"I was in surgery," he said while he snapped on a pair of gloves. "I wasn't ditching you."
"I know you weren't," I lied.
"No, you didn't. I saw the look on your face. You didn't think you were ever going to see me again." He took my hands, his thumb passing over my palm in search of injuries. Finding none, he examined my arms, legs, and torso. His touch was urgent but still gentle. If not for the gloves, it would have felt like another round of foreplay with my man-brick.
Myman-brick? Goddamn it, Stella. Slow your roll.
Giving myself a quick shake, I continued, "I wasn't sure whether you missed the fun of stalking. This morning had some extra ripped-from-the-headlines feels to it. I mean, I caused this situation but it wouldn't have happened without you."
Crouched by my feet to study my ankles, Cal raked his gaze up until it landed on my eyes. "Stella."
I smiled, watching as his eyes drifted to my dimples. He liked them and not in that "oh, she's such a cutie-pie" kind of way that everyone else liked them. "Cal."
He was about to say something but then he sighed and shook his head. "Everything looks fine. You're fine, you're—perfect. Let me get in those pants now."
I pressed a hand to my chest, my brow arched up. "This has been a lot of fun and all but I don't do roadside naked."
"Stella." He snapped his fingers and pointed at the vehicle. "Back seat."
For a guy who was shy as hell yesterday morning, he sure was bossy today.
"I'm going to sit right here for a second and then I'm going home to wash this disaster of a morning off me." I glanced into his vehicle and I was reminded of Robbie Prince, my sophomore year of high school, and his mom's old station wagon. As far as back seat romps went, that one was unsuccessful. Robbie claimed "it" couldn'treach.
I stifled a laugh at that memory.
"What?" Cal asked.
"Just remembering the last time I was in a back seat with my ass out."
That earned a raised eyebrow. "And you're laughing about that?"
"Not really," I said. "Okay, yes, I'm totally laughing about it. But it was high school. Half a lifetime ago. I'm allowed to laugh about it now."
"I can't wait to hear that story," he grumbled. He balled up the gloves and tossed them in his medical bag. His fingers bare, he reached for my waist, gently pressing and squeezing the skin around my hips, my backside. His brows were pinched and his lips set in a grim line. "I'm sorry about this. I'm sorry about everything back there. I didn't mean to sneak up on you and scare you like that."
Reaching out, I closed my fingers around Cal's hoodie and dragged him between my legs. "I know you didn't," I said. "And I wasn't scared. A little surprised but not scared."
"You don't need to do this for me," he replied. "You don't need to brush everything off and downplay your emotions. Whatever it is you're feeling, I can take it. I work with a guy—actually, he lives in my building too—and every single day is the worst day of his life. Yesterday was bad but today will be worse, and tomorrow will be worse than today. He's always deeply, profoundly miserable." He tipped his forehead to mine and stared into my eyes. "If I can deal with that, I can deal with whatever you have for me. I don't need your publicist face. Okay?"
I laughed, shrugging off his comments. It was the fastest way to make it go away. It was too early—in the day, in the short time I'd known him, in this lifetime—for him to see straight through me. "I'm okay, really," I insisted. "As a rule, don't sidle up to women on wooded trails. That's a one-way ticket to pepper spray and the police, and it's not the way to dodge the stalker label."
A quiet laugh burst from his throat as he kissed me. Quick and sweet, as if he knew it was everything I needed. "I don't know why I can't get my act together around you."
"We can start over," I suggested. "It worked yesterday. At the coffee shop."
He shook his head. "I don't want to start over again. I want to pick up where we left off last night."
I lifted my shoulders. "I'm not sure we can do that," I said softly. "I don't think we can teleport back to that moment or erase all the moments that followed it. But we can make new ones. Preferably ones where I don't end up in muddy puddles."
He looked away and blew out a breath. "I thought you were ignoring me," he said, "and I panicked a little. A lot."
"Why?" I asked. His lips moved over my jaw, down my neck. "Why would I do that?"
He shook his head from the crook of my shoulder. "I was late. I tackled you to the ground yesterday and I kept talking about beavers. I've asked you to marry me repeatedly. I had to leave last night. Now this. I don't know. I've given you enough reasons."
"None of those arerealreasons," I said, laughing, "and you only asked me to marry you that one time."
He leaned back and pointed to his temple. "In my head. I asked repeatedly in my head. I feel a little possessive when I'm around you, like I want to keep you and never let go."
