I’m crazy about you?
I don’t even know your last name?
Can we please do this again?
Footsteps thump up the stairs, and Romy gasps. I stumble back instantly, pulling myself from her and catching only a glimpse of her beautiful body before she leaps off my work table. Her foot lands square on a tube of titanium white, and the paint comes squirting out of the uncapped top. And it’s so perfect that I chuckle. I can’t help it.
“Caleb? That you, bro?” It’s Markus. Fuck.
I look at Romy, whose green eyes are wide. No. No no no. I don’t want her to look like that. Not after what just happened. “Um. Yeah, it’s me,” I call out. “I’m … busy.”
Romy’s gazing at me with this pleading look. She needs me to rescue her, but I’m dazed and stupid and don’t know how. “I’m …” I yank my t-shirt down over my jeans, feeling sticky and damp and uncoordinated as I step from my studio and wave at Markus, who’s carrying in some piece of twisted metal he must have scrounged from a junkyard. Or stolen out of someone’s garage, considering that it’s nearly ten and raining buckets. Behind me, I can hear Romy messing with her clothes. If I can get rid of Markus, I’ll have a chance to talk to her. I could make sure she’s all right. Maybe she’d help me figure out if I’m all right.
“What are you up to?” I ask Markus, striding forward to meet him before he can get any closer.
The muscles of his tattooed arms are straining as he slowly sets down the rusty piece of junk in his stall. It looks like part of a car engine. “Picked this up on the side of the road. I’m doing another welding project and this would be a great base.” He straightens up and glances over at me, then does a double take. “Are you all right?”
“What?” I look down at myself, my wet, hanging clothes. I shove my hand in my pocket. Not that he could tell where my fingers have been, but—“I was … working on something. I got inspired.”
He smiles. “Cool. Do you want to show me?”
I take a step backward. “Oh. No. Not ready to show anyone.”
He looks toward my studio and his eyes go wide. “What are you doing, Caleb?” Frowning, he shoulders past me before I can stop him, and that’s when I realize that one of my paintings is leaning against the center table, its ripped canvas hanging from the splintered frame. “Oh, man, why would you do this?” Markus asks.
I freeze, wanting to sink through the floor. As if on cue, Markus turns his head. And sees Romy in my studio. “Oh. Hi there,” he says to her.
With her arms folded over her chest, Romy steps out of my space, her cheeks full-on red. “Hey. I was, um.”
“We were …,” I say, my thoughts whirling. “We were talking about painting.”
I’ve said a lot of stupid things in my life, but that may top the list.
Markus smirks. “Yeah? Looks like an intense conversation.” He’s staring at the front of Romy’s shirt and skirt. Which are, of course, soaked, because I was on top of her a second ago. And it’s not like she looks like she’s just walked in from the rain, either. Her light blue skirt is dry on the sides but has a wet shadow right down its center, where my hips were pressed between her legs.
“I have to go,” Romy says.
“I’ll walk you out,” I say quickly. Our eyes lock. Words tumble over each other in my head, but I can’t string enough together to form a sentence.
Markus says something about letting us continue our conversation about painting, but Romy’s already headed to the door, and I trail her, fighting the urge to grab her arms and force her to look at me. She holds onto the railing as she descends the steps. I catch a glimpse of the ink on the inside of her arm and realize I never even took the time to see what it says. I don’t know the first thing about her, and I just fingered her in my studio and now she’s escaping.
It’s not like I haven’t done things like this before. I’ve had my share of casual encounters.
The thing is, this didn’t feel casual. Not to me, at least.
“Romy, wait,” I call as she disappears into the classroom. I reach the doorway as she emerges with her toolbox. She sets it down and pulls on her raincoat. “Can we … can I … are you …” I stammer.
Her hands go still on the snaps of her coat. “Are you going to be okay?” she asks.
“Me?”
