“Um—” My mouth goes dry, and I’d like to take back my search for an honest reaction. Can we back up?
“Come on now. How did that first kiss come about with yourfriend?”
“Well, ummm… actually, the first time I kissed her, I didn’t exactly know her.”
“Gosh, I’m just so proud. My baby is out making a name for himself while kissing strange women on the streets.”
She has no idea how accurate that sentence is.
“It wasn’t like that,” I say, which is the worst defense ever because we both know she will drag the truth out of me.
And she does. It only takes one word. “Callum.” And I tell her about our first kiss, our second kiss, and all the kisses after. Maybe Zev is right. Maybe I am a mama’s boy.
“Whew!” Mom sighs—so dramatic. I blame Tiff. The rest of us kids are grown and gone, and she spendsall of her time with a dramatic fourteen-year-old girl. “Don’t mind me,” Mom says. “Just over here fanning myself.”
“I know where my head is. I’m completely content without another person to fill my life. I’m a grown man, not an animal. And I remind myself of that. But when I’m with Fran?—”
“You become anormalman?”
“I don’t know.”
“Son, you aren’tjustfriends. You are attracted to the girl. Which sure, doesn’t not match your ideal of being a lone wolf. But you are still a man.”
“I don’t want to hurt her.”
“Then don’t.”
“You make it sound so simple,” I say, my hands on the wheel of my car.
“Baby, the fact is, wolves roam in packs. And when they don’t, it’s due to trauma. We aren’t meant to be alone, Callum.”
Trauma? Can’t it just be a choice? I don’t want to be ruled by another person—especially when a person like Simone separated me in one way or another from my family, my friends, and the game I love. That’s too much control.
“Sweetheart,” Mom says. “Zev is right. You like this girl. You’re kissing her because you want to.”
“When did you talk to Zev?”
“Oh, we talk.”
I groan. “Well, it’s not like that with Fran.”
“Tell that to your hormones.”
I run a hand down my face and up my cruise control by three miles. “Well, it’s notsupposedto be like that with Fran.”
“I suppose I’ll be the judge of that. See you in a few days, Callum. Love you.”
Thirty-Eight
“I have feelings for Callum,”I burst the minute Rosalie walks in the door. “Now you tell me a secret.”
Her brow furrows and she huffs out a tired breath, tossing her backpack onto the couch. “That isn’t a secret, Fran. Any sane person in the same room as the two of you knows how you feel.”
I pat the floor next to where I sit on our beige living room carpet. Because while I’m bursting with things to say about me, about Callum, about all the feelings I’ve built up—I need to ask about Rose. And swapping secrets is my strategy.
With another huff, my friend slumps onto the edge of the couch and then slides her butt to the floor, plopping right next to me.
“How was your night?”
