CHAPTER 59
1062 Words
"Mmm." She picked at a stray hair on her sweatpants, tossing it into the floor.
Anything to distract her thoughts. "Where do you and Astrid stand?"
Vincent sat up, all pretense of nonchalance gone. He cleared his throat.
"Um...why?"
"You got to drill me about Cooper," she explained calmly. "So I want to know about
Astrid. Fair is fair, right?"
Vincent's blush was back in full force. "We aren't really talking right now, if that's
what you're asking."
"That doesn't tell me where you stand with her, though," Calla argued, looking back
down at the floor.
Did it matter? Would his answer bring her any closer to finding the killer?
He turned to her. They were sitting close enough that their arms brushed. "I'm not
gonna lie, Calla...I don't really know. I've always had a thing for her, I guess. But
she's different now. I don't know what it is." He paused. "I lost a damn good friend
over her, and that's on me. So I'm keeping my distance. I don't like who she's
turned me into."
If only you knew what I could turn you into.
"And who's that?" she asked softly, keeping her eyes on her sweatpants, suddenly
fascinated by each individual thread.
"The kind of guy who goes behind a friend's back with his girl." He groaned. "I never
wanted it to get so complicated."
Calla could relate. All too well.
"Well," she said lightly, eyes still cast downward. "Guess that answers my question.
Sort of."
He didn't have anything to say to that.
She released her legs and fell back onto the bed, pushing her hair out of her face
impatiently. Something about the turn in the conversation irked her.
I never wanted it to get so complicated.
Vincent leaned back, positioning himself so that he hovered next to her. Propping
himself up on one elbow, he picked up a strand of her hair and ran it over his
fingers, a soft smile on his face. "I like your hair like this."
She glanced over at him, immediately detecting the shift in subject. Not that she
cared. If anything, she appreciated the reprieve. "It's annoying."
"It's beautiful," he murmured, and then paused, contemplating. "For a ginger."
"I think you've overstayed your welcome."
He grinned at her. "Kidding. Totally kidding."
Close. He was so close. He still hovered just beside her, gazing down at her with a
playful look that had been absent for the last few weeks, having evaporated in the
stress and confusion following Rachel's death. A look that taunted her. That
consumed her.
Calla sat up and scooted further onto the bed so that she could lean against her
mountain of pillows—and put enough space between them so that she could think.
You're playing with fire, Calla.
She gazed at the foot of the bed where Vincent still lounged. The look in his eyes
shifted. She'd seen it before, at the dance. Wrapped up in fire.
Feeling bold, she tossed her hair over her shoulder. "If you want to stay, you have to
apologize. House rules. We don't allow ginger slander here."
"Of course," he said without missing a beat, trying to hide a smirk as he crawled up
to her. "How could I be so rude?"
Oh.
He slowly positioned himself so that he hovered over her, his knees straddling her
hips. He took care not to touch her, keeping a small gap of space between his body
and hers. He smiled down at her as heat raced into her cheeks against her will, and
very softly he leaned down to whisper in her ear.
"I'm sorry. Forgive me?"
She swallowed, trying to control her erratic breathing. She took one deep breath and
then another. "Forgiven."
"Y'know, now that I think about it...I actually have one more question," he
murmured, his lips still lingering by her ear.
Deep breath. "Yes?"
"Would it be too awful of me to kiss you again?"
He turned his face so that their lips were nearly brushing. In the back of her mind,
Calla was aware of the promise she'd made to Cory, of the line she'd sworn not to
cross with Vincent for fear of losing her focus.
She didn't care. Vincent was too close for her to care.
She reached up and grabbed his shirt, crushing him to her. He closed the gap
between them instantly, their bodies melding together. Her hands moved from his
shirt to twine in his hair, still damp from the shower. He smelled intoxicating—not
like the sharp scent of cologne, but like rain and sweat and heat. Like summer.
He bit her bottom lip and she gasped, her fingers turning to claws in his hair. He
groaned against her mouth and then moved to kiss her jaw, her neck. She arched
into his touch. His fingertips left behind trails of fire, igniting every nerve in her body,
a sensation that quickly spread down to her thighs.
She pulled his face back up to hers and began to explore his mouth, much to his
delight. He smiled against her kisses, one hand holding his weight while the other
trailed down her waist, her hips, her thighs. She was reminded again of how little
experience she had in this—and how his experience more than made up for what
she lacked.
She didn't mind. In this, she could be patient.
With practice. Lots of practice.
He broke the kiss, panting. The hand still in his hair drifted down to his face,
dragging down his cheek and then his neck. He shuddered and she smiled, pleased
with herself.
"Wait. Maybe one more question." His voice came out as a breathless murmur.
Experimenting, Calla leaned forward to kiss his jawline, working her way down his
neck.
"Um." He let out a heavy sigh, his head rolling to one side, giving her better access.
"Calla..."
"Mmm?" She leaned back and blinked at him innocently. "Did you have a question?"
"Uh." He hesitated, eyes focused on her lips. He swallowed. "It can wait..."
"Good," she murmured, wrapping her legs around his waist.
He leaned forward and, consumed by him, she forgot about Cory and Rachel and
Cooper and all of the others who demanded her attention every second of every
day.
In this moment—just this one moment—she could be selfish.
- Writer
