Stella: You know what I look like.
Cal: I do but I'll be able to spot you quicker if I know I'm looking for a blue dress or a yellow skirt or that goddamn green raincoat.
Stella: It's 72 degrees and sunny. No raincoat.
Cal: Thank god.
Stella: Don't be so quick to hate on the raincoat. I seem to recall a favorable turn of events where that raincoat was involved.
Cal: Yeah. For you.
My cheeks burnedred and I couldn't force the smile from my face.
Stella: Oh, please. You enjoyed yourself.
Cal: Truth.
I didn't allowmyself a minute to think better of it before holding my phone up and snapping a selfie. I fiddled with the filters for a second—a girl's true best friend—then sent it off to Cal. There was nothing amazing about this shot. I looked fine and that was it. My hair was loose around my shoulders, a bit frizzy from the rising humidity. My black and white print dress seemed to blend into the darkness of my desk chair. The window behind me was the best part, showing off the sunny day and Boston's skyline.
Stella: Here you go. Now you'll be able to locate me without extraordinary measures.
Cal: Black and white today.
Stella: Correct.
Cal: I'm getting some green raincoat vibes there.
Stella: In what way?
Cal: In the wanting to get underneath it way.
I didn't knowwhat to do with Cal but I didn't want to find out what I'd do without him.
Cal didn't getunder my dress that night. He might've if I hadn't left dinner early to pluck McKendrick out of a karaoke bar near Northeastern University. Even if McKendrick hadn't slipped out unnoticed and stirred up collegiate trouble last night, I wasn't sure I wanted to get physical with Cal again.
I mean, Iwantedto. I really did.
But Cal wasn't like me. Hell, I wasn't like me these days. But I knew I couldn't have sex with him and continue with business as usual the next day. He wouldn't allow it. He'd want—he'd want everything. Right away. He'd want it to mean something and I didn't trust myself to not want the same thing.
That meant I dodged. Every time he looked at me like he wanted to eat me—and I knew how well heate—I ducked the topic. If there was one thing I could manage with ease, it was spinning a conversation the way I wanted.
And that was how I found myself inviting him to a brand launch party.
"I like seeing your legs," he said, his gaze hidden behind dark sunglasses as we traveled the far side of the pond. "I liked those leggings but I like seeing your skin now that it's warm."
In a rare moment of out-loud insecurity, I replied, "My calves are thick."
To be clear, I had plenty of insecurities. A laundry list of them. But I didn't speak those insecurities. I didn't put that noise out in the world because it didn't need any validity. My mother—bless her heart—would've taken that comment about my calves and assured me I had a pretty face. That was the precise form of well-intentioned validity I didn't need. And I didn't need Cal shooing away my issues either. The opinions of others didn't factor into loving myself. I didn't allow it.
"Yeah, they are," Cal replied from a step behind. Where he was studying my calves. "They're great."
That was a surprise. "I mean, I can never find tall boots. Because of my calves." I had no idea why I was leaning in to this fight, especially when I worked hard at being kind to myself. "They're thick. And not cute."
Cal arched an eyebrow up as he appraised my legs again. "I don't know anything about boots but I'd happily die with your legs around my neck."
"Oh," I murmured, fussing with straightening the hem of my t-shirt. It was perfectly flat, not a wrinkle to be found. I kept smoothing. "Oh, okay then." I glanced over at him, careful to avoid staring at his arms for fear of liquefying here on the trail. Talk about thick. My god. And stealing glances at the tattoo hiding just under the cuff of his sleeve was my favorite trail game. I noticed something new every time I looked. "One of my clients is the new spokesmodel for an athletic wear brand. It's launching at the Newbury Street shop on Saturday. The media portion of the event starts around three and then there's a private party at six. D'you want to go?"
Cal stretched his arms over his head, making it impossible for me to hear his response over the choir of angels singing at the line of golden hair running down his abs.
