by Skyla Madi
How is your day going?
It said, making my tummy flip. It was a simple question, but the way it affected me...it was unlike anything I’d ever experienced.
Fine. Thank you. :-) How’s your day?
C.
He took a while to respond. Forty minutes, exactly. And his response?
Fine.
Followed by a smiley face ten minutes later. I smiled a big, wide, and stupid smile. It felt nice knowing someone stopped midway through their day to spare a thought for me. It might have crossed my mind, after his text, that maybe we were developing something a little more meaningful than a sexual relationship. Even though we are yet to have sex, the relationship remains on a carnal level and although we haven’t known each other for long, there’s no denying our attraction.
My thoughts carry me all the way to the door. The intense air in the room slips underneath the crack and clings to my skin. I inhale, pulling in all the confidence I can muster.
What’s the worst that can happen?
Without hesitation, I grab the handle and pull the door open.
My stare instantly sticks to him as he sits against the edge of the thick, oak desk, his large hands firmly gripping the edge. I clear my throat as I drag my gaze up his black slacks and over his steel gray button up shirt. He’s rolled the sleeves up to his elbows, exposing his magnificent forearms.
“You’re on time.” He points out, pulling my attention to his face.
His hair is damp and unkempt and its strands gleam in the bright, white light above. I nod, instinctively pressing my hand to my belly for comfort. How does he do that? How does he affect me so intensely?
I glance away from him to take a breather. The room is exactly how we left it, but unlike last time, there are no Bibles on the small table in the middle of the room.
“We’re not reading today?” I ask.
I pick up on the nervous tone in my voice immediately and I hate it.
“No.”
I watch, confused, as Caleb pushes off of the desk and saunters around to the other side of it. He smiles at me and my cheeks burn as he pulls open a heavy drawer and reaches inside. I push onto my tiptoes, but I can’t see over the desk.
“Shut the door.” He says and I step forward, slamming the door shut behind me.
Thin glass clinks together as Caleb pulls out two tiny cups. They aren’t just any cups. They were shot glass…and shot glasses equate to—
“Shots?” I blurt out, stepping forward. “You want to drink? Are you insane?”
“A little, yeah.”
Out comes the bottle of golden liquid encased in glass and wrapped in a pretty, silver sticker. I cross the room, moving cautiously. I want to get closer to him, but further away from the bottle. I’ve never had alcohol before. The thought of drinking it makes me uneasy.
“You don’t like whiskey?” Caleb asks, closing the drawer.
“I…” I flick my tongue over my teeth. “I’m not much of a drinker.”
How would he react if I told him I’ve never had a drink? Would he make me drink more or less? Would he forgo his outrageous plan, whatever it may be, altogether? Either way, I don’t want to be that girl—the girl he has less fun with. Oh, God. I bet that’s what Fiona meant by having daddy issues.
Caleb smiles wickedly as he tosses a shot glass to me. I whip my hands up and only just manage to catch it.
“All the more fun we’ll have.” He states, leaving the desk and crossing the room.
I follow him over to the table in the middle. Warmth rushes over my body at the thought of the last time we sat here. It feels like a lifetime ago.
Caleb drops into a chair and cracks open the lid to the whiskey. As he tilts the bottle over his shot glass, he pauses, flicking his mossy, green eyes to me. Air is sucked from my lungs as he locks me in place.
“You seem a little…tense.” He points out, his stare flicking to my chest. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
I try to relax my body, but, judging by the amused smirk that creeps across his lips, I’m making it worse.
“You’ve never touched alcohol, have you?”
I tilt my nose up, a little offended he’d make such an accurate assumption. “What makes you say that?”
He kicks the leg of the chair beside him and the chair shoots out. “Sit.”
I do as I’m told, moving smoothly to hide the nervousness that seeps through my bones. When I’m seated, he pushes out from the desk and opens his legs. Chuckling under his breath, he grabs the edge of my chair and gives it a rough tug, turning my chair and pulling me between his legs. His firm, strong thighs rest on either side of mine and I can’t help but squeeze my legs together as a surge of arousal floods my body, pooling in a place that is now conveniently equipped for naughty activities.
Caleb leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He’s close, so close I can taste his sweet cologne at the back of my throat.
“I’ll take real good care of you, Cass.” He promises in a tone that is too charming for me to handle. “You’re safe with me.”
His thumb slips onto my thigh and all of my senses zero in on it. My lips part as his warm flesh caresses mine. Funnily enough, given Caleb’s extreme sexual presence, I feel safe.
“We’re going to play a game.” He states, removing his thumb from my thigh as he sits back.
Disappointment flutters over me. I’ll do whatever it takes to get him touching me again.
“What game?”
“Never Have I Ever. I watched a bunch of people play it at a party once. It’s a stupid game, but it helps build connection...and trust.”
“Trust?”
He grabs the bottle of booze and fills the cup. His hands and wrists move naturally, like he’s poured this bottle a million and one times before.
“Trust.”
I swallow. “Never have I ever doesn’t build trust. It’s a loophole people use at parties to get to know another person’s sexual experience without being upfront about it. If there’s anything you want to know about me, all you have to do is ask. I won’t lie to you.”
