“So you’re allowed to shack up with fucking Picasso, but I’m not allowed to date?”
“Are you mad? You know Mark’s married.”
“Well, it didn’t stop you, did it?”
“To a man.” I slam my bedroom door in his face and curl up into a ball, facing the wall. The tears won’t stop flooding out of me as my shoulder and chest shudders.
A few minutes later, the door creaks open. I freeze, not wanting him to see or hear me cry. He lifts the duvet and the mattress dips as he climbs into the bed.
A hand curls around my stomach, and he holds my hand that’s tight against my chest.
“I didn’t fuck her,” he whispers.
“Liar.” My voice is weak, and my throat is scratchy.
“I didn’t even kiss her.” His warm breath finds the back of my neck as he speaks against my hair.
“I don’t care.”
“I know you do, Steph.”
His thumb strokes the back of my hand, causing a wave of goosebumps to travel up my arm. He would always tickle my skin. That’s all he had to do to get me to melt for him. Is that what he’s doing now? He squeezes me tight against his hard chest. Warmth radiates from him like an electric blanket, and I heat up next to him.
“I went to Dean’s. I didn’t even go on a date.”
I turn my body, shuffling until I’m fully rotated to face him. His hand strokes my back. I lift my head inline with his and brush his nose with mine. “Kiss me,” I beg.
“You’re wasted.”
“So, it’s never stopped you before.”
“I’m not kissing you in this state.”
“Just because I’ve had a drink doesn’t mean I don’t know what I want. I want you. I’ve always wanted you, Cal. Kiss me, please.”
“No, Steph. I won’t.”
“Well, if you’re not going to kiss me, then get out of my bed.” I push against his solid chest, but he holds me close.
I throw the duvet off and wriggle from his grasp and storm out of the bedroom. My feet stomp downstairs, my body craving another drink, hoping I can drink myself to sleep. The oxygen in the air grows thin, and the pounding in my head doesn’t help the haziness clear.
Walking into the kitchen, I spot the remains of wine in a bottle. Deciding to finish it, I pour it into a glass.
Cal walks into the kitchen with his jeans on, but still shirtless. My heart pounds, matching the rhythm in my head. I lift the glass to my lips, but Cal snatches it from my hand and tips it into the sink.
“I think you’ve had enough, don’t you?”
My mouth gapes. “Clearly not because I’m still awake.”
I reach for the bottle, but he snatches that too before I can get a hold of it.
“I hate you.”
He huffs. “You weren’t saying that a minute ago when you were begging me to kiss you.”
“I only fancied a shag. What’s wrong with you? Can’t you get it up these days?”
“Oh, I can get it up for someone who actually turns me on.”