by Stella Rhys
We were twenty years old and so fiercely in love.
So we’d decided to get tattoos of each other’s names on our bodies. Mine on his, his on mine, both in the same spot. They warned me how it would hurt but I liked that it was the rib right next to my heart, so they started. And ten seconds into the needle on bone, I passed right out. Embarrassingly enough, the pain was too excruciating for me to get past the letter “C.” So Callum left his at just “L,” but not without teasing me. When I said I’d have it finished someday, he laughed and said he didn’t believe me. So I made the promise that on my next birthday, I’d have the tattoo completed. “Yeah? No matter how much it hurts?”
“No matter what happens. Even if I lose consciousness.”
He laughed. “That’s crazy. But I dare you to do it.”
“I know. And I accept.” It was appropriate. My love for him was crazy and his love for me was the same. So I swore I would do it and he followed suit.
I’d already disappeared from New York by the time I turned twenty-one but at a parlor near Richmond, despite the fact that Callum had no clue where I was, I’d gotten the remaining five letters inked. They hurt like hell so I felt a sense of pride as his fingers traced them now. C-A-L-L-U-M. Every letter burned into me forever, just like the scar on my hip. The only difference was that this scar had been a choice. The balance represented us well. Neither Callum nor I chose each other. We were thrust into one another’s lives. But we loved each other so hand in hand, we chose to fight every hurtle flung our way. We’d been apart for awhile by the time I had my tattoo finished but I’d sat through it convinced that it was part of my fight to stay close to him – to prove to myself that when it was safe, I’d return to him.
“You really did it.”
“I promised I would,” I murmured as he touched the letters. I felt so damned satisfied about the disbelief in his eyes that I forgot about his end of the promise. Suddenly, I backed away. Callum gave a quizzical look but I stared into him. “Let me see yours.”
Standing straight, his lips became a hard line.
“Take your shirt off, Callum.” I shook my head at him because I already knew. “Let me see,” I demanded, the words barely escaping my tight throat. “At least let me fucking see,” I pleaded angrily, the tears coming back.
He finally obliged. And naked before him, I did my best not to sob. But as he shrugged off his jacket and undid his shirt, I saw the body he’d built while I was gone. I saw his carved chest and the lines of his abs a hundred times deeper than the last time I’d seen them. He looked so distinctly different and so strikingly beautiful it hurt. Ink coiled and lashed over his smooth skin, curling around his thick biceps and forearms. It was completely unfamiliar. Once upon a time, I’d been the only tattoo on his body.
“Lift your arm, Callum.” My voice trembled hard. I hated how it sounded, hated that it would only sound worse once I confirmed it. The tears spilled when I did.
While I’d turned the “C” on my rib to his full name, he’d had my “L” covered up completely. Turned it into a set of Roman numerals to effectively erase me. Eradicate any signs of me from his body. I proudly had the scar on my hip, the tattoo on my rib. Callum had nothing and he had nothing for me as I cried in front of him. For once, he was able to stand there, firmly unaffected by my despair. The back of my wrist tried shutting up the pathetic sounds coming out of my mouth. But it failed. It wasn’t just the ink now, it was everything – every hurt and ache and fruitless fight of the past six years hurling at me like rocks. The pain of the needle all those years ago was nothing compared to what I felt now.
“Lake,” Callum finally started but I didn’t want to hear it.
“I need to go to sleep,” I exhaled fast.
I was sinking into that quicksand again, returning to that dark place where it was true – where I was worthless. A burden and a curse who loved people more than they ever loved me. As I followed Callum to my room, I tried to tell myself to sleep it off. That I was fine and I somehow had the strength in my fractured heart to do this – to stay not just in New York but in the home of the man who’d gladly forgotten me when I only lived because of his memory.
Chapter Seven
Callum
Heads up Theo’s looking for her.
Logan’s 7AM text made for a sufficiently rude awakening. I’d fallen asleep just a half hour before, having tossed and turned all night like a restless grab bag of guilt, fury and irritation. I hated seeing her cry. I hated that I was the reason for her tears. I loathed myself for being an unfeeling prick yet I indulged myself in jerking off to the memory of how she stripped down naked for me. From head to toe, Lake was the most beautiful thing I’d ever laid eyes on and I couldn’t stop wondering who’d been lucky enough to touch her in the years she was gone. I wondered if he had treated her right and I knew that whatever job he’d done with pleasing her, I could’ve done it a thousand times better. It took hours for my blood to stop rushing, for my cock and my mind to come down enough to get some rest.
But then Logan’s text came and I was wide-awake and seething. I jumped out of bed, suddenly compelled to make sure Lake was still safely tucked in her bed in my guest room. My heart jumped damned near out of my chest when I opened the door to see her bed empty. But then I heard the water running downstairs in the kitchen.
I found Lake there in the T-shirt I’d given her to sleep in. I watched from the top of the stairs as she stood before my glass-front fridge, staring at the contents that I had neatly lined up like inanimate soldiers. She kept grabbing the handle of the door only to let it go, over and over without opening the fridge though I knew she was desperate to eat. She used to bounce on her toes and sigh when she was hungry. Apparently, she still did.
