Texting (The Complete Series

by Teagan Hunter

  He scratches at the scruff covering his jawline. “I didn’t think you were into frat boys.”

  I scoff, tossing my hair back over my shoulder. “Pfft. Frat boys are totally my thing.”

  “I don’t believe you for one minute, Zoe.”

  “Oh, really? Well then tell me, oh wise one, what is my type?”

  “Based on what I know about your past relationships, I’d wager to bet that your type is”—he waves a hand down his body—“well, me.”

  “You? You think you’re my type? Please.”

  One side of his mouth lifts. “Yep. Me.”

  “You cannot be serious right now.”

  “Oh, baby, I know I’m your type.”

  “Just because I dated one baseball player…” Caleb lifts a brow. “Fine, just because I dated a couple baseball players does not mean I have a thing for them.” His brows shoot higher and I push at his arm. “It doesn’t!”

  He chuckles at my feeble attempt to shove him. “Are you trying to bullshit me or yourself right now? Because we both know I’m right.”

  “You are not right. I’m not attracted to you.”

  “Right.” He takes a sip of his beer, that stupid smirk still on his face.

  “Fine. What if I am?”

  “Then we’re on an even playing field here.”

  “We’re flirting again, right?”

  “We’re flirting again.”

  “But that’s all it is, yes?”

  He rolls the bottom edge of his beer bottle along the table, eyes trained on me. “If that’s what you want.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  “I want whatever’s going to make you happiest, Zoe.”

  You. “Right.”

  It’s all I say—all I allow myself to say.

  Tonight’s not about Caleb and me and our unspoken rule of allowing ourselves to toe the line but not cross it. It’s about getting out of the house and having some fun.

  And that’s exactly what I intend to do.

  I bring my beer to my mouth and take a small sip, glancing down to the other end of the bar and beyond. My eyes fall to the dance floor and I can feel that familiar ache. I’m itching to get out there. I’ve always loved going to the clubs and losing myself in the music, but as I’ve mellowed out over the years, I’ve resigned myself to the tiny dance floor of Lola’s. Just like so many other nights, it’s going to have to do for the night.

  “I’m going to dance,” I announce. “Watch this for me.”

  I set my drink on the bar top, not waiting for Caleb to respond, and head out into the crowd.

  I’ve barely stepped into the sea of bodies and I can already feel the sweat forming along my neck and back. My body caves to the rhythm and I fall in step with the beat, losing myself to the sounds thrumming through the speakers.

  “Where’s your boyfriend?”

  I spin around at the familiar voice to find Tony standing at the edge of the dance floor nearest me, and I make my way over to him.

  Shrugging, I say, “He’s not much into dancing, and he’s also not my boyfriend.”

  He motions his head over to the bar. “Does he know that?”

  My eyes follow his movements and I’m surprised to find Caleb facing the crowd, a grumpy frown lining his lips.

  “Huh.”

  “Huh,” Tony mimics.

  “I swear we’re not dating. He’s my best friend’s ex-boyfriend and my roommate.”

  “Take it from me, he wishes you were dating.”

  “You think?” I ask, eyes still trained on Caleb.

  “Oh, I know.”

  “But he’s my best friend’s ex-boyfriend.”

  Tony laughs. “Quite the hang-up, huh?”

  “For me it is.”

  “Girl code?” I glance his way, surprised. He shrugs. “I have sisters.”

  “Definitely girl code.”

  “You guys will figure it out.”

  “How are you so sure?”

  “Because these things always go one of two ways: they implode, or they explode into something amazing.”

  “You’re so encouraging. Your ex doesn’t know what she’s missing.”

  He gives me a sad grin. “Tell me about it.”

  “Sorry I can’t date you, Tony. You seem like you’d be a great guy.”

  “Oh, I know I am.” He winks. “I’m going to go ahead and give you my number just in case things implode.” He slides a torn receipt with his name and number my way. “Use it, trash it, whatever—just can’t let the opportunity pass me by.”

  I grin and accept it, slipping it into my back pocket. “Thank you.”

  I give him a small wave and dance my way back into the throng of people.

  It’s not long before a set of hands lands on my hips. I don’t have to turn around to know it’s Caleb; I know his warmth, his scent.

  “I thought you didn’t dance,” I say to him over my shoulder, not halting my movements.

  He drags me back until I’m resting against him. “I don’t.”

  “Then what’s this?”

  “Swaying.”

  A slow song spills through the speakers just as I spin around, throwing my arms around his neck. “I’ll sway with you then.”

  We slowly move back and forth, somehow closing the gap between us with every step we take and never once meeting the other’s eyes. Our bodies are pressed together, and I’m hotter now than when the floor was overflowing.

  “Hey, uh, Caleb?”

  “Yep?”

  “Is that your dick poking me or your phone?”

  He presses his lips together, trying his hardest to hold in his laughter. “That would be my dick, Zoe.”

  “Oh.”

  Someone slams into me and I stumble, falling even farther into Caleb’s embrace. He wraps his strong arms around me almost instinctively. I don’t move to push away; this is exactly where I want to be right now.

