Tapping my foot on the carpeted floor, I think out loud, “Not anywhere. He’d want to have access to what’s inside at least somewhat frequently. It’s not taped to the bottom of a drawer, and his mom did his laundry, so it’s definitely notinsidehis dresser.” My gaze flits from the closet, the top of the dresser, the desk, and the bed. I sigh. “This is going to be a long night.”
While I pick through all of James’s possessions, I try to come up with an idea of what’s inside the box. It turns out I have zero imagination for something shocking. I’m as vanilla as they come.
“Crap, what if I’m too boring for Callie?” I mutter while digging around his desk after finding nothing in his closet. “Or maybe Bree is super judgy, and it’s something mundane like role-playing D&D in the bedroom.” I snort and roll my eyes. “Not that it matters. James was James. I’m not him, so whatever he was into doesn’t mean I will be. She was just trying to scare me.”
Finally, I upend a cup filled with pens and pencils and find a key at the bottom. A nervous tingle runs down my spine with the key in my hand. The search became a weird game that I could pretend was more of a scavenger hunt than exposing life-altering secrets, but it’s very real now. “It’s not a big deal,” I tell myself. “Whatever it is, we can handle it. And I just used the royal we to refer to myself. I’m officially a tool.”
Swallowing heavily, I sit down next to the box and turn the lock toward me. To both my relief and chagrin, the key fits. With a quick turn, the lock releases, and I put it aside. It takes me a moment to gather the courage to open it, but when I do, I’m confused about what I see. It’s sex toys of the dildos and vibrators variety. So he liked using sex toys on Bree. That doesn’t seem weird. I mean, I’d like to use my own equipment first since I haven’t done it before, but I’m not opposed to this stuff.
Before I start digging through it, I quickly get up to lock the door. Once I’m safe from a surprise parental visit, I pull each toy out and lay them side by side on the bed.Where did you get all the money for this? Also, did you go to a shop or have it delivered? You were brave, I give you that.Toward the bottom is a strap-on, a small bottle of cologne, and a catalog. Sniffing the cologne, I immediately get light-headed and my ears start to ring. It’s a spicy scent of black pepper and musk, a scent that has been distracting me all day—Nolan.
Heat burns all over my body on closer examination of the strap-on, built for a woman to wear, and the catalog, the men’s underwear section.Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.
In a dazed whisper, I announce to the room, “Oh crap, I’m a bottom bisexual, and…I think I have a crush on Nolan.”
Chapter 12
Callie
It takes me three days to gather the courage to face Nolan. Despite it being freezing outside, the Campbell’s garage is quite warm, and I immediately start sweating in my winter coat. Loud electronica music blares out of the built-in speakers along the back wall, giving me a rare moment to watch Nolan without him knowing I’m here.
His head is buried under the hood of some dilapidated muscle car that I’m unfamiliar with, and he’s dressed in a jumpsuit, the top half unzipped and tied around his waist. His grease-painted arms bulge as he seems to be losing the battle against a particularly rusty nut he’s trying to wrench free. With his hair half plastered against his head, sweat dripping down from his temples, and covered in various grimy substances, this is the most unkempt I’ve ever seen him, and yet he’s as painfully handsome as ever. A heated pulse ripples through me, my longing a tangible sensation burning beneath my skin.
I fidget with the handles of the bag in my hands and consider leaving. What I have to say is important, but it also feels selfish. I need these boundaries, I know, but it feels too much like an ultimatum. Am I forcing my feelings on him by confessing? Is it cruel to ask him to be mine, especially when I already have Donovan and Connor? Though, isn’t it worse to tell him he can’t feed from me anymore without any reason why?
Sweltering under the heat, sweat dampening the hair at the back of my neck, I’m half convinced I should just leave a note with the bag and save the semi life-altering talk for later when Nolan curses and throws the wrench against the back wall. I yelp in surprise, which catches his attention, and I lose all chances for escape.
