His eyes widened a little, like he couldn’t understand why I even needed to ask. He shifted closer, turning fully toward me, and he pulled my chair in until our knees touched. His expression tightened, with his serious gaze holding mine without looking away.
“Because you matter to me,” he said, his voice filled with raw honesty. “They don’t. They never did. Not compared to you. And I’m not letting anyone hurt you like that again.”
I let his words linger as a warm feeling settled in my chest, with my heart beating fast and hard. My eyes filled with tears, and I couldn’t get a single word out. I didn’t know how to explain what his answer did to me. So, I let the feeling take over instead.
35
Callan
Holland took Lana upstairs after we finished breakfast, and I stayed in the kitchen with Rocco, cleaning up the mess Holland had left behind. There were pans stacked in the sink, coffee splatters on the counter, and a trail of flour on the floor that I still wasn’t sure how it got there. The waffles weren’t made by her because she had heated up frozen ones in the toaster.
I grabbed a rag and started wiping down the surfaces while Rocco rinsed the plates.
“I swear,” he said as he shook his head at the mountain of dishes, “that woman has never once felt the need to clean up after herself. Not a single time. It’s almost impressive.” He stacked two plates together and smirked. “It’s kind of cute though. She acts like a brat, but she’s the sweetest when she actually wants to be.”
I glanced over at him, not missing the shift in his voice. “You realize you just said that like a man who’s halfway in love, right?”
He jerked his head up. “In love?” He laughed as if the idea was ridiculous. “Come on. We’re just hooking up. That’s it. We have fun. We…you know.” He waved a soapy hand at me. “I want to keep her around, sure, but that doesn’t mean anything.”
“You’ve contradicted yourself three times in less than a minute.”
“No, I haven’t.”
I gave him a look. “You literally said you ‘want to keep her.’”
He opened his mouth, paused, then pointed a wet finger at me. “Context matters.”
“Right,” I said, turning back to the counter. “Context.”
He shut off the sink and leaned his hip against it. “I mean, she’s fun. She makes me laugh. She’s hot. Gives the best head. But I’m not a relationship guy. That’s the whole point. I don’t do the serious stuff.”
I let that sit for a second, then chuckled under my breath. “That’ll change.”
He scoffed. “Never.”
“Happened to me.” Admitting it wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be. I hadn’t even told Lana about my feelings for her, but the idea of that made me more nervous than admitting it to the guy who had only ever known me as a forever bachelor.
“That’s different,” he shot back, rolling his eyes.
“How so?” I asked as I picked up a bowl and set it in the drying rack.
“Oh, come on,” he said. “You’ve pretended all your life you’re not a relationship guy but we both knew someday someone would come into your life and knock you on your ass emotionally. That happened, and now you’re all structured and monogamous and loyal. You were always built like that.”
I looked at him and raised a brow. “That’s a lot of psychology for someone who claims he’s not thinking about a girl.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “I’m not. I’m talking about you.”
“You’re deflecting.”
“I’m not deflecting,” he said, but the way he reached for a towel instead of looking me in the eye told me exactly what he was doing.
I dried my hands and leaned on the counter beside him. “She’s good. She’s better than you give her credit for. She’s been protective of Lana all this time. That’s not something she fakes. That’s who she is.”
He paused for a split second. “Yeah…well,” he muttered. “That doesn’t mean anything.”
“Whatever you say.”
He shot me an annoyed look. “Stop that.”