  The way his body feels against mine…I can’t remember the last time something felt so good as we gently sway back and forth, even when the song changes.

  Everyone moves so fast around us, but we don’t budge. We’re stuck, and we’re not ready to let go of this moment.

  My hands move of their own accord, tracing up his neck and sliding into the hair sticking out of his baseball cap. Without thought, I reach up and spin it around, meeting his eyes for the first time since he came out here.

  “Much better.” I slide my hand back down the side of his face, fingertips grazing over the stubble he’s sporting.

  His blue eyes darken, and before I can understand what’s happening, he hauls me closer and presses his lips against mine.

  It takes me a split second to realize what we’re doing, and then suddenly I’m kissing him back feverishly.

  Caleb manages to get ahold of himself, and then his full lips move over mine in a gentle, unhurried kiss. I feel his hands slide over my ass, his brace a firm pressure against me, pulling me closer as I plunge my hands into his hair, pulling at the ends and holding his head to mine.

  There’s no tongue involved, and by all accounts, the kiss is chaste, but it feels like so much more.

  More romantic, more important.

  Just…more.

  It’s minutes later when he pulls his mouth from mine, lips brushing against me twice before creating any sort of distance between us.

  My lungs feel like they’re on fire, mouth tingling from the best kiss I’ve ever experienced. I was right about our attraction to one another; I just never thought it would feel that good, that right.

  When I finally come back down from the high, I open my eyes to see Caleb grinning at me.

  “You got a thing for my hat, huh?”

  “You’ve noticed in the two whole days we’ve spent together?”

  “I noticed before.”

  He doesn’t have to clarify that before means when he was with Delia.

  And now my chest is burning for an entirely different reason.

&
nbsp; I just kissed my best friend’s ex-boyfriend.

  I just kissed my best friend’s ex-boyfriend.

  I am the worst best friend ever.

  He leans down to catch my drifting gaze. “You okay?”

  “Yep.”

  “Zoe.”

  I arch my chin up, meeting his stare head on. “Caleb.”

  “Are you okay?”

  I feel the sting of tears in my eyes, but I blink them away.

  “I’d like to go now.”

  “Are you mad at me?”

  “No, Caleb. I’m not mad at you.”

  “Then what?”

  I step out of his arms and miss his heat the moment I do. It suddenly feels like I’m standing in the middle of the Arctic and not a dance floor swarming with bodies.

  “Can we not? Can we do this later?”

  He doesn’t push the issue. He simply nods, grabs my hand, and leads me quietly from the bar.

  What have we done?

  It’s one AM and I’m standing in front of Caleb’s bedroom door with my pillow and blanket.

  I know he’s awake. There’s no way he’s able to sleep after the way we left things.

  Slowly, I push open his door and slip inside, careful not to make a sound. I tiptoe my way to his makeshift bed and gently lay my pillow beside his resting form.

  I stand over him, hesitating only a moment before finally settling myself next to him.

  “I was wondering if you were going to come or not.”

  I adjust myself on the pillow, scooting just an inch or so closer to him. “I’m here.”

  Caleb lifts his arm and I slide into his embrace. Rolling over onto my side, I place a small kiss on his chest.

  “I’m not sorry about kissing you.”

  “Me either,” I whisper.

  10

  Me: So…last night.

  Caleb: Last night.

  Caleb: Are you regretting it today?

  Me: No. You?

  Caleb: No.

  Caleb: But can I tell you something?

  Me: Shoot.

  Caleb: I briefly regretted it, but only because I thought you’d never talk to me again.

  Me: I was never mad at you, Caleb. I was mad at me.

  Caleb: Why? We didn’t do anything wrong, Zoe.

  Caleb: You know that, right?

  Me: Sure.

  Me: You were gone this morning.

  Caleb: I was. Little league.

  Me: I bet you look so damn cute out there.

  Caleb: I do.

  Me: Are you wearing a ball cap right now?

  Caleb: Always.

  Me: *whispers* Is it backward?

  Caleb: It is.

  Me: I think I need to change my panties.

  Caleb: I will NOT flirt with you while I’m at practice.

  Me: And how many times did you have to repeat that to yourself?

  Caleb: Enough.

  Me: Wait, how’d you get there?

  Caleb: I took the bus.

  Me: CALEB! You could have asked me to give you a ride. Is that what you’ve been doing since you moved in?

  Caleb: Mostly. Sometimes I’ll catch a ride with a friend.

  Me: WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME THIS? I would have given you rides!

  Me: Seriously, I cannot believe you right now.

  Caleb: I didn’t want to be a bother. It’s not a big deal.

  Me: Is practice over yet?

  Caleb: No, we still have about fifteen minutes.

  Me: Are you at Cattleman’s Field?

  Caleb: Yes…

  Caleb: Zoe?

  Caleb: Hello? Zoe? What are you doing?

  Caleb Mills is hot.

  Caleb Mills in a baseball cap? Hotter.

  Caleb Mills coaching baseball? Holy shit, hold my panties.

