Maybe she’s right. We do hang out. Make conversation with each other. And it’s not small talk either. We have shared friends and experiences. Coworkers we gossip and speculate about on the long drive to and from work. We haven’t kissed since the Fourth, but that’s okay. I do miss the taste of her sweet lips, but then again, we’ve both been busy. And sometimes, it’s good enough to just hang out with her and spend time in her presence.
I frown. What the hell does this all mean?
“Yes, asshole. We’re friends,” she practically spits out.
“Friends don’t call each other assholes, Gracie,” I say, my tone solemn.
“Whatever. I’m out.” She starts to walk by me, but I grab hold of her arm, stopping her. She glances down where I’m touching her but I don’t let go. It’s like I can’t.
“I offended you with the blow job remark,” I state the obvious.
“I thought we were past that sort of thing,” she says.
I will never be past that sort of thing, but I don’t bother saying that. “I was only kidding, G.”
I wasn’t. I would’ve gladly accepted a blow job to go shopping with her, but clearly that was the wrong route to take. I still don’t know what the hell I’m doing when it comes to Gracie, but I’m starting to figure her out. She’s a good lesson for the future.
What to say to get a girl, and what not to say, too.
“The thing is, I don’t believe you really were kidding.” She shifts out of my grip and I let my hand drop. “You say things like that, and I know if I agreed, you’d be down. Am I right?”
She raises her brows and I know she’s on to me. Damn it. “Maybe,” I hedge.
“There’s no maybe about it,” she says firmly. “Caleb, I think it’s best if we keep each other firmly in the friend zone. Taking it any further will just end up being a huge mistake.”
I rub my chin, studying her. Noting the determined jut of her jaw, the way her eyes blaze as she watches me. Gold shot through with green, that’s what her eyes look like right now.
“You’re right,” I say easily, making her mouth drop open. “We don’t need to take things further. We’re good as friends. That’s all we should be.”
She snaps her mouth shut, nodding. “Exactly.”
“The kiss that night was just a one-off,” I continue. “Well, we had a couple of one-offs. The 4th was a really great kissing session, don’t get me wrong, but we can’t do that again. No matter how much I want to.”
Gracie nods, visibly swallowing. “Yes. I totally agree.”
I take a step closer and reach for her, tucking her hair behind her ear, letting my fingers linger. I’m doing this on purpose. Drives me crazy how she tries to pretend there’s nothing between us, when it feels like everything is between us. All of it. Every single thing. I can’t even describe exactly what I’m talking about, but if I mentioned it to her, I bet she’d know.
We just get each other.
“Friends only, G. That’s it for me and you.” I drop my voice to a low murmur. “Let’s go to the mall and find you some sexy sweaters.”
She frowns. “Sexy sweaters?”
“My science teacher in the seventh grade was fresh out of college. Young and beautiful. She wore these tight sweaters in the winter that showed off her tits to perfection.” I grin. “I fantasized about her coming into my room at night, wearing one of those sweaters and nothing else.”
“You know how to ruin a moment every single time,” Gracie mutters, stepping away from me as if she needs the distance. “Come on, you giant pervert. Let’s go to the mall.”
She drags my ass to the mall and we wander around, Gracie dashing in and out of stores, always with a look of disappointment on her face when she exits. I’m not sure what she’s looking for, but she must have something in mind, and nothing is meeting her needs.
I could come up with a cheesy line right now about meeting certain needs of hers, but I refrain—even mentally.
“I hate everything I’m looking at,” Gracie tells me as she walks out of yet another store with a frown on her pretty face. “All of it looks too…young. I want to be taken seriously, not look like one of the students.”
“G, you don’t look like you’re eight.” I rake my gaze down the length of her, lingering on all the best parts. “Trust me.”
“You know what I mean,” she says with an exasperated sigh.
“I think you’re looking in the wrong stores,” I tell her, spotting another familiar storefront that’s down the way from whe