"Stella?"
"Yeah what?" I replied, dragging my gaze up to his face. He laughed, running his hand down my ponytail. He twisted the strands around his fist, tugging just a tiny bit. "You're going to have a problem on your hands when you have to spoon me off the trail."
He shook his head with a laugh. "I don't know what that means."
"Nothing, nothing," I said, quick to shift gears. "You know, you don't have to do this. You prefer running."
"I prefer walking with you," he replied. "If I find myself in need of a run, there are plenty of stairs at the hospital."
"But you used to run," I argued. "This must be boring for you."
What I really wanted was a little more of his sugar. Another sweet word, another casual touch, another request for more than walks and meals and sex-with-your-pants-on hugs. I held him at a distance because I didn't know how to do anything else, but fuck, did I want him.
"I promise you, Stel, it's not boring." He glanced at me, his eyebrows lifting over the rim of his sunglasses. "Am I boring you?"
"What? No," I said, swatting him with the back of my hand.
"What did you do before?" he asked, pointing at the phone secured in my armband. "You listened to—what? Podcasts?"
I snorted out a laugh. "More like The Backstreet Boys." I reached for the phone, called up my music streaming app. "Here. That's what I listened to."
Cal took my phone, scrolled through the playlist. "Stella's Best Boy Band Jams, Summer 2012," he read. "This is—it's something. And slightly out of date."
"I stick to what I know and like," I replied.
"And that's the truth of it."
"It kept me moving," I said. "Until you came around."
"Yeah. Well. About that party. It sounds great," he said. "But the neurosurgeon I work with—"
"Nick," I supplied. "His wife is the climate scientist."
"Right, those two," he said. "They're hosting a dinner party on Saturday night. They're very chill people so it's not one of those dinner parties with place cards or anything like that."
A laugh burst out of me, louder and harder than I expected. "That's where you draw the line? Place cards?"
He waved me off but said, "You'd like Nick and Erin."
"I'm sure I would," I replied. "And now it sounds like we both have Saturday evening events. I wish there was a way to make it work." I pressed my hands to my face as I gasped. "Oh my god. I just assumed you were inviting me to your dinner party. Shit, that's embarrassing. I didn't mean—"
"Stop." Cal dropped his hand on my shoulder, squeezed. "I was inviting you."
I peeked up at him through my fingers. "Then this was even more embarrassing."
He gifted me one more shoulder squeeze before lifting his hand. "This is good," he mused. "I hover around this level of awkward whenever I'm with you. It's only fair you experience fourteen seconds of it."
"So pleased I could hand you this reprieve," I said, laughing. "If I could get out of this media event, I would. From everything you've told me, your friends sound awesome. Would I get to meet Stremmel? I really want to meet Stremmel. I want to put a face to the misery."
Cal gestured toward me, the back of his right hand grazing my left arm in the process. "Why not split the difference? I'll meet you at your thing and we'll do that. Then we'll go to my thing. I've never once been on time to a party at Nick and Erin's house. Why start now?"
I bobbed my head in agreement. I didn't know what else to say. Cal was introducing me to his friends and colleagues—more than the quick hellos we'd shared on the sidewalk last month—and I couldn't pretend we were merely trail buddies or dinner companions or people who shared a fondness for ass biting. We were none of those things.
What we were…I wasn't ready to say that.
18
Cal
