I came halfway out of the chair.
Callum slammed a palm on the table. “Sit down.”
I sat.
Barely.
Nate, because he had no survival instinct, kept talking. “I’m just saying, geographical distance might help with the morning situation.”
“What morning situation?” Callum asked.
Nate grinned. “You don’t want to know.”
“I do not,” Callum said immediately. Then he looked at me and pointed one finger. “Do not confirm whatever he means.”
“Wasn’t planning to.”
Nate sighed. “No one appreciates honesty.”
“I appreciate silence,” Callum said.
“Then you picked the wrong club.”
Callum looked at him.
Nate wisely shut up.
For three seconds.
“I mean,” he muttered, “walking around with a yearlong hard-on for Edge’s daughter does seem stressful.”
I was on him before the chair hit the floor.
Callum was faster than both of us.
“Enough.”
His voice cracked through the room.
Not loud.
Final.
I backed off, breathing hard.
Nate held up both hands, still grinning, but his eyes were serious.
Callum looked between us, then settled on me. “You want distance?”
“Yes.”
“You think that fixes it?”
“No.”
“Then what does it do?”
“Keeps me from standing outside her life like a stray dog waiting for scraps.”
