From her position on the floor, Delilah reaches out a palm to grip my knee. “Have you told her?”
I shake my head.
“Why not? She might feel the same way.”
“Believe me, if Calla felt the same way she’d tell me. I’m just… I don’t think I’m the right fit for her. Long term, anyway. We’re vastly different people, polar bloody opposites. I’m sure the things we want aren’t the same way.”
“Have you asked her what she wants?”
I pop my shoulders and flatten my lips. “Sort of. Kinda.”
“That’s a no,” Grey huffs, a slight tinge of amusement colouring his tone.
“We’ve been busy.”
“Yeah. Fucking.” Hudson grins before he lets out a pained grunt, his hand coming up to massage the spot on his ribs where Giselle winded him with her elbow.
“You are so crude!”
Ever the mature one of the group, Delilah rolls her eyes good naturedly and squeezes my knee.
“You don’t have to listen to me, but I think you should tell her how you really feel.”
“Yeah,” Grey not surprisingly agrees with his fiancée. “Plus, you’ve practically already been dating each other so what’s swapping a ‘fake date’,” he bunny quotes around his words, “for a real date? You’re already halfway to being in love, so just tell the girl.”
My heart ricochets against my ribcage at his words, my stomach flipping.
“I’m not—” The rest of my words fall flat as my mind whirrs, stalling and jerking, no longer sure which way is up, down, left or right.
Am I in love with Calla Becker?
Have I really fallen in love with my fake girlfriend?
A loud rap on my new apartment door saves me from having to answer my own question. Frowning, I peer round at the four of the closest people in my life, finding them all peering back at me.
“Are we missing someone?” Hudson jokes, cracking a smile.
I cross my new space in a few strides, the slap of my soles on the floor echoing across the bare walls and pull open the door.
Calla grins back at me, raising a bottle of bubbly above her head. “Hey you.”
My mouth is so dry I can hardly croak back a response.
Wearing a pretty white – don’t they call it a milkmaid style? – sundress embroidered with tiny yellow sunflowers, Calla looks fucking good enough to eat.
I watch her pulse flutter beneath the thin skin beneath her ear, visible thanks to her silky blonde hair scooped up into a bouncy ponytail off her elegant neck. My fingers itch to reach out and tug on the strands, to see what reaction I could elicit. A whimper? A moan?
“Oh.” Calla peers over my shoulder, her eyes widening when she spots I’m not alone. “I didn’t know you had company. I can—”
I lurch into action, letting go of the door to pull Calla into a tight hug. I have to clench my jaw tightly when I feel her soft tits press against my chest, the heat of her body seeping through the thin material of my shirt until it kisses my bare skin. “Don’t be silly. Come on in, there’s enough space for everybody.”
“You sure?” Calla huffs warmly against my collarbone, creating a path of gooseflesh in its wake.
“Promise.”
Throwing a sunny smile, Calla steps over my threshold, placing her bag and bottle on the kitchen counter, before grabbing the last beer in the pack and settling herself down amongst my family.
I swallow down the lack of warmth I feel now we’ve parted and instead gather up the stack of leaflets I found stuffed inside my postal cubby hole.
