Page 115 of Stolen Hearts

Then something else takes hold. I jolt, my head whipping around to focus on Stavros, whose hand is on my hip. He leans close, and I stiffen, thinking he’s about to kiss me. But instead, his mouth hovers by my ear.

“Wanna come outside for a bit?” he all but yells in my ear. “I’m going to spark a joint.”

Well, that’s another terrible idea. But I’m feeling wild. And I’m still riding the high of the interview, and of being out for the first time in weeks, and—yeah. I’m a little pissed still that Castle’s only response to my interview was demanding to know where I was. Not “Wow, congratulations, Callie” or “That’s so exciting, Callie. Good for you”.

So, screw him.

You already did, girl. Twice last night and once this morning.

I flush, remembering the intoxicatingly sinful feel of him and the all-consuming way he had me twisting and writhing for him, and begging for more.

“Coming?”

What? I blink back to the present and focus on Stavros as the memory retreats. “Oh. Yeah, sure.”

Outside, I realize just how freaking hot it was inside the club. The coolish fall air is refreshing on my sweat-slicked skin as I follow Stavros around the corner to the side of the building. He pulls a joint out of his pocket and lights it, puffing gently as the tip glows.

It’s not something I do regularly. But itislegal in New York at my age, and it does usually calm the jangling live-wires of my anxiety if it ever gets really bad.

I pluck the joint from his fingers when he passes it to me, inhaling the acrid smoke. I cough a little, which make Stavros chuckle as he takes the joint back.

“You all right?”

I wheeze, laughing as I exhale. “Yeah, I’m just…a little out of practice.”

“Well, welcome back,” he grins, taking another hit and then passing it back to me.

I take a much smaller puff this time, but I can already feel the pot going straight to my head. A goofy grin spreads across my lips as I lean against the brick wall behind me.

“So, how’s your asshole fake husband?”

I swivel my gaze to Stavros. “Hey, c’mon, that’s mean.”

He shrugs. “What? He’s a fuckingdick, Callie.”

I smirk, thinking of all the texts today. “He…has his moments.”

Stavros frowns as he pulls on the joint. “I mean, I know it’s fake, and I get why. But still. That dude was a fucking prick to me that time at the bar. Like I get the image thing, but Jesus Christ.”

I shrug apologetically. “He’s just…Castle. That’s kind of his default setting.” I smile privately. “He’s actually a really good guy. The overly protective thing is just sort of—how he is. I don’t think he can help it.”

Stavros is quiet. When I glance back at him, I see his brows are knitted deeply.

“What?”

“Fucking hell, Callie,” he growls. “You’re not seriously fucking him, are you?”

Instantly, part of me wants to say yes. Hell, I want toscreamyes, to the whole fucking city. I want to stand on the top of the Empire State Building and yell that I, Calliope Drakos, am having the best sex in the history of the world with agodof a man.

But I know I can’t do that. Or, at least, that Ishouldn’tdo that.

It’s supposed to be fake. A meaningless ruse to get us all out of a jam. And I know deep down that my brothers—or Neve and Eilish, for that matter—finding out that Castle and I are…well, sharing a bit more than a luxury apartment together…would probably be a bad thing.

So instead of screaming yes and breaking into a song and dance worthy of a hit Broadway musical about how ridiculously fantastic getting fucked by Castle is, I just shake my head.

“No. Of course not,” I mumble, shrugging.

Stavros grins widely. “Well… That’s good to hear.”

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