Her lips pull into a gentle smile. “You were so upset earlier, and I …”
“Made me forget about it,” I say. Nearly made me forget my own name. “It’s no big deal. I’m fine.”
She chuckles and pulls her hood up. “It wasn’t the way I expected it to go, but I’m glad I … made you feel better.” We stare at each other for a moment, and then both of us start to laugh. She comes to her senses first. “I guess I’ll see you later.” She picks up her toolbox and turns to the door.
“Wait. I—can I …” I trail off. I want to ask for her number, but what if she thinks all I’m interested in is a booty call?
She blinks up at me. “I’ll probably see you in class on Tuesday, right?”
I nod, trying to figure out the right thing to say. I’m still working on it as she gives me a quick wave and heads out into the rain, leaving me standing in the entryway. Alone.
Chapter Eleven
Romy
I lie awake, staring at my ceiling. In all my life, I’ve never done anything so crazy and wild. I’ve never turned my brain off and focused so entirely on physical pleasure. But now I can’t turn my brain off. Caleb … Caleb. He seemed to know exactly what to do and how to move. He made me feel safe, didn’t have to force a thing. Not like Alex, who was always in control, who always took what he wanted and apologized afterward if I didn’t like it. Caleb did the opposite. Everything he did told me he hadn’t forgotten I was there, that whether I wanted him or not actually mattered to him. And that’s why I was able to let go and lose myself in the pleasure of it, because it was what I wanted, not something he was taking from me.
I have to wonder, though, if I took something from him.
The more I sit with it, the more I realize that I twisted things around. It became about me, when he was the one drowning. As soon as he had me on that table, I stopped thinking about what was going on for him. My only thoughts were about his body, how much I wanted him, how amazing it felt. I’d been chasing one thing, and he gave it to me like he knew I needed it. I cringe with my own selfishness. He’s a guy, I tell myself. Physical stuff doesn’t mean as much to them, right? And it seemed like he’d enjoyed himself, if I read that final shudder and moan correctly. Right before he collapsed onto me, his whole body had gone tight. If orgasms are the unit of measurement here, I think he got as much out of it as I did.
Then I walked away. He looked like he wanted to say something, but I didn’t want to hear it. I needed to get out of there and pull my thoughts together, put my armor back on. He’d shattered everything with his stroking fingers, with the hard, perfect lines of his body, with the sweet, insistent taste of his mouth.
Now I have to figure out what to do next. Are we good, or are there pieces I have to pick up? Markus knew exactly what had happened, I’m sure. He gave me a once-over that said I can picture it all. I’m sure it’s not the only time, though. Caleb isn’t the first one to let loose in his studio. When I was in college, the artists’ studios were prime make out spots. I’m sure it’s no different in the co-op. And we’re not in college anymore. We’re adults. We can do what we want, and we don’t have to explain it. I don’t care what Markus or anyone else thinks of me.
Except Caleb. As much as I try to tell myself differently, I think I care what he thinks. I care how he is. I need to find out. He said he was fine, but I’m not sure I should take that at face value. What made him destroy his paintings? Who hurt him this badly?
How will he look at me the next time he sees me? Will he avoid me? Smirk? Brag to Markus about feeling me up?
Is there any chance he’d want to do it again?
When my alarm goes off, I get up and g
o for a quick run, then shower, still mulling things over. But as I set out for Sojourner House, I put it from my mind. I have to focus if I want to help Laura decide what she wants to do. As I drive to the safe-house, I review what Dr. Greer told me to do. Pros and cons. No judgment.
We meet in the tiny sunroom, the only place in the house that offers some privacy. Laura has tan, freckled arms and an apple-shaped body. She doesn’t look fragile or broken. But as I tell her what I’d like to talk about today, she draws a shuddering breath. “I’m not sure I want to analyze it like that,” she says quietly. “It makes it too hard, if I think about it too much.”
“Aren’t you here to think about it?” I ask. “This is a safe place to do it.”
Her blue eyes search mine. “But if I do that now, it might hurt more, when I’m back there.”
