Adam waves and leaves, and the five of us grow quiet for a moment. “I like my choice,” Rhys says honestly. “And I have no problem choosing her every day, for the rest of my life.”
It’s the best choice there is, and Callie is my only choice.
***
I never nap. It’s not productive, and when I wake up, I’m grouchy as fuck and disoriented, but I fell asleep on the sofa in the music room the next day. My ringing phone wakes me, and I fumble it as I push myself into a sitting position.
“’Lo,” I say, not even checking the caller ID before answering.
“Holy shit, you’re actually answering,” the woman on the other end exclaims, making me wince.
Should have checked the fucking caller ID.
“Hi, Beth,” I mumble and rub my hand over my face. “What’s up?”
“Don’t try to pretend that you haven’t been dodging me for the past two months. I’ve sent texts almost every day, and I’ve called at least twice a week.”
I know, and it annoys the shit out of me.
“Well, you caught me now. I only have a minute,” I lie and settle in for the tongue lashing I’m sure to get.
“I guess you don’t have some woman sitting next to you right now,” Beth says, her voice dripping with censure. “If you did, you’d be ignoring me again.”
“Is there a point to this call?” I finally ask.
“I haven’t seen you in three months, Declan. That’s not okay. I know you’re busy with gigs, and probably with a whole harem of women, but a lot has happened. I have important news. You won’t like it, but you need to hear it from me. In person.”
I sigh and shake my head. Beth’s always been overly dramatic. “I honestly don’t have time to meet up with you, Beth. Can’t you just tell me over the phone?”
“I need one hour of your time, Declan Boudreaux, and I’m not hanging up until you agree to give it to me.”
She’s also like a pit bull when she sets her teeth in. Knowing this is a losing battle, and seeing that I really do have to meet up with Callie in less than an hour, I cave.
“Fine. I have Wednesday night off. I’ll meet you for drinks.”
“Dinner,” she insists. “Come on, you know you miss me.”
Right. Like I miss the flu.
I laugh in frustration, pacing the room now. “Fine. Dinner. But you only get one hour, Beth, and then I walk away.”
“Fine.” Her voice is smug and I can just picture the smile on her medically-enhanced lips. “I want to go somewhere good.”
“You’re pushing it. I’ll text you Wednesday to confirm.”
“You better, Declan. No more dodging me. You can put the flavor of the week on hold for one hour.”
“That’s enough, Beth.” My voice is cold and hard. “I said I’d meet you, and I will. If you keep insulting me, I’ll simply tell you to go to hell.”
“Right.” She laughs, setting my teeth on edge. “You’d never tell me to go to hell, Declan. You love to hate me too much.”
“The hate part is close enough. Goodbye, Beth.”
I want to punch a wall. Few things make me truly angry in this world, but Beth is right at the top of the list. Knowing I need a half hour in the gym, punching the fuck out of a bag to relieve some of this energy before I see Callie, I shoot her a text.
Hey babe, gonna be a little late.
A few moments later she replies.
No problem. See you soon.
Just seeing those five words from her helps to calm me. I grab my gym bag and lock up, then jog out to my car.
Some time with the punching bag is still in order. Better yet, maybe Eli will spar with me. Kicking someone’s ass always feels better than the punching bag.
Chapter Fifteen
~Callie~
I’m scrubbing the kitchen floor on my hands and knees, like a woman on the edge. Because I am a woman on the edge, and that just pisses me off. And what do I do when I’m pissed off?
I clean.
Because I’m a normal, red-blooded American woman, and that’s what we do. The same way we go all soft over babies and cry during Hallmark movies and enjoy flowers. And sometimes we say I love you during the sweetest, most intimate sex ever.
I cringe and sit back on my heels as I dunk my rag in the bucket of warm soapy water. I can’t believe I did that! I mean, it wasn’t entirely my fault. I was half asleep, and it was so good and the words just slipped out. I didn’t even remember or realize I said it until this morning when I woke up, but then it hit me: he didn’t say it back.
It’s embarrassing. And I have to see him in a little bit and try to act like everything’s normal, when it definitely isn’t.
Just as I’m calling myself every kind of moron in the book, my phone pings with a text from Dec. Hey babe, gonna be a little late.
Great. We’ll just prolong the misery. The bathroom needs a good scrubbing.
I quickly text him back and am glaring at the backsplash behind the stove, wondering how in the bloody hell the marinara sauce ended up on the tile—doesn’t Adam use a lid when he cooks?—when the man himself comes sauntering through the front door, a smile on his handsome face. He stops cold when he sees me.
“Uh oh,” he says.
“What?” I snap, still frowning at the tile. Why is dried tomato sauce so hard to get off?
“You’re mad.”
“I’m cleaning,” I reply.
“Which means you’re mad.”
I shrug, still not looking at him.
“Wanna talk about it?” he asks.