“Callie,” he says, his expression shifting from surprised to guarded. “I didn’t realize you were there.”
“Sorry to disturb you,” I shout over the music, my heart hammering at a million miles an hour.
He quickly walks over to a panel on the wall and turns the music down. His gaze scans my person, seemingly cataloging everything he sees before him, and I question my fashion choices for the billionth time.
Since the plan was to apologize, tell him how I feel, and then ask him to date me, I thought at first to go with looking my most attractive. I used special products to make my hair soft and shiny, falling in gentle blonde waves versus the monster cloud of destruction it can be. Then I put on nice underwear with the matching halter bra, a jean skirt, and the oversized sweater that falls off one shoulder that he seemed to like from his reaction on Yule. I even broke out some of the stuff from makeup mountain and stabbed myself in the eye with the mascara wand. It took a good five minutes for my eye to stop watering.
When I was finished, I looked at myself in the mirror, felt like all the other girls who try to seduce Nolan, and changed immediately into jeans and a t-shirt. While I was putting my hair up in a bun, I changed my mind again, because wearing what I always wear felt like I was saying that I didn’t care, and that telling him I loved him wasn’t all that important—which it totally was...is.Sigh.Finally, I settled on something in between. My hair is down, and my makeup consists of eyeliner, mascara, and lip gloss. I chose a soft pink turtleneck so I wouldn’t send any unintended‘please bite me’messages and wore thick, white tights underneath the jean skirt.
Now, as we stare at each other, I wonder if I’ve gone too nice girl next door. Will he think it’s a ploy to make him feel at ease with me? Like this will make him forget I magically made his clothes disappear because I couldn’t control myself?
Finally, he breaks the silence, cautiously complimenting me with a, “You look nice.”
“Thank you,” I murmur, feeling sick to my stomach.
My heart breaks seeing him this way, guarded and careful, knowing that I did this to him. He trusted me at his most vulnerable, and I abused his trust. I didn’t do it on purpose, but witnessing the way he crosses his arms over his chest and keeps his distance from me, clearly no longer at ease in my presence, I know I’ve broken something precious, and despite my hopes, I don’t think my love for him will fix it.
Nolan points to the bag in my hands. “Is that for me?”
An ironic laugh escapes me—his words an echo from his birthday—and my skin burns from the memories of that night. The sweet frustration of his body pressed against mine when I couldn’t touch him... and then the dizzying joy when I could. Liberated and intoxicated by new sensations, I felt safe and free pressed between Nolan and Donovan as we danced. It wasn’t long ago, but right now, it feels like a lifetime away.
Despite my best efforts, my hands tremble as I hold out the bag. “Yes. It’s, uh, your clothes that I accidentally made disappear... that night. I did some research on what might have happened, and it, um, turns out that I sent our clothes to a pocket dimension between the mortal and celestial realms.” I release another laugh, this one more awkward and strained. “Fun fact: that’s where nephilim’s wings go when they aren’t, ya know, here. Er, visible. Whatever. You probably already knew that, though, since you’ve been friends with Kaleb and D-Donovan for so long.”
I stumble over Donovan’s name, my cheeks growing hot, because I’m actively aware of just how friendly Nolan and Donovan are. And now I’m officially dating Donovan. This won’t be awkward at all.
After taking off his work gloves and tucking them into a back pocket, he walks over—his gait a smooth, seductive prowl he is probably unaware of—and gently takes the bag from me. Without a word, he peers in at its contents—dark wash jeans and short, black boxer briefs.
“Don’t worry, I washed them first,” I assure him, the words falling out of my mouth with Felix level speeds. Only then does it dawn on me that Nolan wears excessively expensive jeans, and I smack the base of my palm against my forehead. “Shit, those are jeans you’re not supposed to put in a washing machine, aren’t they?”
A small smile skates across his lips. “It’s fine. They survived interdimensional travel. What’s a little soap and water compared to that?”