“You’re kidding me, right?” I finally asked, making her jump. She spun around and looked all over before finding me at the top of the steps. Her morning hair was so fucking sexy it was annoying.
“What?”
I got down there and started the espresso machine. “Take what you want. Since when were you apologetic about that?”
Falling quiet, she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I don’t live here, Callum. This isn’t my home. My grandma and your mother raised me so I do know what manners are and I’m pretty sure you don’t just go taking things that aren’t yours.”
“That’s rich coming from you.”
Her shoulders slumped. I expected her to retort with something smart but she said nothing. I was almost disappointed.
“Lake. I’m giving you permission to eat whatever you want in my kitchen.”
“Thank you.”
The quiet relief with which she spun around and opened my fridge actually depressed me. Drinking my coffee, I watched, predicting she’d go straight for the Fage. She did. Peeled it and gave one clean lick of the yogurt stuck to the top before tossing the wrapper in the trash. Some things never change.
“What?” She frowned when I smirked.
I ignored her question. I grabbed my coffee then slid a spoon across the table. “To counter what you said before, you do live here.”
“Right. But it’s not my home.”
“And why do you say that.”
She paused, looking at me with true confusion. “I… don’t pay rent here?”
“Neither do I. I own.”
She rolled her eyes. “That’s great, Callum, and not my point. I mean I live here in the same way I’d live in a hotel on vacation. I would be staying there, it would be my home base for that time, but it wouldn’t be my home. The same way this is not my home.”
I laughed without smiling. “So you have intentions of leaving.” I took a drink. “Again.”
She was instantly defensive. “No, I – ”
“If you’re not going anywhere else, you’re not living with anyone else. I’m the closest person to you in this city and this is as permanent of a situation as you’re going to have. You’re moving in and you’ll be living with me. Unless you have other
She didn’t answer right away, playing with the neck of her T-shirt. Rather, my T-shirt. My favorite one that she was actively stretching the collar of but I let her do it. “Yes,” she finally muttered. “More than anything.”
“Then it’s settled,” I said. She nodded but sucked in her bottom lip, which meant she was being quiet about something. I rolled my eyes. “Lake, whatever you’re thinking, just say it, for Christ’s sake.”
She exhaled hard and put her food down. “Fine. What is this?”
“Yogurt.”
“Not that, Callum.” I laughed inwardly, taking too much pleasure in the way her voice sounded between her gritted teeth. “This. Me living here. This being my home. We have a history I can’t exactly put into words but I would go as far as to say that we were romantic so, what, are we together right now? Am I going to be sleeping in that room and listening to you bring other girls home and fuck them down the hall from me or are we trying to do something here? The two of us?”
I took a moment, soaking in the sudden heat that flushed her gorgeous face. I hadn’t expected for her to snap back as quickly and truthfully as she did but I liked it. It was the Lake I knew and it made me want to grab her and suck her bottom lip into my mouth. It also made me wish I had some sort of clean-cut answer for her. But there was none. “I hadn’t put much planning into that aspect.”
She shot daggers. “Christ, Callum, talk to me like I’m a person, not a business pitch. I know you grew up and got all fancy while I was gone but I’m still me. I do recall proving that to you yesterday.”
I glared but otherwise didn’t show my irritation at her accusing tone. “I answered you as truthfully as I could, Lake,” I replied. “Plain and simple, I didn’t think about it. What I thought about was making sure you had a good, comfortable place to stay. I thought about what a piece of shit I felt like for making you cry. I thought about how fucking beautiful you were and how much I missed every inch of you. That it was probably pointless for me to try and ignore you or resist you.” I took a sick satisfaction in how instantly quiet she went, how she shrunk back when I stepped forward. I spoke slowly, evenly, watching my every word sink into her skin. “Trust me. I’m still pissed at you. I still hate with all my heart that you’re keeping these secrets about why you left and where you went. But it’s physically impossible for me not to care about you when I know you’re back and close enough to me that I can touch you if I want, so this is where we’re at, Lake. You’re living here, I know you’re safe, I know you’re provided for and I’m ‘actively trying’ like you asked me to. I’m trying to get us back to us but I don’t know exactly how that works and unless I’m mistaken, neither do you, so I’d venture a guess and say that this is called taking it a day at a time.”
Lake’s mouth snapped shut halfway through my answer and pursed tight. Now it curled just the slightest at me. She swallowed what looked like a bit of pride. It got me strangely hard. “Fine.”
I crinkled my brow. “Is it fine?”
“Yes, Callum, it’s fine,” Lake enunciated. She finally took her spoon and started at her breakfast. It was silent for a good minute as she avoided my stare. “Stop looking at me,” she finally said.
“I’m making up for lost time.”
“Okay, you can’t do that every day,” she pointed her spoon at me and the corners of her lips quivered as we straddled the line of a light or tense moment. I cracked a smile and she let out a laugh filled with relief. “Callum! You cannot guilt me every day. Please. That’s not fair.”
“It actually seems pretty fair to me.”
“No. Stop it.” She stared decidedly back into her yogurt. “Stop looking at me.”