“Laura,” I say, my voice catching. I’m getting the sense her decision is made, and it terrifies me. “That’s not the only choice you have.”
She nods, examining her hands as they twist together in her lap. “Romy, I really appreciate what you’re trying to do, but Michael needs me at home.” She chuckles. “He’s probably been eating boxed mac’n’cheese for the past week.”
I stare at her. I don’t care if he’s been eating shit from a can. It’s all I can do not to shout at her. He rapes you. He hurts you. “I get that you still care about him, but—”
“I have a garden,” she says to me. “In a few weeks, I have to plant the bulbs for next spring.”
I blink, watching the twitch at the corner of her mouth. “Isn’t winter coming?”
The twitch smoothes over, replaced by the crease of a smile. “You have to plant bulbs in the fall. Daffodils, tulips, crocuses. When the snow melts and everything thaws, they sprout the most beautiful flowers. It’s my favorite thing, seeing those green shoots poke their little heads out of the ground.”
“It sounds hopeful,” I say, my voice strained. Don’t go, Laura. It’s just a garden. Your life is more important.
“It is hope.” She brushes her dishwater blond hair away from her face. “But only if I plant the bulbs in the fall,” she adds firmly.
She’s going to go back to him. Michael is going to get his chew toy back. “Is it really worth it?” I blurt. “He won’t stop, Laura. It might be better for a while, but he won’t stop.”
She lifts her chin and looks toward the window, through a crack in the curtains. It’s a sunny day, likely one of the last of our warm days before the long winter. “I have to go back for now,” she says quietly. “Winter is so miserable.”
And knowing those bulbs will come up when the sun shines again is what’s keeping her going. “You have choices,” I say. “We could talk about this.”
She turns her face away. “Is this our only chance?”
“No, of course not.” I lean forward and touch her hand. “No matter when you want to talk, we’ll be here. No matter what you decide, this is a safe place that doesn’t go away. It’s a place where you have choices.” I get it. If I were to tell her she has to choose—go back or stay here—I’d be doing the same thing Michael’s doing. I’d be forcing her into something. “This moves at your speed. As long as you understand that you’re important, that people here care about you, okay?”
She chuckles and nods. “Okay. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize to me.” I’m sorry, I think.
Though all of me wants to grab her and lock her in a closet, I don’t. I let Laura get up, and I watch her go upstairs to pack her things. Justine comes out of the front office as I stand at the base of the stairs.
“She told me she was going back,” she says.
“Yeah,” I say hoarsely. “She has bulbs to plant.”
She nudges me with her shoulder. “And maybe you did some of that already. I know it’s hard, but you have to tell yourself that. She gets to decide what she’s going to do, but what you say matters. She’ll take it with her.”
I smile and nod, but all I can think about is what she’s going back to, how she can possibly endure it. “Then I hope it takes root.”
I grab my bag and head back to campus, but as I park, I get a text from Jude. Have time to talk?
I text him back and we agree to meet for coffee before our afternoon class. I’m sitting down with an iced coffee when he staggers in, looking overwhelmed. He orders himself a double shot of espresso and carries it over to our little café table with shaking hands. “What the hell happened to you?” I ask.
“You remember my client, Catherine?”
I nod and watch him lift the mug to his lips. His black hair is windblown and he hasn’t even bothered to remove his shoulder bag. “The one you couldn’t figure out. The one with the abusive older brother.”
“I never said he was abusive.”
I shrug. “I got a feeling. I have experience with these things.”
He gives me a pained look and sets his mug on the table. “You might be right, actually. She was a mess this morning. Said yesterday was hell. She said she wanted to hurt herself, Romy. It scared me to death.”
I take his hand. “Did you assess for suicidality?”
He nods. “She doesn’t drive, thank God. She said he won’t let her. And she said she doesn’t have access to any firearms or anything. But she said she’d thought about hanging herself.”
