After getting dressed and freshening up, I scour the bathroom floor, looking for my clothes from the night before. My name tag is still on the shirt, and I need it. But the floor is clean, and I have no clue where the clothes went.
When I go back to the bedroom, Callum and his inked body are still doing push-ups. My eyes fall to his hips.
Up, down, up, down.
That sweaty muscled image that came to mind earlier is now right in front of me, and my body responds even as my mind goes blank. Pure heat passes through me. It makes me wonder what he feels like sweaty—and panting—during sex.
I clear my throat.
“Where are my clothes?” I ask.
“On your back.”
“Hilarious. I meant the ones I left in the bathroom.”
Callum finishes exercising and gets to his feet. “I threw them in the wash. Figured they were dirty since you left them on the floor.”
What is he? A stickler for cleanliness? “Well, next time, ask.”
“Well, maybe don’t leave your clothes on the floor.”
Every time I think I can handle being around him, he says something else that reminds me just how much he gets on my damn nerves. “Just don’t touch my stuff.”
I head to the washing machine to retrieve the name tag, and bump into him on the way out.
“By the way, I used your toothpaste,” I say. “Hope that’s fine.”
“Sure. Forgot yours?”
He’s so annoying. “Yes, Callum, I forgot mine. Why do you have to rub it in?”
“You’re tightly wound, you know that, Josephine?” he asks.
“Why are you there every time I turn around?”
“Because I live here.”
“You’resucha smartass.”
“You’re not the first person to tell me that.”
“And I’m sure I won’t be the last.”
Callum concedes with a nod. “Probably not. What time do you work? I’ll be ready in a few and can take you.”
“It’s fine, I’ll just take the subway.”
“Seriously, woman, it’s not a big deal. I’m heading out in a few minutes anyway.”
“Work?”
“No. I have a goodbye to make.”
I take a second to realize what he means. My annoyance with him immediately evaporates.Wow, Josie. Way to forget why you’re in this situation to begin with.The first thing he’s going to want to do is to visit his grandmother’s grave. That’s what I would do if I’d missed a loved one’s funeral. From his hard expression, I think I can see that the matter has affected him more than I first thought.
Perhaps his grandmother meant more to him than he is letting on?
He shouldn’t go alone.“Do you want me to go with you?” I ask, knowing that I need to bury my grudge in the light of the moment—at least for now.