“Fine. But I think it’s time for me to remind you that you once bet I’d never buy my own penthouse.” I grinned as Lake lifted her head slowly. Something about the doe-eyed look she gave me revived my morning wood from zero to sixty. Or rather, forty to sixty. “If I’m not allowed to guilt you, maybe I’ll take you up on those infinite dares. You know. Just to get out my aggression.”
“That would be dangerous, Callum.”
“We’ve always been into that.” She bit back her dirty smile and suddenly that need to suck her lip was painfully strong. “Like you said, Lake. Let’s play the game.”
“Well, it’s my turn.”
“I don’t think you get one anymore.”
“Oh God.” She groaned up at the ceiling but I could see her sexy mouth curving up with amusement. “Fine. Dare.”
“I haven’t thought of a good one yet,” I smirked as my phone rang. “What’s up, Oz.”
“How’s the hand!” The volume of his voice assaulted my eardrums. I looked down at my hand.
“Forgot about it till now.” I’d been happy to bruise my knuckles on Nick’s jaw all night till he called Lake a whore, at which point I stupidly went for a mouth shot. He stayed on the floor after that one, which was probably better if he was interested in looking for his teeth, but it wasn’t the greatest move on my part in terms of keeping my skin in tact. “It’s fine,” I said, assessing the damage. Not my worst.
“Good. We need your handsome whisky grip camera-ready tonight.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Just got a call from the Times. They’re sending a photographer to The Pike tonight. They want some pictures of us for the article. Dressed nice with friends, they said. Laughing, drinking, having a grand old time. I’m sure we can give them at least an hour of sober smiles.”
“I can swing that. I have my doubts about you.”
“Eh, if I’m going to put on a suit and act sober for anyone I figure it’ll be for them.”
“Good to hear.” It was a big opportunity for us. The Times’ magazine was set to run an article on Oz, myself and Pike Scotch. One of their writers had reached out after attending a tasting. They wanted a story behind the company and the two hundred-year-old distillery I’d renovated with Oz. It was the type of mainstream exposure that could turn a brand into a staple and I was hell-bent on making sure it went perfectly.
“What’s up?” Lake asked when I hung up the phone.
“There’s a thing tonight.”
“Vague.”
“At The Pike. You don’t know what that is because you’ve been gone for six years.”
“Again with the guilting.”
I smirked. “I’m going to need you to wear a nice dress.”
“I don’t have one that isn’t covered in tequila and Nick Spencer drool.”
I winced as I finished my coffee. “There are solutions to that. Once you’re done with breakfast, I’ll be taking you shopping.”
She lifted her eyebrows with surprise. “You always hated shopping.”
“I always hated finding what I needed and then waiting four hours for you and my mother to. That’s not the kind of shopping we’re going to be doing today.”
“No?”
“No.” My eyes slid up her body as she leaned forward on the counter. Whatever look I had on my face made her grin. “I have a feeling today’s going to be a lot more fun for me.”
Chapter Eight
Lake
I was a ball of tension by the time we arrived at his lounge in the evening. I wasn’t sure if Callum had picked out an exceptionally tight dress or if I couldn’t breathe because I was still wound up from our afternoon together. Somehow, shopping with him had turned into six years’ worth of foreplay without the sex and I was in such need by the time I walked into The Pike that the blast of air conditioning felt erotic against my skin.
No one was there yet except Oz, whose eyebrows ascended halfway to his hairline when he saw me. “Callum dressed you,” he declared.
I laughed as Callum grinned and said, “He knows me well.”
Judging from the décor of the lounge and the dress he’d picked for my body, Callum had developed a distinct aesthetic. Bronze and hazel tones glowing throughout a room of dark brown leather and redwood. I matched, carrying a suede clutch and wearing a golden-bronze mini dress with long sleeves and a short skirt. It was one of many pieces I’d picked at the store on Madison that required an appointment to enter. They were booked but all Callum needed was to pass by the window before the doors were thrown wide open by a living Ken doll named Tucker.
“Bless you, Callum, you finally brought me a girl to dress,” he gasped. And it was over from there. I had a flute of champagne thrust in my hand before Tucker waltzed me around the showroom, plucking hangers off the wall and bemoaning the fact that Callum spent so long being so annoyingly single because he had so many great dresses to match all his beautiful ties.
“Now, that – that would look unbelievable on your skin tone,” Tucker said, stopping us mid-skip when he spotted Callum holding a dress across the room. It was the golden-bronze one, the same color of my deepest tan. I used to get to that shade back when we spent whole summers in the Hamptons. Maybe Callum remembered. “You have to try that on immediately,” Tucker decided, dropping his armful of dresses onto a chaise.
“It looks a little… small?”
“I will shove every gorgeous curve of yours into that thing. They don’t call me Tucker for nothing.”
I laughed like it was a joke but he totally did. At the same time, Callum tried on shirts in the fitting room across from mine. But he ripped his curtain aside the second he heard mine open. I stopped breathing. He looked like a prince in his crisp, white shirt and he looked at me in a way that snatched the air out of my throat.
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