“Well, you’re not inside. Are you in the back or something? I came outside, but your car isn’t here, so?—”
“Alecia. Look up.”
I stop and lift my eyes. Calder’s there. Halfway down the first aisle of the lot. Half obscured by Pete and Julie’s SUV.
I click off the phone and dart toward him.
twenty
I don’t even remember decidingto move, and then I can only hear my sneakers slapping the asphalt as I jog toward him. Calder meets me halfway, and for a second we just stand there, breathing hard.
“You were planning to give me that. Even before last night.”
He nods. “Yeah.”
“That could’ve been really creepy.”
“Right. I thought about that.”
“It wasn’t, though.”
He lets out a puff of air. “Well. I’m better when I write things down.”
“I’d say you're pretty good in person.” I can’t wait another second. I loop my arms around his neck and kiss him.
His hands slide over the small of my back, crossing like good shapewear and holding me snug. I feel safe and protected in his arms, like I could burrow in deep and sleep for the winter. And what a hibernation it would be with that mouth. His lips are dragging over my jaw, sending a jolt to my middle as he kisses my neck. I curl my fingers in his hair, in his T-shirt.
The wind picks up, and I tuck myself closer, nudging his lips back to mine. I warm my hands on his cheeks and kiss him deeply, my tongue brushing his.
When I start to shiver, he grasps my wrists. “Are we going back in there?” His voice is hoarse, and I’m instantly obsessed.
I groan. “My stuff is still there. I left my bag?—”
Calder moves, leading me to his car. “Get in. I’ll go grab it.”
“Are you sure?”
“You’re freezing.”
“I know, but?—”
“And I don’t trust you to get it without stopping to talk to a hundred people.”
I nod soberly. “That’s fair.”
He hands me the keys, and my eyes light up. “What if I steal your car?”
“Then I’ll steal your wallet.”
I scoff. “Rude!”
Calder closes the door and jogs into the building, the wind sending ripples of T-shirt across his back. I snoop, just a little, but he doesn’t have anything damning in his consoles. Just gum, a phone charger, and—ooh. I pull out a small bag of dog treats. That was information.
I swear he was only gone for five seconds when he opens the back door and catches me red-handed. I jump, dropping the bag back in the console and closing it while he puts my bag on the seat.
“You have a dog?” I ask.
“No. It’s for my sister’s dog. I take him to the park on Sundays.”
