “You can stay with me tonight. I’ll take the couch.”

Caleb doesn’t let me protest as he takes off his black apron and grabs his keys. I slip off my stool, and his hand slides into mine, interlacing our fingers. He leads me out of the bar, and I try to take my rolling suitcase, but he insists on doing it himself. For once, I let him help me.

A few people whisper to each other at the bar, making me nervous. I’ve never asked Cassidy about Cay; he could be married and just a good friend driving me home. Holding his hand probably makes me look like a homewrecker, so I quickly glance down at our joined hands to check for obvious signs of matrimony… no ring.

Maybe divorced?

The idea that Caleb could be single is both enticing and depressing. Even if I’ve spent my twenties in loveless relationships, it doesn't mean I wanted that for him.

We make it to his truck, and he places the suitcase in the truck bed. As he opens the door, flashbacks flood me from that night—pulling over the side of the road and losing my virginity to one of my best friends.

“Cay, I can’t stay with you,” I rush out.

“I don’t know why you’re here, but honestly, I don’t care. You don’t have to tell me what happened. Just… let me try to make things a little easier for you?” Cay opens the truck door wider. When I don’t get in, he lifts me onto the seat like I weigh nothing, then braces himself on the roof of the car. “We can go to your new place and wait a few hours until repairs are done. Or you can rest at my place. What’ll it be, princess?”

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