Page 71 of Simmer Down
He presses his mouth where my neck and shoulder meet. The light kisses and suckles he blesses upon that spot turn me into a whimpering fool. Seconds pass before I lean away to look at him. He stares back with that intensity that seems to come and go so easily. But this time there’s purpose in his eyes. It’s obvious in the slight furrow of his brow, in the clench of his jaw.
“Are we good, Nikki?”
“Absolutely.”
His hands fall to my waist. I shiver despite the temperature. His feathery-soft touches always do that to me. With both of us wet, my sense of touch is heightened. Every tap of his finger, every swipe of his hand on my body feels a million times more sensitive than usual.
He shakes his head. “This isn’t my idea of good.”
“Then tell me your idea of good.” I swallow his breath when I speak, we’re that close. “Please.”
He leans his face to my face, and we’re somehow even closer than we were a second ago. I’m certain he’s going to kiss me. But instead of sliding his perfect tongue into my mouth, he speaks.
“Good would be doing this with you every day. Good would be getting you to admit when you’re jealous and want only me. Good would be calling you mine.”
Digging my fingers into his shoulders, I’m practically shaking. Just when I thought we were firmly back in friends-with-benefits territory, he throws me for a loop with a statement like that.
If we’re both on the same page—if we’re both game for more—could we really make it work? Could he really give up whoever else he’s seeing casually for me? What about the festival? What about his plan to move back to Chicago?
Softly, he bumps the tip of his nose against the tip of mine, then presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth. Every thought, every question, everything that’s not this kiss fades away.
I pull away. “Are you saying... What are you saying, Callum?”
He lunges for my mouth, and we’re kissing so hard, I’m robbed of all oxygen. I lose track of time, location, what day it is, my senses.
Pressing a hand against his chest, I steady myself. “Say it again,” I say between broken breaths.
Say I’m yours. Say you want to be mine. Say nothing else matters.
He leans his head back, his chest heaving as if he’s run a marathon. “Nikki, I...”
Say you want me all day, every day. Only me.
In the background my phone rings, but I don’t care. His clouded stare and the slow smile that crawls across his face read pleasure-high. With both hands on my cheeks, he pulls me in for yet another breathless kiss. Then he slides one hand between my legs, and I’m crying out in an instant. But then he stops.
“Is that your phone that keeps ringing?” he pants.
I say a quick apology, then swipe my jeans from the nearby pile of clothes. I dig the phone out of the pocket. “I’ll turn it to silent. Sorry.”
But then I see a slew of missed calls and texts from Mrs. Tokushige.
“Hang on,” I mutter, swiping my finger across the screen. “This is so weird. It’s my mom’s friend.”
I pull up the text messages and almost drop my phone in the hot tub when I read Mrs. Tokushige’s text.
Your mom was rushed to the hospital. Please call me as soon as you can.
A shriek lodges in my throat. Callum clasps my hand. When I look at him, the inky, enlarged pupils of his eyes read sheer panic. “What’s wrong? What is it?”
But I can’t talk. I can only cry and scramble clumsily out of the tub, grabbing at my clothes. I drop the phone in his hand and watch all the color drain from him when he reads the text. And then I feel his steady touch on my arm. He speaks. But all I can do is cry and hope to God he’s telling the truth, that it’s not just empty words to make me feel better, like I suspect.
“It’s going to be okay.”
Chapter 16
Callum leads me through a long white corridor with his massive hand pressed on my back. I’ve lost count already of how many of these sterile tunnels we’ve walked through since arriving at Maui Memorial Medical Center minutes ago. The same ball of despair and nerves that hit when I would visit my dad as a patient here takes hold. We pass the corner where he lost consciousness while being wheeled to a nearby exam room for an MRI. That was a month before he passed, when he was so weak that walking was almost too much for him most days.
My heart thuds, my head spins, my palms sweat. Just the thought of Mom being here makes me want to puke. This cannot be happening.
