Page 61 of Elusion

“The science building on campus?”

“Last October, Trey drove me to Easton for a tour.” Callie hangs our coats behind the door and comes back over. “We snuck off on our own and ran into a group of girls. He made up a ridiculous story about being an oil heir named Bradford. They pointed out his name tag said Trey, so he hunted down a marker. After he changed his name, he asked who I wanted to be while we were there.”

She removes the pin holding one picture up and flips it over. Stuck on the back is one of thoseHello, My Name Isstickers. Callista’s been scribbled out with red marker, Callie written in underneath.

“You were Callie,” I say.

“I have been ever since.”

I turn it over and point at a spot to the left of her and Trey. “Right there, Callie met Jordan.”

She smiles, returning the photo to its rightful place.

I stay facing the wall, but my eyes roam all over her, standing next to me. She still wears her white T-shirt with my face on it. Rather tired of looking at myself, I tug at the hem. “The shirt has to go, beautiful.”

She shrugs and lifts her arms. Compliant Callie emerges for the first time, and man, do I throw her shirt on the floor fast. Her mouth’s on mine when I grasp her hips, thumbs grazing the smooth skin above her jeans. She pushes me back until the bed stops me, and I obediently sit down.

Callie peels my shirt off before straddling me. I slide my hands up her back. God, she feels phenomenal. She bites her lip, looking down at me.

“Pretend I said something funny,” I tell her.

She drags her hands through my hair and can continue doing it for the rest of my damn life. “What?”

“The blood supply to my brain is lacking, but I want nothing more than to see you smile and hear you laugh right now. So please pretend I made a hilariously witty comment about pheasants or acorns or anything as long as you find it funny.”

“Acorns?” Her entire face lights up as she laughs, confirming acorns as my new favorite tree nut.

I pull her face to mine and lie back, bringing her with me. Her lips, her tongue, her hands, her breath on my jaw, my neck, my ear, my chest. She grinds against my hard-on, and I grab her ass, pressing her down harder. The whimper she makes almost drives me as crazy as the friction itself.

But then her movements slow.

No.

She stops altogether.

No. No.

She straightens up, touching her lips where mine belong.

“No. No. No.”

And because everyone has conspired for me never to have sex again, she swings her leg over and climbs off. My shirt lands on my face a second later.

“Think about baseball or a car accident or—”

“Nana Waters,” I supply, sitting up.

She bends over, unzipping her bag. “Think about Nana Waters then. The monster descends upon us.”

Once she no longer distracts me with her ass in the air and covers her tits, I yank on my shirt. But Nana Waters does nothing to lessen the Callie Henders effect.

A thumping starts quiet but quickly grows louder. Callie opens her bedroom door just in time for a squealing blur of dark hair to hurtle toward me. A Callie clone scrambles onto my lap, succeeding where Nana failed. Miniature hands smash my face between them. She knees me, readjusting in order to kiss my forehead, and then Cate sits on her heels, staring me down. “Hi,” she says.

“Hi,” I say back.

She giggles and leans back, gripping my shirt for support. “Can we keep him, Cal?”

Callie’s in the doorway, pressing her lips together in an attempt not to laugh. The boy towering next to her employs the same technique. He rests against the doorframe with his arms crossed and shakes the hair out of his eyes. “Come on, Monster. You left your coat on the floor.”

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