Page 57 of Elusion

My head drops back as I unleash a colorful combination of words. Some I direct at Johnny for not owning a more suitable mode of transportation for northeastern winters. A few I aim at myself for once again putting myself in a position of chasing after the girl. But most of my choice vocabulary goes out to Callie Henders, the most infuriating human being on the planet, and her ability to reduce me to a neurotic mess with minimal effort.

I rub my forehead, taking a second to collect myself. But it’s a complete waste of time, because as soon as I turn around, my composure scatters all fucking over the place. At the bottom of the stairs is Callie, coffee in hand.

“Good afternoon, beautiful,” she says.

Every feeling for her slams into my chest at once, leaving emotions I didn’t even know existed engaged in a free-for-all inside me. My gaze locks on her chest. Not on her tits, but on the picture of me in a towel, hat, and scarf that decorates the front of her white T-shirt. She twists around and swipes her hair to the side, showing me the back whereMission Tell Jordan Sorryis sprawled along the width of her shoulders. This time, she not only stole my move and line, but she also ripped off my shirt idea.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve played out dozens of scenarios of us reuniting. A majority of them involved wildly improbable occurrences. In one, we met at a dog park even though neither of us owns a dog. For another, a hostage situation broke out at a sea park we both visited. None came close to her standing outside my house while holding a cup of coffee, wearing my face, and calling me beautiful. But it’s so much fucking better. Even if I wanted to hold on to the anger that had driven me out here after her, it seems pointless, because despite the serious explanation she owes for putting me through hell, she amazes me. She amazes me and she’s here and, for now, that’s enough.

She’s guarded, trying to gauge my reaction as I walk toward the house.

“For future reference,” I say, stopping in front of her, “everything at once is overkill.”

She visibly relaxes and sips my coffee. “You know, I was a little worried about that.”

“Pro tip: spread it out over a couple of hours.”

She flips up her wrist, checking the time on a nonexistent watch. “Sorry, but I’m working under rather restrictive time constraints since someone plans on fleeing the country.”

I break out in a grin and step closer, so she has to tip her chin up. “Let’s fast-forward then, shall we?”

I secure her face in my hands, not chancing her going anywhere this time, and drop my mouth onto hers. It’s what I’ve been desperate for, the feel of her lips. Soft and warm and kissing me back until she starts using them to apologize. Well, she tries to, but I won’t stop long enough to let her.

“So sorry … deserved better … didn’t mean anything … explain everything.”

I pull back. “Your apology is distracting me from forgiving you.”

She smiles, and the world snaps back into focus, making sense again. All Callie in her eyes, no sign of the broken girl. God, I’ve missed her. Unless I distract myself, I’ll rip her clothes off and make up for lost time on the lawn. She’s not wearing a coat, so I remove the cup from her hand and lead her to the house.

“So, the box?”

“A decoy,” she says. Her hand fits perfectly in mine. “The idea was for you to chase after me. Full circle and all.”

I hold the door for her, shaking my head. My irrational response to the situation ended up predictable. “What if it didn’t work?”

“Gavin was going to get you all riled up over it until you did.” She turns, walking past me. “Your friends are not loyal to you in the least, by the way.”

I finish my apology coffee and throw it away in the kitchen. On our way into the living room, Gavin smirks and tosses one final piece of green foam back in the box. In the short amount of time since I went outside, he’s changed clothes, now also wearing aMission Tell Jordan SorryT-shirt.

I glare at Callie. “Oh, come on.”

“What? They were cheaper to order by the dozen.” She winks.

Gavin heads up the stairs. “Face it, Waters. You’ve met your match.”

A more accurate statement has never been made.

Callie wanders farther away from me, checking her phone. I’m ready to carry her upstairs to my closet of a bedroom and resume our reunion, but the alarm onmyphone goes off.

Shit, my flight.

I return to the kitchen and cancel the cab. Mexico’s original purpose of distracting me from missing Callie no longer applies. Plus, staying allows me to bail Dustin’s ass out if he gets in trouble. I send him a heads-up.

Not coming. Hate me all you want, just wear a condom.

Callie’s still on her phone when I come back. I snake my arms around her from behind and nuzzle her neck, immersing myself in the scent of coconut and Callie that’s been noticeably absent from my life. Instantly soothing.

“Does this mean you aren’t going to Tijuana to bang chicks?”

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