He just looks at her, and somehow that stillness says more than any words could.
It’s always been like that with him.
Cal doesn’t talk unless he has to, but when he watches you, it’s like being dissected by someone who already knows the answer they’re looking for.
Strangely, it doesn’t feel like he’s doing that though.
He isn’t analyzing her like a threat or trying to read her intentions like he does with every other stranger he comes into contact with.
There’s a quiet curiosity in the way his eyes linger on her, thoughtful and almost…gentle.
It’s strange, seeing that in him.
Finally, his head tilts slightly. “That’s a fair assessment. I’m retired from the military. So, you’re pretty spot on.”
She practically beams from the light praise.
“Oh, I’m dying to hear what you think of me, now.” I grin at her over the rim of my glass.
The words come out light and a little teasing, but there’s a slight heat beneath them I can’t quite hide.
A flicker of anticipation that has nothing to do with the game and everything to do with the way she’s been watching all of us tonight rolls through me.
She turns her gaze on me, and just like that the air shifts again. For a second, the rest of the room fades into background noise.
“You,” she says, drawing the word out, tasting it like she’s testing the feel of it on her tongue.
Her gaze flicks down over my shirt sleeves rolled up to my forearms, the glass loose in my hand, the half-smile I can’t seem to drop, then back up again.
Her head tilts just slightly to the side. “You’re trouble.”
I let out a low laugh, leaning back against the couch. “Trouble, huh? That’s your professional opinion?”
“Definitely,” she says without missing a beat. “The way you walk, the way you talk…it’s written all over you.”
“Harsh,” I say, pretending to wince.
Cal snorts quietly, his voice cutting through with dry amusement. “She’s not wrong.”
She shakes her head, smiling to herself, and I can’t help the way my chest tightens watching her.
How easily she fits into this, how the laughter rolls out of her without effort.
When she looks at me, it’s not the same look she gave earlier.
The one under the mistletoe that made my heart stutter and my common sense vanish, this one’s softer but no less dangerous.
“Alright, my turn.” Her voice sounds steadier than I expect, but I can see the faint tremor in her hand.
She looks around the room, her gaze skimming over me for the briefest second before landing on the other side of the circle. “Grant. Truth or dare?”
“No longer using the bottle, huh?” He leans back in his chair, one arm draped lazily along the backrest, and gives a slow shrug. “Truth.”
For a second, she just watches him, her lips pursing slightly as she thinks. “What’s something you’ve always wanted but never let yourself have?”
It’s a simple enough question, but the way she asks it makes it sound like there’s another question hiding underneath the surface. It’s not just curiosity, it’s intent.
She’s reaching for something that she isn’t saying, poking around for an answer she probably doesn’t even know she’s asking for.
