Page 152 of Callan

My cheeks are about to melt off.

Was he studying me while I was snoring?

“Soft, quiet breaths with a sigh of relief at the end. Maybe you were dreaming. I don’t know.”

I stare at him, transfixed, and he holds my eyes.

“You’re making this up,” I say.

He chuckles.

“Why would I?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you don’t want me to come to your place again,” I push out without pondering much, and silence falls around the table.

We’ve never talked about that, right?

Our common understanding was that we wouldn’t discuss an uncertain future. What for?

I think about it a little more.

“Would you like another cinnamon roll?” I ask, not knowing what else to say.

Shaking his head, he puts his espresso down.

“I want you…” he tosses at me when I expect it the least, and my skin catches on fire.

His gaze is still tilted down, and I’m trying to maintain my composure while waiting for his eyes to come back to mine.

A smile tilts his lips when he catches sight of my astonished expression.

“I want to fuck you again, baby…” he says, leaning close to me and brushing his lips over my earlobe.

I smell like him, and he must smell like me.

“Now?”

“Yeah. Now,” he says, pushing his chair back, stretching his hand out for me, and waiting for me to make up my mind.

I rise out of my seat and look at him in a trance.

“In the bedroom,” he says as I appear breathless.

“Yes, of course.”

I pivot to follow him.

“Are you always going to be scared shitless like that,” he tosses over his shoulder while taking my hand and walking me to the exit door.

“Always. You mean as in, um… Always?”

He gives me a knowing laugh.

“You’re playing with me,” I say, reproach in my voice.

“Never. I’d never do that.”

We take the stairs up.

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