Page 112 of Citius

Loft photos. I know what you look like.

No. Too many people here.

You never let me have any fun.

I resisted the urge to tell him I’d greenlight unlimited fun if he moved back. As good as the place looked, it wasn’t the same. The lighting was too bright, and none of the seats had enough pillows to tempt me.

At least the food was good, I thought, surveying the plate of spicy tidbits resting within easy reach on a nearby step. I helped myself to another jalapeño popper and savored the delicious heat.

The next text was classic Jacobi.

You know you look great, right?

Already told me three times. Kelsey too.

My sister deserved the compliments. She was in her element tonight, not just because she was a domestic goddess of the highest order. Kelsey’s outfit could have graced a vintage fashion plate—her hair styled in a chic French twist, our late Oma’s pearls draped over a fitted black sweater that showed off her curves, paired with a vintage tartan A-line skirt. She’d turned more than one head tonight. Not nearly enough, inmy opinion.

Would she kill me if I suggested she get back into the dating pool?

A strong, clean-shaven jaw came into view as Cal walked past the staircase, a bottle of beer tucked in the crook of his arm, balancing a loaded plate of food in one hand and a glass of fruit-laden water in the other. He turned, climbed up enough steps until our eyes were level, and held out the water.

“You’re late,” I said. It was an observation, not an accusation.

Sliding my phone into my pocket, I leaned down, took hold of the precariously positioned beer bottle, and swapped it for the water.

“Couldn’t get out of family dinner.”

Balancing his plate of food on the newel post, Cal downed nearly half his beer in one go. His chin tilted back a little farther with each gulp, giving me a close, personal view of his Adam’s apple. Dinner with nine parents must be even more trying than I’d imagined.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” Cal reached beneath his glasses to rub his eyes, then paused. “Actually, no.” His hand dragged down his face, worrying at his chin before setting his glasses back into place. “They’re talking about moving my grandfather to hospice.”

“Oh, Cal.”

“He’s ninety-seven. Been a hell of arun.” Cal drained what little remained of his beer. “But there’s a lot of bullshit to sort out.”

His large frame angled a bit closer, shielding the hand that settled on the nape of my neck. Broad fingertips left a trail of teasing, circular strokes along my spine.

Given our location, his touch felt scandalous—and yet, I didn’t want to lose contact with him, leaning closer, purposefully increasing the soothing pressure of his long fingers against my back.

“Tell you about it later,” Cal murmured, withdrawing his hand as Joaquin approached.

After deftly swapping out Cal’s empty bottle for a fresh beer, Joaquin nodded at the fruit-filled water in my hand. “Did he tell you I made that?”

“Why would he?” I asked. “When you’re perfectly capable of bragging about it yourself.”

Joaquin let out a gruff chuckle and shook his head before heading off to help Alijah and Kelsey set out trays of bite-sized desserts, leaving me alone with the oppressive weight of Cal’s curious grin.

“Well, now. What did I miss?”

“Don’t ask me,” I said, taking a deliberate sip of my water.

Rory’s hearty laugh cut through the low murmur of conversation,pulling my attention to the far side of the living room, where he sat a little too close to one of Alijah’s co-workers.

“They’re not flirting.” Cal ate half a crab cake in one bite. “Very chill vibe in that corner—mostly talking about reality shows.” He nodded toward Piper, who was accepting a fresh glass of wine from one of her ballet colleagues. “But that beta is downbadfor your sister. And a few more are putting out feelers toward Kelsey.”

I shot a critical eye over the rims of my glasses. “What are you doing?”

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