Page 40 of Wicked Dreams

I don’t see it, and it’s not that I don’t like them. I actually really, really do.

It’s just that I don’t believe in happily ever afters for me. Not anymore.

Lenora makes a salad while Robert makes garlic bread, and I sit and watch them move in sync around the kitchen. She talks about her co-workers—one’s in her second trimester, and another just got engaged—and articles she read. Robert details anecdotes about nameless students, including one that tripped and dumped dirty paint water across his floor.

I don’t have much to contribute, but the longer I sit and watch them, the more I realize… that’s what I want in a relationship. The comfort, the ease. The laughter.

We finish dinner at the kitchen table, and we all clean up. Lenora collects the leftovers, Robert rinses the plates, and I stow them in the dishwasher. We’re done in no time.

There’s no moment for awkwardness. Robert guides me into the living room and hands me the remote, saying to pick a movie for us to watch. Lenora disappears upstairs to change out of her work clothes.

I fiddle with the hem of my sweatshirt with one hand, pulling on a loose thread while scrolling the movie channels. I finally land on one I’d been wanting to watch and glance over to catch Robert’s approving nod.

When Lenora joins us, she sits beside me on the couch.

And it’snice. I know I’ve been here a week already. I know I should be more comfortable, but tonight is the first we’ve had a chance to do this. The other nights were simple dinners, no big fuss or production, and I retreated to my room as soon as they were over.

When the movie ends, I stretch and yawn. I beg off to bed, and they both wish me goodnight. With a glass of water in hand, I trot upstairs and step into my room.

I close the door and rest my forehead on it in the darkness.

My heart is full, and my smile is quick to appear. It was a good night. One that I now have to strong-arm into a box, because this cannot be my new normal.

If I believe that, then being proven wrong will break me.

A long, slow exhale later, all those happy feelings are bundled up in the back of my mind. I don’t want to let go of the effervescence just yet. I keep a piece of it—like Lenora’s cheerful greeting—front and center.

Finally under control, I cross the room and set my glass down. It’s still dark, with just the streetlamps and moonlight coming through the front window. The fluttering curtain catches my attention, as does the chilled wind that sweeps in.

I didn’t leave my window open.

The lamp on my desk clicks on. I whirl toward the light and gasp. I slap my hand over my mouth.

Caleb leans against the wall. One hand in his pocket, the other hanging loose. He’s the picture of smug arrogance. His dark hair is mussed, like he’s been running his fingers through it, and the ends are damp. I can’t help but take in his olive-green long-sleeved Henley shirt, the way it fits snugly to his body. His jeans are light-washed and ripped, and his tennis shoes are white and pristine.

I can’t manage to keep a pair from scuffing in my first week of owning them—but I think that comes down to the fact that I wear my new shoes into the ground. I don’t get the luxury of only wearing a certain pair sometimes.

“You could take a picture,” he drawls. “It would last longer.”

I scowl. “Get out.”

He smirks and nudges my pajama pants from where I left them this morning. “Have you been dreaming of me?”

“Only nightmares.” I square my shoulders and smile sweetly. “That’s what you like to be, right? The monster chasing me?”

He tilts his head and pushes off the wall. The bed is still between us, and it might take him a minute to get to the door. It’s closer to me than him. But do I really want to burst out and let Lenora and Robert know?—

CalebknowsRobert.

“Any excuse you make about me being here will sound like a horny girl’s lie,” Caleb says in a low voice. He peels off his shirt. “Especially if they find me naked and you out of sorts.”

“Shut up,” I hiss. “Did you come in the window?”

He inclines his chin. His jaw is sharp enough to cut glass, and he knows just how to move to accentuate that feature. I swallow sharply.

I go to the door, ready to throw it open and demand that he leave anyway. I mean, fuck it, right? There’s a slim chance…

He meets me there, keeping it closed with one hand over my head. His other goes to my hip, slowly rotating me until my back is flush to the wall.

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