No awkward. No shy. No bashful. Just my man-brick, disregarding the fuck out of my routines and systems and entire world order.
"Eight thirty," I repeated. "No ice cream."
Stelllllllllla.What the fuck.
He pulled a smirk. "Just because I didn't eat the ice cream doesn't mean I didn't enjoy it."
Looking away for the sake of my ovaries, I patted his forearm. "That's not strange at all, Cal."
"I'll text you," he promised, backing away.
"Yeah," I murmured, pressing my fingertips to my lips. My head was spinning. What the fuck just happened here?
I watched him hop into his SUV and drive away. His taillights faded from view but I didn't move. Not for another minute or two. I replayed all the words I'd spoken, the truths I'd divulged. Some hadn't seen the light of day in years. A decade, maybe.
I couldn't remember the last time I'd talked about my broken engagements. I hated the disorganized, frenzied way I'd expressed myself. Talking was my job. I knew how to say things to get a desired effect but instead of doing that with Cal, I couldn't get a message across any more than I could handle myself around raccoons. Or beavers. I was full of contradictions.
Then my phone buzzed with a new text message. My first thought was Cal and his promise to message me. My second thought was Flinn and Tatum and McKendrick, and a fresh new disaster. "Heaven help me," I muttered, removing the device from my armband and swiping it to life.
Harry: Hey. Sorry we couldn't connect last week. On for this week?
"Um, no. No, thank you,"I said to myself. I was typing faster than I could think. I didn't want to see him this week and I knew that before arriving at the trail this morning. But now I knew I needed a break from him.
Stella: Yeah, sorry about that.
Stella: So, I have a new client and my life is insane right now. I know I'm going to be tied up this week and next.
Harry: No worries. We'll reconnect in May.
Stella: You're too sweet, thank you.
Stella: I know I'm going to be high-touch with the client for a bit and I don't want to make plans but end up breaking them at the last minute. How about we hold off a little longer than that?
Harry: Yeah. Cool. Hit me up when you're free.
Stella: I hope it goes without saying but if anything changes for you and you want to go a different direction, just let me know.
Harry: Of course. Same goes.
Stella: Take care.
Harry: You too.
16
Cal
As easy as that,I managed a standing date with Stella every morning at the Jamaica Pond trail and another nearly every evening. We were going on two weeks of mornings and evenings, walks and after-work meals, and all I had to do was stop asking permission. Take what she wanted to give but wouldn't let herself have.
For as easy as it was to will this into reality, it was equally difficult.
On more than a few occasions, she was called away from our walks or dinners to handle issues with her clients. Lucian McKendrick and his inability to stay home weren't scoring any points in my book. Neither were her mysteries. She wasn't available on select evenings but never offered a hint of explanation. The notion of her seeing another man on those nights burned me from the inside out. I had no right to demand all her time, all her attention, but I damn well wanted it.
I wanted to touch her too. Touch her, laze in bed with her, waste hours on nothing more than dragging my fingers through her hair, winding those strands around my palm and then watching them unfurl on my pillows, my chest. I imagined her hair would slide and pool like silky ribbons. And that was just her hair. One fantasy about one part of her. Oh, I wanted all of it. All of her. I wanted to hold her and taste her and keep her.
But our interactions knew nothing of the heat we'd shared that first day. She opened her arms to me—seemingly in spite of herself—every time we met and parted, and that would suffice until she asked me for more.
The name of this game was outlast.
