I Wanna Text You Up (Page 6)
I grit my teeth together and push out the words. “Promise promise.”
He beams at me. “Perfect.”
We load another box each and then something hits me.
“How are you going to drive your motorcycle with your brace on?” I ask him.
“Carefully…very carefully. I think I can grip the handlebars enough that I don’t fall over.”
“How’d you get to Lola’s?”
“Caleb, this doesn’t sound safe. Just ride with me and we’ll come back to get your bike later.”
He holds his hand up. “How later? Because I’m going to be in this thing for some time.”
“Can someone else drive it maybe? I’d rather you and the bike make it to the apartment safely.”
“I don’t want anyone else to drive my precious.”
“Zoe.” He huffs. “Fine. We’ll leave it here then. I’ll see if one of the guys from the team can drive it.”
“I am not asking my ex-girlfriend’s boyfriend to drive my motorcycle for me. Now that is weird.”
“What about my friend Robbie? He rides and I trust him with my life. He’d never let your precious get hurt.”
“I’ll think about it,” he bites out, annoyed again.
I stand by as he bends to grab another box, taking his distraction as an opportunity to scroll my eyes over his body…to admire the way his arms flex as he lifts the last container…to soak in the way his shirt clings to his muscled back as he crams the boxes into the hatch.
He begins to twist my way, and I can’t pull my eyes away fast enough.
“I think that’s the last of it, right?”
“Yep.” My voice comes out a squeak and his brow hitches at the sound.
“Right.” He closes the hatch. “So we ready then?”
Another high-pitched squeal.
He laughs and bends to grab his helmet, stashing it in the back seat, and I check out his ass.
That tight, perfectly sculpted ass his faded Levi’s are hugging in all the right places.
I have no fucking shame.
“Try not to jostle everything around too much. I have a couple collectibles in here I’d like to keep in one piece, and don’t forget that Mittens is in his carrier. He’ll probably cry for a bit and then settle down.”
I snap my eyes to his, certain he knows exactly what I was just doing.
For some completely unknown reason, I shoot him two thumbs up. “Yep.”
We climb into the car, and that’s the moment I realize having him ride with me was a big mistake.
His body fills the car with a sweaty, rugged scent. I hate it and love it all at once.
I shift the car into the drive and start our journey. Mittens lets out a soft meow and Caleb reaches into the back, trying to soothe the kitten, but it’s no use. His meows grow louder, his uncertainty about the moving vehicle rising.
“Do you mind if I let him out?”
“Not at all.”
I try to keep my focus on the road as he scoops the skittish kitten from his traveling case and snuggles him close to his chest.
You know those silly videos you see online with the hot guys playing with kittens? The big, macho dudes falling apart at the sight of them?
That’s what’s happening right now, in this car, right in front of me—and it’s every bit as swoon-worthy as it is in video form.
It’s not just about how stupid sexy it is to see him fawning all over Mittens. It’s his smile, the way his entire face is lighting up, the way his shoulders relax from their rigid posture.
Looks like Caleb needs Mittens just as much as Mittens needs him.
And maybe I need them both.
“You’re out of soap.”
Caleb’s lived here for all of five hours and I’m already regretting my decision to allow him to move in. I could strangle Delia for saying yes too. He’s already used the last of the paper towels, and now my body wash is gone too. Why he wants to smell like Brown Sugar Pears is beyond me.
I groan. “Did you really use my body wash?”
“I’m out. I didn’t think it’d be a big deal.”
Spinning around in my spot on the couch to face him, I let out a shriek when I see he’s wearing nothing but a towel.
“Why are you naked?”
“I’m not naked, Zoe. I have a towel on. Why are you still staring at me?”
His lips tilt up and I realize he’s right. I am still staring, but I can’t pull my eyes away now, not when his perfectly sculpted chest is on full display.
You can tell taking care of his body is important to Caleb. You can also tell he spends a lot of his free time at the gym. His biceps are chiseled in just the right way, forearms strong and sturdy, and he’s given a little extra attention to his abs, the delectable V guys have drawing my eyes.
There’s a water droplet slowly making its way down, down, down beneath the towel. God do I want to see what’s beneath it.
His voice snaps me out of my haze and I bring my eyes to his, cheeks heating with the thoughts racing through my mind.
I will not find my roommate attractive. I will not find my roommate attractive.
“Go put some clothes on, Caleb.”
He smirks. “Because you’re afraid you’re going to try to jump my bones?”
“Are you lying?”
His smirk grows, because he knows I’m lying, but he doesn’t call me on my shit.
Instead he spins around and hustles back down the hallway to his bedroom, only to emerge moments later wearing a plain black t-shirt, gray sweatpants, and no socks.
This might be worse.
There’s something so sexy about a guy in sweats with bare feet. It reminds me of a rainy Sunday afternoon spent in bed…which is exactly where I’d like to be right now.
I watch as he makes his way into the kitchen, opening every cabinet there is and closing each one with a thud louder than the last.
When he makes it to the refrigerator, he all-out huffs in disdain.
“Is there anything to eat here?”
I lift myself off the couch and take a seat at the bar. “What do you mean? The cabinets are full and there’s milk in the fridge.”
“There’s milk for macaroni and cereal, which is nearly all there is in the cabinets.”
“Okay.” I draw the word out, confused. “That’s food.”
He groans. “That’s not real food.”
“It keeps me alive.”
“But not healthy.”
I roll my eyes. “Boring.”
“Then what am I supposed to eat, huh? I can’t cook.”
His mouth drops open. “You can’t cook? Like, at all?”
“I can make eggs and bake…does that count?”
He drops his head into his hands, laughing. “You can cook the one thing I can’t cook.”
“Wait, you can’t make eggs? But they’re so easy.”
“Well not for me apparently. What can you bake?”
I wave my hand. “Easy.”
“Cupcakes? From scratch?”
“How about this: you make desserts and I’ll make dinners.”
“All dinners when we’re both home,” he says. “Except on Sundays. I won’t be here on Sundays.”
“What happens on Sundays?”
“I have plans.”
“Plans?” He nods. “Every single Sunday?” He nods again.
“Do we have a deal then?”
“Deal,” I agree.
“Good.” He claps his hands together. “We need to shop then.”
I hold up a hand. “Starting now? I just went shopping two days ago.”
“And your cabinets are filled with nothing but junk.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“It’s pretty bad.”
“Fine.” I let out a defeated sigh. “Let’s go shopping then. I’ll put on a proper shirt.”
“And pants. Don’t forget to put pants on.”
“Leggings are pants!” I holler over my shoulder as I make my way into my bedroom.
I listen as Caleb shuffles after me and hear his dresser drawers open. I never hear the bedroom door close and itch to sneak into the hallway to see what I can catch a glimpse of.
Instead I dutifully pull out a t-shirt that isn’t three sizes too big, put the plain navy V-neck on, throw my hair into a messy bun, and swipe on a layer of lip gloss.
Caleb saunters out of his room wearing a pair of low-slung jeans instead of the sweatpants he had on, not having bothered to change his shirt. That same ball cap from earlier is backward on his head again, his dark blond hair spilling out from underneath.
I’ve never understood the appeal of ball caps before. They’ve always been an odd choice of accessory to me.
I don’t know if it’s the way he’s wearing it or if it’s that extra swagger it gives him, but damn.