Caleb

For a long while, we lay on the carpet and stare up at the ceiling. I close my eyes as I wait for my breathing to slow, ripples of pleasures still traveling through me like a stone thrown into a pond. Aaahhh, that was good. I haven’t had sex for a while, that’s why. It couldn’t possibly be due to the gorgeous girl lying by my side.

I feel her shift, and I turn my head and open my eyes to see she’s rolled toward me and is watching me.

“Wow,” she says.

I smile. “I guess that’s better than ‘is that it?’”

“Caleb, honestly, I’m lost for words.”

I laugh and roll to face her, propping my head on a hand. “In a good way, I hope.”

“Mmm.” She meets my gaze, then looks down and examines her fingernails.

I study her fondly. I’ve kissed off most of her lipstick, and strands of her hair have escaped her clip and are curling around her face. She looks younger without her punk-style clothing. Her eyebrows are a light brown. I wonder what her real hair color is? It’s so black at the moment that I guess she dyes it.

I don’t know anything about this girl, but I find myself wanting to know more. What has made her into such a sharp, sassy, independent young woman? I get the feeling she’s had to cope on her own for a long time. Where is she from, originally? What job did she do before she came to Hearktech?

I want to ask, but there’s something private about Roxie that stops me from quizzing her. She’s naturally defensive and reserved, and I don’t want her to get annoyed with me for prying. But, we’ve just had sex and I think that allows me a little leeway.

“You live here alone?” I ask, looking around the apartment. It’s tiny and I can only see one bedroom, so I’m guessing that’s the case. It’s a polite way of asking if she’s single. I hope she is—I’ve never cheated on a girl, and I wouldn’t like to be a party to helping a girl cheat on her partner. I probably should have asked her this before we had sex.

But she says, “Yeah. All by my lonesome,” and the corner of her mouth quirks up.

“So, no one special in your life then?” I ask.

“Apart from you?” She wrinkles her nose. “No. Not for a long time. What about you? Tell me about Felicity.”

I don’t miss that she’s diverting attention from herself, but I don’t mind. There’s no rule that says she has to tell me her life story just because we screwed. “What do you want to know?”

“When she came, did she go ‘oh!’”

I give her a wry look. “I’m not going to answer that.”

“Aw.” She grins, then cocks her head at me. “Did she break your heart?”

I sigh and roll onto my back again. I’m not sure I can put the nature of our fucked-up relationship into words. “Kind of. We’d been dating for a year. She was high maintenance from the start, but I liked her. She was clever, and sometimes funny. She works in fashion—”

“Of course she does.”

I carry on as if she hasn’t interrupted. “—but despite having a top position with one of the big designers, she was often impatient with me because I work long hours. She took it as a personal slight that I didn’t want to spend more time with her.”

“Was that the reason?”

“No. I liked her, but I’m not going to have anyone dictate to me how much time I can spend on my career.” My voice comes out harder than I meant it to, surprising me. It’s been a few months since we broke up, and I’d half forgotten how angry I was at the time.

“How did it end?”

“Badly.” I don’t want to talk about the arguments, the accusations. It hurt then, and it still hurts now.

“Did you end it, or did she?”

“I did, although I think she knew it was over by then.”

“Do you miss her?”

“Sometimes. I miss the companionship. I don’t miss all the negative stuff that came with it. It’s a relief to be out of it, most of the time. It’s just hard to start over again, you know?”

“Have you?” Roxie queries. “Dated again?”

“No.”

“So, I’m the first girl you’ve been with since Felicity?”

I turn my head to look at her. “Yeah.”

Her green eyes study my face. “Why me?”

“Don’t know. You’re very different from most girls I know. I suppose I find that exciting.”

“A change is as good as a rest,” she suggests.

“Yeah.”

She trails a finger down my arm, and when I lift it, we link fingers. She looks at my watch, rubbing a thumb across the glass. “Omega.”

“Yep.”

“You must be loaded.”

I give a short laugh. “I’m not strapped for cash, true.” I stifle a flicker of wariness at her curiosity—she might be edgy but she’s a nice girl. I’m not going to turn my back and find she’s taken my watch and my wallet.

“Were you rich before the company got successful?” She speaks as if she’s asking an African explorer to describe a crocodile or a hippo or another wild animal she’s never seen—as if she has no comprehension of what it must be like to have money.

“More so than Stratton or Harry. My father is a top lawyer.”

“And your mum?”

“Plays tennis, wears twinsets, and raises money for charities.”

“Ah.”

I can see she has no understanding of this life except what she’s seen on TV. “So, they invested money in Hearktech?” she asks.

That makes me laugh, although there’s little humor in it. “No. Dad’s the type who thinks his kids should make their own way in life. He doesn’t believe in helping out—he says it makes you weak.”

“Ah, that explains a lot.”

“Really?”

She shrugs. “You seem very determined, and you work very hard. I’m guessing you want to show your old man you can do it. Gain his approval.”

“I don’t need his approval, or anything else from him.” My voice has turned cold.

She sucks her bottom lip. “Okay.” She rolls onto her front and jumps up. “I’m having another whiskey. You want one?”

I tuck myself back into my boxers, zip up my jeans, and sit up. “I snapped at you, I’m sorry.”

She shrugs. “Don’t worry about it.”

“No, that wasn’t fair. It’s not your fault.”

“Caleb, it doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have been sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong.”

I can tell she’s cursing herself under her breath, telling herself not to get involved, to remain detached. I can almost hear her words, You fucking idiot, what did you have to go and say that for? Other people don’t care about you—stop caring about other people.

“I’m sorry,” I say softly. “You want me to go?”

We study each other for a moment. Then she turns and walks into the kitchen. I hear the clink of ice and the splosh of liquid.

I stand and go over to the window and look out at the uninspiring view for a moment. My gaze drifts down to a small table bearing a laptop and a small pile of books. The top one is Truman Capote’s In Cold Blood, the second is Tom Bingham’s The Rule of Law. Roxie’s light reading? Puzzled, I open one to see the pages covered in small handwriting, but before I can read them, she comes back into the room. I’m distracted by the fact that she’s still naked, and my body stirs again at the sight of her full breasts, her creamy skin.

She hands me a glass without saying anything, even though she must have seen me looking at the books. She swallows a large mouthful of her whiskey, and moves close to me. “None of it matters,” she whispers. “Not the past, not the future, not other people, nothing. This is right here, right now, and there’s only me and you in the room.” She lifts up and stops with her lips right near mine. “You want to fuck me again before you go?”

My heart thuds, but I turn my head and sip my drink slowly. Then I look back at her. “At least once,” I tell her, before lowering my lips to hers.