  Sitting in my car like a creeper, I watch as he stands before the team, hands on his hips and grin across his face. There’s no denying that he loves the game, no disputing his complete commitment to it.

  Watching him in his element is magical.

  I pop open the door and casually make my way over to the bleachers, grabbing a seat closer to the action. Caleb’s still giving the team a talk, and they’re listening with rapt attention.

  I get it, kids. I get it.

  “…and I’ll see you all on Wednesday. Have a good weekend.”

  A little girl runs up to Caleb. “Mr. C! Mr. C!” She jumps around excitedly.

  He goes down on his haunches. “What’s up?”

  Their conversation is just out of earshot, but I love the way her face lights up when he agrees to whatever she’s asked.

  He helps the kids gather their things and shakes hands with a few parents before making his way over to the bleachers and taking a seat next to me.

  “You didn’t have to come out here, you know. I could have taken the bus.”

  “And miss seeing you in action?” I bump his shoulder with mine. “No way.”

  “Well you missed me almost getting whacked in the face by a flying bat because I was texting you.”

  “Shut up!”

  “So serious. It came this close”—he pinches his fingers together—“to hitting me right in the dome.”

  “Little league sounds dangerous.”

  “I see your lips twitching.”

  My smile breaks through. “Sorry.”

  “Not sorry, right?”

  “Guilty.”

  I rest my arms on my knees and glance out at the empty field. It looks damn near brand new, and I know that’s all thanks to his college team.

  “The field looks great. Your fundraiser last year must have raised a ton of money for this.”

  “Hell yeah it did. We brought in over $200k. Totally worth having to go on a date with that handsy seventy-year-old broad.”

  “Handsy, huh?”

  “If it wasn’t for charity, I’d have pushed myself out of that limo while it was barreling down the highway. My ass has never been touched so many times in one night before.”

  I laugh at the look of horror on his face. “Oh, come on, admit that you liked it just a little bit.”

  He shakes his head at me. “I’m not dignifying that with a response.”

  I bump his shoulder again. “I’m just giving you shit. Well, kind of—I do think you liked it.”

  “I liked it about as much as I like you right now.”

  “See!” I point his way. “You did like it.”

  He puffs out an irritated sigh. “You just never stop, huh?”

  “That would be boring.”

  I glance back out at the field, smiling. He’s not irritated with me, not at all. He loves the banter and endless amusement I provide—I can tell by the way his body moves closer to mine, by the constant tilt to his lips.

  “You play any sports when you were younger? Or have you always been attached to that paintbrush and easel?”

  “I use more than a paintbrush, but yes, I’ve always been attached to my art. I’ve never even so much as played catch before.”

  He spins my way, mouth dropped open in shock. “You’re kidding?”

  “I’m not.”

  Grabbing the glove he’d dropped on the bench beside him, he stands and extends his hand my way. “Let’s go. We’re playing catch. You have to play catch at least once in your life or you haven’t lived a full life. Trust me on this.”

  I slip my hand into his and follow him over to his overflowing equipment bag.

  “Pick a glove,” he tells me.

  “Any glove?”

  “Yep. Just put it on and see if it fits. Make sure it feels right.”

  “How will I know if it feels right?”

  “You’ll just know.”

  I go through three gloves before I find one that feels comfortable.

  “Good?” he asks.

  “Yep. Good.”

  “Okay, now step out about 15 yards. We’ll start there.”

  “Uh…yards?”

  He chuckles. “Just keep wal
king until I tell you to stop.”

  I walk a few feet and glance back at him. “Here?”

  “Keep going…there’s good. Now, do me a favor and don’t judge me for my bad throwing, okay? I don’t even think I should really be doing this yet.”

  “We don’t have to, Caleb.”

  Even with the distance, I can see him glower at me. “No, we’re doing it. I’ll just ice my hand later.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yep. Now toss me the ball.”

  I follow the instructions he gives me then we’re off to the races. I’m playing catch—rather badly I might add—for the first time in my entire life. It’s kind of cool.

  “How is it you’ve never played catch before?”

  “I think it’s a combination of two things: I’m a girl, and I spent some of my prime catch-playing years bouncing from home to home.” I just barely catch the ball Caleb throws my way before lobbing it back at him. I cringe when he has to head far right to catch it before it hits the ground…again. “By the time I settled in with Sofia and Rafe, I was too invested in my art to pursue sports. They never pushed it either because they aren’t sports people themselves, or at least they used to not be. Now they play a lot of golf.”

  “I guess those are valid reasons. What were you like in high school? What did you do for fun if you didn’t play sports?”

  “Boys.”

  This time he misses my first near-perfect throw out of shock.

  “Zoe.”

  “What?” I shrug. “It’s true. I had a new boyfriend every couple months my first two years.”

  “Just the first two years?”

  Even though so much time has passed, I still feel the tiniest of tugs at my heart thinking about my high school boyfriend.

  “Yep. I had a steady boyfriend the last two years.”

  “You guys split because of college?”

  “More like split because he couldn’t keep his dick to himself. He ended up getting my ex-best friend pregnant the end of senior year. Last I heard they got married after the baby was born and were divorced six months later.”