CHAPTER 33
“Are you studying on a Saturday night again?” I slide an arm into my leather jacket, preparing to leave. It’s the sixth Saturday night in a row Cait’s been at the dining room table with her laptop and schoolbooks.
“Are you going out again? You can’t give me a hard time if you’re doing the same thing every week too,” she snaps.
And this is how it’s been since she’s moved in, a back-and-forth game of challenging each other. I’ll admit I’ve enjoyed it, but I hoped I’d win her over at least a little by this point.
It’s time to change that.
When I don’t answer, Cait returns her focus to her laptop. I was supposed to meet Steph tonight for our weekly blow-off-steam session on Division Street. Not because I want to but because she’s blackmailing me. She’s threatened to tell Cait I’ve been lusting over her for months. Which with any other girl might be a good thing, but I’m unsure how this news would settle with Cait. My worst fear is she’ll move out, and I don’t want that. I remove my cell to text Steph.
ME: Ur on ur own 2night.
Steph responds and she isn’t happy. Instead of engaging in a texting war, I turn off my phone and slip it into my pocket. When I remove my jacket and scarf and hang them back in the closet, Cait peers at me with suspicion. I set my book bag on the table and remove my laptop and schoolwork before settling in a chair across from her.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“Same thing as you.” I organize my space.
“Uh, no.” She drops her pen on the table.
“But isn’t this what you were challenging me to do? What you do?” I open my laptop and hit the power button. It pings to life and a small Apple icon appears on the screen.
“That’s not it at all.” She stutters, seemingly at a loss for words, before belting out, “You started it.”
“I started it?” I laugh.
She pouts a little for being called out, and it drives me so mad I have to grab on to the edge of my seat with both hands to stop myself from jumping across the table to kiss it away. Is she so clueless that she can’t see how she affects me? The answer is a definite yes. From the time she’s moved in, she’s been too consumed in her bubble to notice me. So now I need to figure out how to connect with her, or better yet, force her to connect with me.
I lean back in my chair getting comfortable, while twirling a pen between my fingers. “I think,” I pause to be dramatic, “I think you like me and that’s why you don’t want me to stay. This handsome mug would be too distracting for you.”
“Phfft. In your dreams.” She rolls her eyes.
“Denial. It’s the first sign of love.” I lean into the table with a grin.
“Get over yourself,” she says, but her face betrays her. The blood’s rushing to her ears. She must sense the heat because she launches from her seat and scurries to the kitchen to open the refrigerator. She looks deep inside, moving food around.
“I’ll take a beer while you’re over there cooling off.” I laugh.
Her back stiffens upright. I can’t see her face but her body language always gives her away. She’s contemplating her next move. How will she deal with the insinuation that she likes me? She can’t ignore it. It would be more denial, and she knows what I perceive as denial.
I didn’t deem any truth in my own statement until this moment. I hoped, yes, but now I’m curious if there’s an attraction on her end too. I’m starting to think there is.
She removes two bottles of Goose Island beer and places them on the counter. Like a pro bartender, she uses the edge of the counter and the force of her hand to remove the caps. They snap off and ping across the kitchen before landing on the floor. With one bottle in each hand she struts forward. She places a beer before me, and then takes a sip of her own.
“I didn’t peg you for the drinking type,” I say.
“And what type did you peg me for?” She places a hand on the table and leans.
“An uptight, prissy princess who’s never done anything remotely risky in her life. Drinking included. You know, because of all of your rules.”
Her eyes press into slits, but then her shoulders relax from the spot from which they’re pinned near her ears. Something in her releases. Perhaps it’s my challenge that’s lowering her tightly wound personality. Or maybe she’s borrowing my tactic—being the opposite of what’s expected.
She sets her glass down and lowers herself until we’re face to face. Gaze level with mine, she places her hand over my chest. My muscles stiffen and my breath catches high in my lungs from having contact. I can’t help it. I’ve been waiting for months for something as small as this.
I hold my breath to control my wild excitement. I may have been joking but now I think she wants me. For real. She traces her tongue over her pouty lips, and my focus zings there. They’re plump and glistening, and I can almost taste them just by looking at them. She leans closer until her lips graze mine. They slip and slide, barely touching. But this is not a kiss. This is a fucking tease. Her soft cheek brushes across the roughness of mine, while her breath warms the small space separating us. My dick stands alert, pressing into the zipper of my jeans.
“This is never going to happen. Not. On. Your. Life,” she says and curls away with a grin. Like some kind of seasoned seductress, she picks up her beer and slinks to her side of the table, leaving me frozen in shock. Then she relaxes in her chair, sipping her drink. She focuses on her schoolwork like nothing ever happened.
I stare at my own laptop, eyes wide and unable to focus on anything but replaying our encounter in my mind. I can’t believe she had the lady balls to do that, but despite her convincing act, I don’t believe her words. Not for one damn second. Something did happen between us, and she knows it. I know she does because as the hours pass and we try to concentrate on our studies, she eyes me like she wants to do it again, and I invite her to with my best you-know-you-want-me grin.