In the Unlikely Event

I smile to myself, but don’t answer him. There’s something so deliciously sweet about seeing him in his element. It reminds me that under the bitter jerk he’s become is still a boyish, adventurous, wildly creative and witty man.

Who happens to be really good in bed.

“You love what you do,” he states, out of nowhere.

We’ve been talking on and off all night. It’s curt—barely civilized—but it’s progress. It’s still early to be optimistic, and the dynamics might change as soon as Kathleen gets back from Dublin, but I think the realization that I collect napkins defrosted him. I’m not even sure why Mal is trying to be an asshole. He’s terrible at it. He is one of the best, most exciting people I know.

“I do. Do you?” I spin the zoom ring, frowning at my camera.

“Do you love him?” He ignores my question.

My breath catches, my thumb halting on the camera ring. I take a deep breath, then walk over to him, ready to take a close-up. We are close enough I can feel his breath on my skin. It’s slow. Warm. Wild.

“Do you love her?” I whisper back.

“What I love,” he says slowly, “is basking in the knowledge that you will soon be on your knees for me, Aurora Jenkins.”

At first, I think he’s joking, but then I see the intensity behind his stare and freeze. He means it. He is unhappy with Kathleen. A shiver slithers down my spine.

“You don’t love her,” I breathe out, closing my eyes.

He is in a loveless marriage.

He opens his mouth to say something when I hear a knock on the doorframe.

My head snaps, and I turn around, finding Callum on the threshold. He is showered, suited, hair slicked back, and ready to go. A camel-hued, leathered duffel bag is draped over his shoulder. He looks like an Armani ad.

Callum’s eyes shift between us with confusion. When I realize my proximity to Mal and withdraw from him like he’s fire, my boyfriend’s expression softens.

“I’m off.” He hooks his finger and motions for me to come to him and say goodbye. I place my camera on the coffee table and move toward him. Something tells me I need to reassure him that whatever he saw meant nothing.

Not that he saw anything. The hand-on-the-shoulder move was a classic are-you-okay? gesture. Nothing about it screamed “I want to rip your clothes off.”

I back Cal into the house, knowing damn well Mal is not a fan of our PDA. After his confession, I can understand why. He is unhappy in his marriage, and living under the same roof with a loved-up couple in that state is anyone’s idea of a nightmare.

I close the screen door behind me, look over my shoulder to make sure Mal isn’t watching, then fling my arms around Callum’s neck, covering his face with wet kisses.

“Come to the New Year’s party,” I say. “Please.”

He brushes his nose along mine and frowns. “Have a productive night?” There’s an edge to his voice.

I nod. Not a lie. I did. Mal, on the other hand…

“Seems like you two patched things up.” He rubs his thumb across my cheek.

“Hardly.” I kiss his chin. “But we no longer want to kill each other, I think.”

“Good. I want you well and alive for the next seven decades,” he says.

“Are you still okay with me doing this?” Am I?

“’Course. Not only is he married, but he is also an utter weirdo. Why would anyone be attracted to such bizarre behavior?”

He snorts, and I catch myself, biting my lower lip so I don’t say anything.

He looks around, shrugging. “Crib could use a bit of a facelift, too. Yeah, you know better than to go with someone like that, love.”

Callum tugs me toward the front door, holding my hand. Outside, his cab is already waiting, engine revved up. The driver gets out and flings Callum’s bag into his trunk. I rise on my tiptoes to kiss him again. I expect our usual peck goodbye, but to my surprise, Callum grabs the back of my neck, dips his head, and crashes his lips against mine. I open my mouth for his tongue and groan into the kiss, which deepens with each second and feels nothing like our usual kisses.

I don’t know how much time passes before his lips desert mine, but the driver is honking his horn and throws an impatient arm out the window.

When Callum finally breaks away, it’s not me he’s looking at. He’s staring behind my shoulder, an easy smile on his chiseled face. I turn, already dreading what I’m about to see.

Mal.

Standing at his front door, like Kathleen did all those years ago when we’d kissed, only he doesn’t look shattered beyond repair.

He looks nonchalant and smug and delicious and…smiling? Why is he smiling back at Callum?

Like the confession never happened.

Like we didn’t share a moment.

Like he knows something I don’t.

My stomach clenches and twists. The knots grow like a rubber ball rolled in thorns.

Mal fishes something from his pocket and motions for me to take it.

“Here, wipe your mouth.”

I don’t move. This could be a trick. He’s been hateful before.

“Rory,” he coaxes. “Truce?”

Rory.

Are we back on good terms? I’m still not a fan of him bossing me around. I take a few steps toward him and grab whatever it is he holds out for me, my eyes narrowing into slits. His mouth quirks up in one corner, and it reminds me that before he was a jerk, he was the guy who captured an entire street with his guitar and charm.

“Oh, ye of no faith. Is it illegal to be nice where you live?”

“No, but it might as well be. I live in New York.”

I take the damn thing, wipe my glistening mouth, and hand it back to him.

He shakes his head. “Keep it. It’s yours.”

I peer behind my shoulder and realize Callum’s cab left. I didn’t even get to say goodbye. It makes me want to slap myself across the face, because I know he witnessed at least some of this exchange.

I look down, realizing that what I’m holding is mine. Or rather it was, before I threw it into the trash.

I wiped my boyfriend’s kiss off with The Boar’s Head napkin.

A NOTE FROM CALLUM BROOKS

 

At this point, you are wondering why.

Why did I leave these two alone, considering their history? Ninety-eight percent of logical people in the world wouldn’t. This is a made-up statistic, so don’t try to look for it on the internet, but still.

Allow me to enlighten you as to why I left.

There’s a story my father told me once when the roads to London were blocked due to a snowstorm and I missed a date with the duchess of a-place-I-can’t-disclose-in-England. She went on and met someone else while she was waiting for me. They got married. I missed my chance of becoming royalty.

Because of snow.

I thought it was the worst day of my life.

The story goes like this: A boy begs his father to get him a dog. Not a particular dog, any rat-looking one would do. The boy dreams of owning a dog, breathes the idea, and obsesses over it. Time passes. The father hangs the condition of having a dog over the boy’s head. The boy does everything his father tells him to. Makes the best grades, excels at sports, stays out of trouble. He is on the straight and narrow, and does everything he possibly can to get a dog.