Hand in hand, we do just that.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
IAN
“I’m just saying, you could have milked the whole situation for some leeway,” I tell Callum, who’s hunched over his laptop. “Like, one of your profs had toforceyou to accept an extension.”
We’re at the tail-end of finals season, barely two weeks after Callum’s parents showed up and did what’s now being investigated as possible domestic terrorism. It seems like some of the students overheard Regina’s rambling, and then reported ideological motivations to the police, so now the fucking FBI are involved.
As I said before, and as I’m still saying, what ashitshow. At least we’ve only had to send written statements through my lawyer at this point, given the extent to which Regina and Grant incriminated themselves. The actual trial is gonna come later. Much later.
Callum looks up at me, his eyes tired but no less pretty than they always are. “I didn’t come to college to get out of assignments. If anything, I want to prove a point.”
I can’t argue with that. I could try, but Callum is gonna do what he wants to do. His therapist Anita called him into an urgent check-in, given that news of what went down spread to every corner of the WMU community within hours, but he insists he’s fine and working through things with her. He hasn’t been acting any differently, at least from what I can tell, and believe me, I’m keeping my eyes peeled for any signs of distress.
The fact that his parents are in prison helps for sure. My family’s lawyer says the chances of Callum ever seeing Regina and Grant again are slim to none. There’s an emergency restraining order in place, with a permanent one all but guaranteed, and the elder Crosses are facing years for reckless conduct alone.
Still, Callum could have atleastasked for an extension on his final papers. Seeing him stressed and typing frantically, in between studying for exams and taking them, consumes me with a need to take care of him more than usual. It isn’t like I can magic all of his finals away, and I have my own to worry about, so I’ve had to settle for ordering takeout for the two of us and giving him a ton of motivational back massages.
He slams his finger down on the trackpad and shuts his laptop, the sound echoing through the dining room and jolting my attention back to him. “Fucking finally,” he says triumphantly. “Now all I have is a French test in an hour, and then we’re free.”
“You’refree,” I correct. “I’ve been waiting for you to be done for ages.”
Taking a lighter course load in spring semester usually works out well for the playoffs, but handling a firearm on campus got me a quiet suspension from the team for the rest of the season. As much as I love playing baseball, I don’t regret giving it up in favor of disarming my boyfriend’s delusional parents, especially since I’ll be back on the team next fall. At least I’m not trying to go pro.
Callum rises to his feet, stretching his arms up, which lifts the hem of his T-shirt. He steps over to wrap his arms around me, and even though it’s pushing an unusual eighty degrees outside, I still relish the warmth. “I’ll try to finish my exam as fast as I can.”
I huff out a sigh. “Didn’t you just say that you aren’t trying to get out of doing work?”
He squeezes me tighter. “Hey, I only need fifty percent to get an A-minus. I’m good.”
“Oh, you actually did the math.” I scoff. “Look who’s learning the ways of college.”
“Blame yourself. You’re the bad influence I always needed.”
And before I can agree, Callum cuts me off with a gentle, brain-melting kiss.
“Mm, I’d rather French kiss than take my French test,” he says. “Say the word, and I’ll skip the final.”
I don’t have a chance to say any words, much less talk some senseinto him, because the fucker shoves his tongue into my mouth and grabs the back of my neck, sending a delicious spiral of energy down south.
Jesus. He knows that drives me up the damn wall.
“Babe, you can’t do that,” I protest, breaking away.
“Why not?” A mischievous smile plays across his lips. “I know you want me to.”
Callum almost,almost, gets me to agree by slipping his fingers under my shirt and giving my back a disarming squeeze, but he hasn’t figured out how to dissolve all of my willpower, at least not yet.
“You’re evil”—I pull away and give his ass a firm swat—“and you’re a fucking menace. Go take your exam.”
He just bats his luscious lashes at me and waves goodbye as he heads off.
Whoever made Callum’s French final two hours long obviously wasn’t thinking about their students’ lonely, long-suffering significant others.
Checking my phone isn’t going to make time pass any faster, so with great reluctance, I keep myself focused on packing our bags for the lake house. The two of us won’t need much, and as much as I want to be a little shit and pack one T-shirt and a pair of swim trunks for Callum to wear, andnothingelse, that’d be mean. I do what’s honorable and place the rest of his clothes into a duffel bag.
Including the five-inch inseam swim trunks I got for him. What can I say? I know what I like—giving things to Callum, and checking him out.