His jaw tightens. “A game with general questions has no restrictions and opens the floor up to—”
“Mutual trust.”
Caleb looks at me, his eyes as black as obsidian. What is he so afraid of? What can he possibly carry on his shoulders that could make him hate himself so much? He keeps everyone at a distance. I don’t understand it. We could be amazing if he just let me in. Instead, he wants casual sex, a fiery passion that’ll burn out in due time. I’m not sure that’s enough for me anymore. To be honest, I’m tired of being alone…I’m tired of no one giving a shit about me. Caleb texted me today out of nowhere and that’s put him in a whole new light.
He cares. I know he does.
Caleb grabs his shot glass and downs it like water.
“I just want to play a friendly game, Cassia.” He says as he pours himself another drink.
“And I want more than that.” I cross my arms over my chest to keep my heart from beating its way out. “I’m tired of your games. Show me you.”
Caleb taps his thick finger against the side of his shot glass, avoiding my eyes. A small amount of liquid spills over the edge of his cup and drips over his fingernail. Exhaling, he picks up his shot glass, tips it down his throat and swallows.
“Fine.” He forces through gritted teeth, slamming his shot glass against the table.
My face smooths out and I straighten my spine from the slump I didn’t know I had it in. “Really?”
Caleb looks me dead in the eyes, his handsome face suddenly filled with overwhelming emotion and an intensity I’ve never seen on him before. He breathes hard, his nostrils flaring slightly. Is he panicking?
“I’m trusting you, Cassia. All right?”
I lean forward in my chair a little, lowering my hands to my thighs. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to…”
He nudges my shot glass closer to me whil
e he pours himself another. “Taste it.”
I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth as I grab the shot and bring it to my lips. I make a strange noise in the base of my throat as its fumes enter my nostrils.
It can’t possibly be too bad, right? I mean, everyone seems to love alcohol. Why does it smell so horrid?
One...
I lick my lips.
Two...
I swallow the saliva that pools on my tongue.
Three.
I open my mouth and throw the whiskey in. It splashes against my tongue and it doesn’t taste too bad...for like, half a second. I clench my teeth shut, squeezing my jaw as a disgusting shiver ripples up my spine. When I’ve swallowed it, I part my lips and hiss through clenched teeth all while Caleb laughs from his seat.
“I would have sipped at it first, but good on you for taking the whole shot.”
He chuckles.
I thought I read somewhere whiskey is supposed to be smooth? I cough, covering my mouth with my hand. “Water?”
He shakes his head and reaches for his back pocket. He plucks out a packet of gum and hands me a piece. I take it. It won’t ease the burning in my throat, but it will take the taste out of my mouth.
Caleb settles back in his seat, resting his arm on the table. “Do you want to start, or should I?”
He tenses his right leg, the muscle pressing firmly against mine. He bounces his legs a little, apparently nervous.
“Did you finish high school?” I ask, starting with something easy.
Visibly, his anxiety eases back. Did he think I was going to ask him deeply personal questions right off the bat?
“Yes.” He answers simply. “My turn?”
I nod.
“How many boyfriends have you had?”
Easy enough. “Three. All in high school.”
“What were their names?”
I scoff. “It’s my turn.”
“It’s a two part question.”
“A two part question? That’s not how this game works.”
He waits, patiently, sitting with a strong posture—a posture that tells me he’s not moving on until I answer. Defeated, I exhale.
“Jesse, Ryan, and Luke.”
Caleb opens his mouth, but it’s not his turn.
“No! I get to ask a question now.”
“Mine is a three part question.”
I laugh and he smiles. It’s a genuine smile, one that shows his perfect straight, white teeth and makes my heart flutter.
“You can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I know you. You’ll keep going, expanding your question into endless parts so you don’t have to answer any of mine.”
Smirking, he pours another shot. He pours me one too, even though I shake my head.
“Two parts.” I say. “Do you have a job? If yes, what do you do?”
I don’t know much about Caleb. I’m curious if he spends most of his time around the church or if he makes his own living away from its Caen Limestone walls.
“Yes. Construction.”
“Bullshit.”
I pull the gum from my mouth and grab my shot. Though it tastes terrible, I like the warmth this whiskey is coating my stomach with. I like the weightlessness it’s promising to bring me.
“It’s true.”
I pour the whiskey into my mouth and swallow with a groan, clenching my teeth. The burn doesn’t linger as long as it did the first time and I lick the inside of my mouth before putting the minty gum back in.
“But you’re so pretty.” I point out, chewing.
He frowns, smiling playfully. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“Your skin is perfect, hardly sun damaged, your face is always clean shaven, and, your hands aren’t calloused or cracked...”
“I look after myself.” He shrugs as he shifts in his chair. “My turn.”
I’m on pins and needles. He sits forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. His stare is dark and possessive, filling me with anxiety as he makes me wait in anticipation for his next question.
“Since receiving your new phone, have you tried to get into contact with Thomas?”
