I was looking for a way to vent my rage, while running as fast as I could in the other direction. I didn’t want to be around people, not because my anxiety was bad, but because I didn’t give a shit. Funny how destroying someone’s trust and faith in love could do that. My body, however, was going through some kind of touch withdrawal. The whole situation made for a perfect storm of crankiness.
But Cal? Despite knowing better, he was the only man who made me wonder…what if?
“You’re looking at me like I just kicked your dog,” he said.
I glanced down, my face relaxing. I must have been scowling hard. “Sorry, just thoughts.”
“Care to share them?”
No, not really. But in the spirit of anger and emptiness, I was considering it. Because not much rattled me lately. I had school that I cared about. And Harper. But no more family, no more budding career, no more Jack.
“I’m just not in the mood.”
He lifted a brow. “That’s pretty vague.”
My eyes snapped to his with heated anger. Jack’s words drifted through my memory:
You know I hate vagueness…
“Fine, you want something direct?” I asked sharply.
“Yes, please.”
“I hate this.” There, that was direct. “When I say I’m not in the mood, what I mean is I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to try to have fun. I don’t even want to be me, something the costume was supposed to help with, and it’s not.” Realization made me choke on the last word. Because he stared at me wit
h hard determination and a soft understanding all at the same time.
“I don’t want to think about things. I don’t want you to think about things, and I don’t even want you standing there,” I waved my hand over his general direction, “Looking like that.”
His perfect mouth pursed, and he nodded like I had a point. Which I didn’t. I was just pissed and rambling. Hating the fact that one phrase he spoke reminded me of Jack. Reminded me they were friends. Reminded me of all the ways I’d come up lacking, and all the reasons he could have stayed, but chose to leave.
Never again.
I couldn’t be that weak again. I was certain my body couldn’t physically take it. Jack had wanted control, and I’d given it. It was my turn to control my world now. I just wasn’t sure how to do that, outside of giving into the burning feeling and popping off at the mouth.
“Fair enough,” he said, humoring me and taking off his helmet. “Before I start stripping, though, you could clarify what it is you want me to look like, if not this?”
“I don’t want you to strip,” I said. Which was half a lie. Okay, it was more than half, because the man was sexy as sin, and the idea of him taking his clothes off made my entire core throb and anticipation race through my system so hard my veins were vibrating.
“You said you didn’t want me looking like this?”
“That’s not what I meant.” And he knew it. But he was so good at making things casual and easy.
“Ouch, Kitten. You know, I’ve got the outfit…” He set his helmet down and started to take off the jacket exaggeratedly slowly.
“Yeow! Malone is putting on a show!” a fellow firefighter dressed as James Bond shouted and turned up the music.
“Hey, this is a private party over here,” he said over his shoulder, then faced me again to wink.
I shielded my face and shook my head.
“Hey, you said—”
“I know what I said,” I groaned. Leave it to Cal to try to take my mind off things. Same as he’d been trying to do since Jack left. Except for the fact that I’d been avoiding him.
He put his jacket next to his helmet on the table, leaving him in his pants with the red suspenders hanging down and a tight white T-shirt. Every muscle and ridge was defined, and those poor cotton sleeves could barely contain his biceps.
He ushered me to the nearest corner for some kind of privacy. At least I didn’t have to see anyone over his towering build and massive shoulders. He was like a—