"Yeah, basically," she replied.
"Not really," he argued. "You should listen to the things I say to you, Tate. Maybe you'd realize they're not the bullshit you've cooked up in your head."
"Now you're saying I'm delusional?"
"Oh my fucking god, no," he cried. "Do you see this, Stella? This is what I'm talking about."
"I'm telling both of you to shut up." I pressed my thumb to my temple as I ran a finger over my eyelid. I hated being in the office on Sundays. "Thank you for the impassioned commentary. You need to learn how to work together again. If you can't, I'll send you to a Myers-Briggs retreat. The easier solution would be to reassign one of you but—as this weekend meeting should illustrate—I don't have time for a game of musical assistant chairs. Is that what you'd like? A day full of exciting reflection activities and teamwork exercises? Strategies for working with your personality type?"
Without consulting Tatum, Flinn said, "Neither of us want that."
"But neither of us want you driving your personal life off a cliff," Tatum added.
I glanced at my phone. I couldn't text Harry now. I couldn't. It had been weeks since he'd asked if I was ending it with him and responding now was the wrong tactic. As for Cal, I could deal with him tomorrow. On the trail.
"Again, thank you for the commentary. We need to get through this month and then we'll have some breathing room." Hopefully, in a much larger office. "I'm sure these issues will keep until then."
Flinn and Tatum shared an eyeroll that should've told me I was dead wrong.
21
Stella
"Question for you,"I said, bright and early Monday morning. May mornings were the best. Sunny but still cool enough that I didn't feel gross as a result of simply walking outdoors.
"This weekend would be fine," Cal replied. "Assuming I can get my mother on a flight. I'm sure I can make that happen. She'll bring something old. She always has something ridiculously old hanging around."
I peered at him, confused. "For…what, exactly?"
He aimed a lopsided grin in my direction. "Once again, we are not talking about the same things," he replied, laughing. "What did you want to ask, Stel?"
"Are you okay with this?" I'd dedicated the better part of my Sunday to figuring out the right way to broach this topic with Cal. I wasn't sure this was the way but it was the best I could do. Since I had an evening event with McKendrick—one of several this week—Cal and I weren't meeting for dinner tonight. Not that hashing this out over food would've been easier, but wine helped many things and I sensed it would help this. "With us? With this—thing?"
I didn't want to sayarrangementorrelationshiporagreementor anything similar because it wasn't like that and I didn't want those words in our world.
"Last weekend," I continued, "it seemed like you had some thoughts and I want to make sure I hear those thoughts. If you have them. And want to share."
I glanced over at Cal as I chewed my lower lip, not sure which kind of response I wanted from him. No, that wasn't true. I wanted something totally strange, completely unfamiliar. I wanted him to want me. To insist this thing wasn't all right, we weren't okay. None of this was good enough because it was a flimsy excuse for everything—and he wasn't settling for anything short of that.
And what a mess of contradictions I was. Just a big, damn mess.
"I enjoy spending time with you, Stella," he replied, his gaze fixed straight ahead. "That's my only thought."
No, it wasn't. It couldn't be. Unless Cal had fallen and bumped his possessive head, he wasn't content. He wanted to lock it down and wife me up. He didn'tenjoyan empty-bedroom blowjob and then shake it off like it was nothing.
"Ice cream," I whispered. Then, more loudly, "Ice cream, Cal. Speak up or get stuck with another bowlful of black raspberry."
"But I like watching you suck on the spoon," he replied with a knowing smirk.
"I'll suck anything you want if you tell me the truth."
"Whoa." Cal reached over, pressed his palm to my belly, stopping me in my tracks. "Don't play like that, Stella."
"Don't tell me what I want to hear," I shot back.
The best part was that hewasn'ttelling me what I wanted to hear. Far from it. I didn't want to languish in another month of walking and talking and wanting each other like a sickness we couldn't cure. I wanted him to give all of him and demand all of me because he knew I couldn't. I couldn't jump off that cliff again, even when I believed I wouldn't hit the ground this time around. He could take me with him but I couldn't jump alone. I couldn't meet him on the other side; he had to come around and bring me there.
"I'm not doing that," he replied, dropping his hand from my belly. We started walking again. "I'm telling you what I think. I enjoy spending time with you. I'd enjoy more time but I know your schedule is demanding right now."
