Page 33 of A Temporary Forever

“Don’t judge me, I was desperate.”

“I’m not judging. I’m just not particularly keen on imagining my brother having sex.”

“Then you’re safe. He refused me.”

The line remains mute. Her lack of reaction makes me want to cry again. Yeah, that’s how pathetic I am. The man who sleeps with any woman with a pulse rejected me. Kind of.

“Are you still there?” I ask.

“Yes, I’m here, I’m just… shocked.”

“That I offered to sleep with him?”

“That he refused.”

Not exactly refused. More like put conditions on it, but I’m not going to share that. My mind—and my pussy—are still riling from that statement.

Not until you want it, need it so much that fucking me is the only thought on your mind. Not until you begme for it on your knees because your pussy weeps for my cock.

Even worse, now I’m attracted to him. His intense eyes, his broad shoulders, his feather-like touch, and those low-waist sweats. How casual and at-home he looked in his… well, home. Still his usual carefree self, but somehow with more substance.

The guitar in the corner, the books that looked used and not just for display, photographs on the shelves beside them. For some reason, I expected he’d live in a sterile fuck-pad.

While everything in that loft probably cost my yearly salary, it was all tasteful and didn’t feel like it was picked out by a designer, it felt personal. Because somehow he fit in the place perfectly. I don’t think a designer could have such an intimate touch.

Or one of his exes decorated the place. An unwarranted pang of jealousy swirls in my empty stomach. Merde.

“Yeah, which begs the question, why does he still want to help me?”

“He might feel he owes me, but… does it matter? Mid-life crisis adventure for all you care, as long as you can stay and dance.”

Yes, that’s the objective. I need to keep it in mind, and not get distracted by Caleb. Though the two seem to be well connected. “I guess.”

“That’s your problem, Celeste. You were surprised that your colleagues stood up for you because you never believe you’re deserving of anything. And now you’re questioning Cal’s motivation because you don’t trust someone would just do something nice for you. That they want to.”

Someone in the background yells her name. “I have to go. Please let my brother fix this for you.”

Someone doing something nice for me? Why? Why would they?

I still have three hours before my rehearsal, but I can’t stand the ruckus outside my doors, so I decide to go to Cora’s.

I’m about to text her when a message arrives.

Unknown number

Meet me in an hour. Can you make it? Caleb

He’s attached an address, and a quick search shows it’s a walk-in legal clinic. A legal clinic seems like the last place you’d find a man like Caleb.

I confirm without asking more questions, because the best strategy to not derail this is to not talk to him.

The smell of paint hits my nostrils as soon as I step out of my place. Two men on ladders paint the walls in the corridor.

I squeeze around, wondering what prompted themanagement to spruce this place up. At the last owner’s association meeting, we couldn’t afford to fix the damn doorknob.

Of course, it’s just my luck that the Karen from upstairs stands by the entrance.

“Can you believe it, Celeste? Apparently that snob who broke our door the other day is some hotshot millionaire who sent these nice boys”—she smiles at two handymen who are installing what looks like a camera by the main entrance—“to fix the door, install a security system and retouch the paint. All for free.”

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