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My hand shakes as I gently brush his hair away from his face.
Is it possible to love and hate someone equally?
Because this man is all I’ve ever wanted... but not like this.
Not when he doesn’t know what he’s doing or saying.
Not when he has no clue he’s breaking my heart.
“Just let me lock the condo up, okay?” I run my thumb along his brow, and he closes his eyes and relaxes. “I’ll come back after.”
“Promise?”
“I promise,” I whisper back and know there’s no way I’m making him sleep alone tonight. I might not get a minute’s sleep, but I’ll be doing it right here.
CAITLIN
She remembered who she was, and the game didn’t change. It ended.
—Caitlin’s Secret Thoughts
Okay... So maybe following through on my promise and actually getting back in bed with Callen wasn’t my smartest move, but hey, at least I grabbed my Kindle before I came to bed.
Who the fuck am I kidding?
That was mistake number one hundred and fifty-two where this man is concerned.
Because lying in his bed—with his face buried against my stomach, and his arms wrapped around my waist like I’m a lifeline as he sleeps off whatever this drunken bender of his is—is only one piece of this absolute mind-fuck of a night.
When he wrapped himself around me hours ago, I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.Honestly, couldn’t figure out what the hell was happening and figured he’d shift away eventually.
He didn’t.
Being surrounded by his scent, his blanket, his body, in his space. The one I’ve never seen him bring a woman into in all the years I’ve lived here... yeah. That’s all fucking with me enough that five hours and three-quarters of the way through the new A.J. James romance my friend sent me earlier tonight, and I’m a hot mess.
I didn’t think it was possible, but this book is even spicier than her last one, which means basically, I’m in hell. I’m turned-on, and pissed off—becausereally? What was Callen thinking? Preseason started a few weeks ago, so getting drunk like this isn’t like him. And getting drunk and saying what he said—well, that was just mean. And confusing. So damn confusing.
Callen pulls me closer as his hands slip under my tank top just above the waistband of my shorts, and I inch backward.
Uh-uh. No way this is happening, not like this.
But apparently, he has other plans.
His hands sear my skin as they smooth up my back, and I close my Kindle and smack him on the head with it. “Down, boy.”
“Ow, Cait. What the fuck?” he groans, and I’m kinda impressed he knows where he is and who he’s with. I guess thank goodness for small miracles and fast metabolisms.
“Sorry, Sinclair. I’m not about to let your drunk ass molest me in your sleep,” I snap, impressed with myself because I really,reallywant his hands on me anyway I can have him. But this is Callen... and he’d never forgive himself, and I’m a better friend than that.
Stupid morals.
There’s pain in his green eyes when he pulls back. A pain I didn’t cause him. “What happened, Callen?” I ask softly. Completely unlike me because again... this is Callen.
People might like to tease that I’m all hard edges and smart answers, but no one is like that all the time. Not even me. And if there’s ever been someone I wanted to be soft for... To let my guard down with, it’s him. “This isn’t you. You don’t drink until you pass out. And you sure as hell don’t ask me to stay with you. You usually don’t want to have anything to do with me.”
He drags his hand down his face and pushes up next to me so we’re sitting side by side, with our backs against his tufted brown-leather headboard and our legs lined up next to each other. Not saying anything. No smart-ass comeback or quick-witted argument. He doesn’t look at me, just stares down at his hands for a long time while I wait in silence—something I’ve never been good at.
“Callen...” I wrap my hand around his, unsure what I want to say, so I do what I do best and wing it. “Do you remember when I was little, and my mom told me I wasn’t allowed in the tree house?”
