Baggie softly nudges Calla, waking me out of my restful sleep as his tail tickles my nose. In Calla’s attempts to bat at Baggie, she finds my arms are wrapped around her, holding her close to me. She wiggles a little, getting free, and I roll on my back. I really don’t want to get out of bed yet.

The little fucker.

Carefully, Calla lifts the covers and slides out of bed. My eyes crack open just in time to see her shiver when the cool air hits her naked skin, making my morning wood a little stiffer. She runs a hand down her face before glancing around the room, most likely looking for her clothes. My eyes follow her as she tiptoes out of the room, picking clothes up as she exits.

“Come on, Baggie. I’ll feed you,” she whispers, pulling her cami over her head and stopping long enough to slip into her underwear.

“Meow,” he responds, following her to the kitchen.

I lie in bed for a little longer, willing my woody to go down before climbing out of bed. Having to pee when you have morning wood is a bitch. Someone should have thought about that during our creation or evolution. When I finally make it out to the kitchen, Calla has coffee brewed and ready for me. She’s still in her sexy lace cami and hipsters, one foot resting on top of the other, with her hip propped against the counter next to the stove while she fries four eggs.

She glances up from the skillet. “Fried egg sandwich okay for breakfast?”

“Sounds great. Thanks for the coffee. It tastes good. Almost like you actually drink it.”

Her face contorts into a disgusted grimace. “Not even. That,” she gestures to my cup, “is gross. I’m not sure how you guys drink it. Just be glad I have the French press and grounds. Otherwise your happy ass would be walking down to the coffee shop.”

“I’m very thankful. Besides,” I glance down, “I’d probably get arrested if I walked down the street wearing this. Not to mention, I wouldn’t get service.”

She faces me, giving me a wry smile. “Go sit down. Breakfast is almost ready.”

She turns back toward the stove as I sit at the dining table. The paper lays open on the table, but instead of picking it up, my eyes stay glued to her. My thoughts drift to all the naughty things we did last night, and new ones I’d like to try this morning. Calla glances over her shoulder, finding me watching her. I’d shifted without even realizing it as I’d fantasized about her. My left elbow now rests on the table, with my head propped in my hand, while my right hand remains wrapped around my coffee mug. She gives me a quizzical look.

“Why so pensive?” she asks, returning her focus to the skillet on the stove. She flips the eggs one more time before making the sandwiches.

Pensive? “I-” I stop, not sure what I want to say. As I work through my thoughts, my mouth opens and closes like a fish, but no words follow.

Cautiously, Calla carries our plates to the table, placing one in front of me and the other in front of her chair.

“Calla, last night….” I start.

She cuts me off. “I'm sorry, Wes. It won't happen again. I shouldn't have….”

I’m flabbergasted and stop at her words. She won’t let it happen again? She shouldn’t have what?

“That's not what I was about to say,” I grumble before taking a bite of my sandwich.

“We're just friends. You've told me that many times before. We need to keep it professional. Got it.” She drops her eyes and eats her breakfast.

Without saying a word, I pick up my half-eaten sandwich and walk out, leaving her alone at the table. What the fuck just happened?

Calla

After my spectacular discussion with Wes, I have to get out of my loft. Hell, I have to get out of my own head, but that is going to be difficult. I just freaked the fuck out on the man I’ve wanted for years. I really do have issues.

Images of Wes touching my body, and the pure ecstasy he provided, won’t go away, even as I pound the pavement. I need a change in routine, especially since Wes isn’t running with me today. Heading north toward Trey's apartment and the capitol building, I try to clear my mind. The two-mile jog lets me zone out while the music from my smartphone pounds in my ears. As the tempo rises and falls, so does my pace. Rounding the corner of the capitol building, I slow my pace so I can make a call.

The phone rings three times before he answers.

“Hey, Darlin’! What’s up?”

“Trey, can you meet me at the café around the corner from your place?”

“Give me ten minutes.”

“See you then,” I tell him and disconnect.

The music starts again, and I pick up my pace, running faster than I had been. Turning up the street, I find Trey sitting outside the café with a drink in each hand.

“Alright, Darlin’ what happened? You sounded flustered.” He sips his drink and passes the other to me.

“I slept with Wes,” I deadpan.

Trey spits out his coffee and takes a seat, his face going pale. I let him have a minute before I go on and take the chair next to him. Before attempting to explain everything that happened after leaving Belladonna last night, I taste my drink.

“I don’t think I heard you right. Did you just say you slept with Wes?”

“Yep.”

“Why are you here with me and not home with him?” He sips his coffee and studies me, and I swear he can see right through me.

“Because I said some things that pissed him off... because I didn’t want him to say them first.”

“That was stupid. So what do you want, Darlin’?”

“Not to get hurt again.” I rub the rim of the paper cup, not willing to make eye contact with him.

Trey reaches over, grabbing my hand and squeezing it. I glance up at him.

“There’s no way to know if he’ll hurt you or not. But, Darlin’, you have to take the chance with someone. ‘Cause let’s face it, you’re not happy alone.”

“You’re right. Thanks, Trey.” I push back my chair and stand as Trey does the same.

Before turning to head in the opposite direction, I lean toward Trey and wrap my arms around him in a tight hug.

When I finally make it back home, Wes is nowhere to be found. I kick off my shoes and pull off clothing while I stroll down the hall to my room, not seeing a need to close the door all the way.

Wes

When I return to the loft, I head straight for Calla’s room. Her door is slightly ajar as if Baggie pushed it open. From my position, I can see Baggie sprawled on her bed. In the distance, I hear running water shut off. Wrapped in a towel, Calla walks into her room, headed for the jeans and t-shirt laying on the bed. I raise my hand to knock when her phone rings, and she answers it.

“Hello, Caleb.” She pulls on her jeans, moving the phone away from her ear while she unwraps the wet towel off her hair, and lightly pats it dry. “I don't think we have anything to talk about.”

I scoot away from her door as to not eavesdrop so easily, and wait for Calla to get off the phone. There is silence, and I guess Caleb responds.

“I guess I can meet you there.”

Calla says her goodbyes, and a door slams. I knock once and wait a second or two, but she doesn’t respond, so I move away, fuming. Why the fuck is she meeting Caleb? And where the fuck are they meeting? She won’t even talk to me. God damn it! Once I’m back in my room, I quickly shower, dress, and grab the few things I need for the day. I step out of my room and head toward the front door.

“Wes,” Calla squeaks.

I stop and look back at her. The contrite expression on her face says it all, and I throw my hands in the air. I turn away and hastily pick up my pace. I slam the front door as I walk out, unable to have the conversation I need to have with her. How could she go meet with Caleb after what we did last night? Does she want that with him now?

I stand in the flower shop discussing what I want to buy with the clerk. I ask if they have calla lilies. They do, so the shop owner shows me all the different types to choose from. I buy a dozen multi-colored calla lilies and schedule them to be delivered.