Riven (Riven 1)

Oh, hell. Right. Of course Caleb would be thinking along those lines.

“No, I get it,” I said. “I do. It’s okay, I understand. There’s only two weeks left, anyway.”

I heard the sound of a door shutting that meant Caleb had gone back inside. Then I heard him rummaging around somewhere.

“Can I call you back?” he asked.

“Uh, yeah. Sure. Or, you know, you don’t have to.” I checked the clock. “It’s late.”

I could hear Caleb’s snort and picture him rolling his eyes at me. If we’d been together, he’d have elbowed me with this particular expression of his, which I thought of as the shut-up-yes-I-still-like-you look. He shot it at me whenever he thought I was, as he put it, “convincing myself I was letting him off the hook.”

“No, I just need to call Huey real quick. I’ll call you right back, okay?”

“?’Kay.”

I paced the room, then I flipped through all the channels. Then I checked the time again, saw that only seven minutes had passed, and went to take a shower to kill a little time. When I got out of the shower, I saw that I’d missed Caleb’s call.

“Motherfucker!”

“Hey,” he said when he answered. “Thought you might’ve given up on me and called in the backup to meet you in New Orleans.”

His voice was light, but I knew the anxiety was real. That I’d decide being with him was too much trouble.

“Never,” I said. “I just jumped in the shower. I got antsy,” I admitted.

“Okay, I’m in.”

“In? Like, in in?”

“Uh. Yes? In in.”

“Really?”

He chuckled. “No, I’m fucking with you. Yes, really. Jesus.”

Joy fizzed through me and I felt about fifty pounds lighter. I threw myself onto the bed and, in the process, managed to hang up on Caleb with my chin.

“Wow,” he said, when he answered again.

“Sorry, sorry. My chin did it, I don’t know.”

We made plans and I got on my tablet and made the reservation. Caleb didn’t even complain too much about letting me pay for the ticket. I wasn’t sure what his financial situation was these days, but I had ridiculous gobs of money I couldn’t use in three lifetimes, so it only made sense that I buy the plane ticket.

I hung up, giddy with the thought of getting to see him, hold him, kiss him. And hopeful that maybe, with part one of my plan in motion, things were looking up.

* * *

—

“Jesus Christ, you’re heavy,” Caleb said, hoisting me up by the thighs so I wouldn’t fall after I jumped on him at the New Orleans airport. He’d walked out of baggage claim with his sunglasses on and a small duffel bag slung over his shoulder, looking like a wet fucking dream, and I hadn’t been able to stop myself. I’d meant it to be a hug, but at the last minute, I’d kinda launched myself at him.

But then he squeezed me, and kissed me so fucking hard and sweet that everything but him disappeared. I came back to myself as my feet touched the ground.

“Hi,” I said, and he grinned. I could see myself in his sunglasses, could see I was grinning just as big.

I’d booked us a room at the Magnolia, a boutique hotel in the French Quarter, though the rest of the band was staying at one of the big hotels on Canal Street, but I hadn’t even checked in yet, had gone right to the airport to meet Caleb.

The air was balmy and thick, but when we walked through the doors we were in a cool, dark grotto, open to the air but shaded by trees. Lush flowers I didn’t recognize bloomed on bushes that surrounded a small decorative fall that trickled down slate and collected in a pool of flagstone you could sit on the edge of. There were a few café tables set up in the courtyard, and where the streets outside had been loud, in here it was still and quiet.

“This is beautiful,” Caleb said when I came back with the keys. I nodded, and held out my hand, because all I could think about, now that I had the keys, was getting him to the nearest bed. The stairs were narrow and steep and, yeah, I put a little swing into my ascent, knowing Caleb was right behind me.

“Keep sticking that ass in my face and you know I’m gonna do something to it,” Caleb said, his voice so low and rough that I could hardly hear him.

“Yeah?” I threw him a look over my shoulder. “I’m counting on it.”

The second I fumbled the door open, Caleb was on me, mouth hungry and hands seeking.

“God, I fucking want you,” he said, like he almost couldn’t believe it himself.

There was nothing slow or controlled about the way we came together. We went at each other like beasts, sucking, biting, scratching, thrusting, until we came all over each other and collapsed in a sweaty heap on the bed, legs entwined and fingers still clutching.