I take note of the way he purses his lips, his face darkening with disapproval before I’ve even answered his question. Why does he want to know so bad? Does he think he should be the only male I speak to? Does he want to be?
“What’s with all the boy questions?” I ask, leaning closer.
I want to be closer to him. Close enough to slip into his bubble.
“You can’t answer a question with a question.”
His arresting aura emits a strong vibe of eagerness and...jealousy?
“Why?” I thin my eyelids, unable to hide the smug smirk that tugs at my lip. “Are you jealous?”
He licks his lower lip, his dark eyes flicking to my mouth and back. “I think that’s the understatement of the century.”
I swallow the piece of gum as my pulse hits overdrive, my skin prickling all over.
“No…” I murmur. “I haven’t even thought about contacting Thomas.”
His concentrated expression morphs into something that resembles relief. Whatever it is, it’d be extremely sexy if his gaze wasn’t so unreadable.
“Your turn.”
If there’s something I regret more than anything else in my life, it’s my next question.
“Do you miss your sister?”
The question is out of my mouth before I have the chance to register it. My lips part. I don’t even know why I asked it. It just came out. It flew out of my mouth and hit him right in the heart. Physical pain flashes over his features and pools in his eyes. Caleb withdraws from me, leaning back in his chair. He avoids my eyes as his jaw ticks and he taps his shot glass against the table.
Heat spreads under my skin—an anxious heat I don’t like. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“I tune it out as best I can...but sometimes she slips through.” He mutters and then takes his shot. He swallows. “And in those moments, the stab of sorrow and loss is almost unbearable.”
I sit, silently, as he pours himself another drink. My heart hurts. It squeezes and expands until my ribs ache with the pressure. Why the fuck did I open my mouth?
An eternity later, his troubled eyes flick to mine and he traps me in his gaze. In it, I fall into the bottomless pit of remorse and regret.
“Is your next question about my mother?” He asks, tipping his head. “How I felt when I found her sitting in a pool of her own blood in the kitchen?”
“N...No. I...” I shake my head. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Because I miss her, too.”
I flinch, unable to stop a thin layer of tears from welling in my eyes. “Caleb…”
“I’m done with this game.” He clears his throat and I pull my chair back as he stands up, grabs the empty shot glasses and the bottle, and saunters across the room. I watch, a heavy bout of guilt swirling in my stomach, as he exchanges the objects for two Bibles. As he crosses back over to me, he tosses one of them onto the table.
“Page one-six-eight.” He demands.
Guilt weighs heavily in my stomach, like a rock on a lily pad and I do as I’m told.
*Caleb*
I feel like I’ve swallowed glass. It cuts through my stomach lining and punctures my heart. This is the reason I didn’t want to play this game. It’s the reason I originally chose a game that doesn’t require straight answers. I want to get to know her, to build trust between us, but there are limitations. There are places I don’t want to go, thoughts I don’t want to think. I trusted her…I trusted her to make me feel something—something other than that. I’m not ready to feel the pain that comes with Penelope or Mom and I’m not ready to talk about it.
I’ll never be ready.
And I’m okay with that.
“…but His hands make whole.” Cassia says, finishing the sentence.
I glance up from my Bible and she’s looking a
t me again. This time a little more exasperated than sympathetic. Good. She is the last person that is allowed to feel sorry for me.
“Is there a problem?” I ask and her eyes thin at the tenor of my cold voice.
Cassia swipes at her long, wavy hair, exposing her high cheekbones. “How many more of these are you going to make me read?”
“Until I tell you to stop.”
I look down at my Bible and flick through some pages, stopping at one of my favorite quotes. I tell her to read it, but she refuses.
“I’m done reading.” She says, dropping her Bible against the table, shoving it across the lacquered surface.
It slides quickly and drops off the other side, hitting the floor with a thud. Frustration prickles over my skin. Who does she think she is?
“Pick it up.” I order, surprised my voice slips out so calmly.
“No.”
I close my Bible. “No?”
“No.” She scratches her head and bats her long lashes. “Okay, look, obviously you have some issues talking about your—”
“Pick up your Bible, Cassia.”
“For whatever reason.” She continues, her blue eyes begging for forgiveness. “And that’s okay. I will respect that, but I’m not going to sit here and let you treat me like I’ve murdered your family pet.”
I grimace. That’s fucked up.
She flashes me the palms of her hands, slowly pushing herself to her feet. Someone should tell her leggings aren’t pants—and the canvas shoes? She’s lucky it’s not raining outside.
“Okay. That was a really bad analogy, but I think you get my point.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Nothing.” She moves forward, stepping around the chair in front of her.
I tighten my jaw as she moves purposefully in my direction, her steps graceful, yet calculated.
“Nothing?” I ask, lowering my Bible. “You want nothing at all?”
“Nothing you don’t already want to give me.”
Excitement coils in my stomach, excitement that swiftly begins to trump my anguish. Who was she in the beginning? Just a girl I wanted to fuck. I seemed to have lost sight of what I truly wanted in the time we’ve spent together. How come we haven’t had sex yet? The opportunities have been endless. Why do I keep trying? Why do I keep pushing for her, when I can have anyone?