I curse under my breath. “Was she actually planning to do it?”
“She denied an immediate plan. Just said she’d considered it.” He runs his fingers through his hair and takes another sip of espresso. “But she still won’t give me consent to talk to her psychiatrist or any of her family members … I don’t know what to do. Does that mean I’m the one who’s responsible if she does something to hurt herself?”
Jeez. I don’t know. “Have you called Dr. Greer?”
Jude nods. “And I left messages with the psychiatrist who runs the community clinic. Fuck, Romy, I had no idea it would be this intense.”
I squeeze my best friend’s hand. I can tell how scared he is. “Where is she now?”
“She said she was going back to work! I’m tempted to walk over there and make sure she’s actually there.”
“Where does she work again?”
“Library. But if I walk in, she’ll see me. It might upset her. I don’t want to weird her out.”
I sit back. The library’s nearby, only about five blocks away. “What if I did it? Would that make you feel better?”
He gives me a pleading look. “Would you? I feel like such a stalker. But until I hear from Dr. Greer, I’m going to be freaking out. I want to know she’s okay.”
“Let’s go.” I take a huge gulp of my iced coffee and stand up. “No time like the present.”
He downs his espresso. “You’re the awesomest.”
I take his arm and we head out. The sun warms my face as we stride down the sidewalk, a few blocks south of downtown. The co-op building looms in the distance, and I find myself wondering if Caleb’s there before I push thoughts of him away. As soon as I succeed, Jude says, “So. I told Eric he was an asshole.”
“What?”
“What he said to you on Saturday night, I mean. About using Caleb as a sex toy.”
The laugh bursts from my mouth, loud and crazy. Jude knows me so well that his eyes go wide. “Now you have to explain that, honey,” he says to me. “Did I hit a nerve?”
I shake my head. Then I nod my head. “Okay. Don’t tell Eric, please?”
“He’s my soulmate, Romy. I tell him everything.”
I give Jude a look, drawing my fingers across my lips and twisting them, then throwing away an invisible key. He gives me an exasperated look. “Fine! I won’t tell him. What happened?” He narrows his eyes, scrutinizing my face. “Wait. Was Eric right?”
I draw in a breath. “I may have taken his advice.”
Jude’s mouth drops open. “You didn’t jump into bed with our painting teacher, did you? Romy …”
“No! Nothin
g like that.” I pause, considering. “Okay. Maybe something like that. But not quite that drastic.”
Jude looks like his head is going to explode with stress, curiosity, awe, frustration, too many things to name.
“I kissed him last night. It was intense.”
We pass by a men’s clothing store, and it is a testament to Jude’s focus that he doesn’t even get distracted by the new winter garb in the window. “Did you … talk to him first?” he asks.
“There was a little talking. But not much. It happened pretty fast.”
He pulls up short and grasps my shoulders. “Romy, I know what Eric said, about reclaiming your power and all that, but there’s no such thing as no-strings-attached physical involvement. Not for you. Not after what you’ve been through.”
I pull away from him. “I’m not broken.”
“Of course you’re not! You’re just …”
“I’m not fragile, either,” I growl.
“I know!” He throws up his hands. “Look, I obviously don’t know what the fuck I’m doing anyway, so don’t mind me.”
I grab his hand. “Thank you.”
He relaxes and pulls me close. “I’m not sure what for, but you’re welcome.”
“I’ll be careful,” I promise him.
“You’d better. I’d hate to have to scare him like I did with Alex.” He makes a gruff, manly sort of noise in his chest.
“I think you did a damn good job with Alex.” But even saying that makes me feel hollow, because I didn’t do a good job. I let Jude stick up for me, let him speak for me, let him think for me. But that is not Jude’s problem, and he’s having a bad enough day as it is. We’re getting close to the library. This is my chance to pay him back. “What does Catherine look like?”
Heat Up the Fall: New Adult Boxed Set (6 Book Bundle) Page 47