Page 6 of Law Of Love

I thanked him, quickly entering the house, and my stomach lurched at the idea that he only wanted me for one thing. He claimed he loved how bubbly and self-assured I was, but was it all a lie just to get in my pants?

“Fuck,” I muttered to myself, closing my eyes, leaning my head back against the front door.

“Didn't put you as one to use that sort of language.”

I gasped at the voice, snapping my eyes open to see Kaleb standing before me with his arms folded. He was dressed in a black long-sleeved workout top and pants, the tight-fitting material causing my throat to bob. Every muscle was visible.

“How would you know? We've been in each other's presence for a total of ‌five minutes.” I narrowed my eyes at him, causing him to huff. Technically, that wasn’t true, but it sure as hell felt like it with the little amount we'd conversed.

“Five minutes too long,” he responded. His eyes were resentful, but my snappy response had caused his lip to twitch upwards slightly, the small action making me tilt my head. “Why are you soaking wet?”

His question left me gesturing towards the rain-splattered window. “Because it's pouring outside? My car is broken, so I had to walk to college."

Kaleb nodded once before he pulled out his phone and began typing furiously, scowling at the screen in annoyance. “What do you take?”

“What?” I asked in confusion, and he shook his head at me.

“College. What do you take?” he repeated crabbily.

"Oh, umm, Fine Art."

Kaleb cocked his head at me and hummed. “Right, so you want to be what? A painter? A designer?”

I felt sheepish. I hated answering this question because ‌I actually didn't know what I wanted to do yet. Art was something I loved, and I wasn't half-bad at it. The art world was where I belonged, but it was pinpointing where that was the tricky part. There were so many routes to take and I felt like I was floating along without a clear path to take. Art was my calling, but failure frightened me. I often felt like I was the only person in the world without a foolproof plan. “At the moment, I teach children art once a week, but it’s not what I want to do long-term. I mean, I would love any career involving creativity. It just depends on what comes my way.”

“Comes your way?” Kaleb raised a brow. “Life doesn’t work like that.”

“It's just a saying, but thanks for the tip, Mr Sunshine.”

“So, you like kids?”

I dipped my chin. “Yeah, I do. They can be a handful, but I enjoy it.”

Kaleb’s opened his mouth to speak but growled as his phone rang. “What?” he snapped to the person on the other end of the line, cursing to himself as they spoke. “No, I told you I don’t want anyone in my house.”

I raised my eyebrows questionably, his voice like gravel, and I moved past him to head for the stairs. I needed a warm shower. That, and being under Kaleb’s intense gaze was making me unsteady on my feet. How could somebody's eyes hold so much emotion?

“Fuck. Fine, but I swear to God, Brent, keep it small,” Kaleb muttered. "I want everyone gone by eleven."

I craned my neck to look at him. He’d ended the call and was studying me. “We have the house to ourselves tonight, and apparently, I'm having people over.” He huffed. “If you’re going to come down, try not to do or say anything to embarrass yourself.”

I mentally cringed, my nostrils flaring.

Ouch.

Three: Kaleb

The house was silent. I’d expected Freya to be louder, but I could barely tell that she was upstairs besides occasionally hearing her hum or patter around inside Brie’s bedroom.

My fists clenched at the thought.

My mother had lied to me. She'd told me we were going to leave Brie’s room as it was, and instead of sticking to her word, she’d moved all of her belongings out and stowed them away in the attic like they were junk. Not only that, but some unknown girl was staying in there—sleeping in Brie’s old bed. Folding her clothes away in her chest of drawers. Using her mirror.

Freya Henderson.

The five foot five dark-haired beauty that had infiltrated my home. She was too attractive for her own good, and the heated blush on her cheeks when her eyes met mine for the first time was branded into my brain.

I’d picked up on even the smallest of details about her. Her purple-painted nails that were slightly chipped. The small line of freckles dotted over the top of her nose. The tiny scar that ran through the end of her eyebrow—looking like a childhood injury of some sort.

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