Claiming Callie: Part three Read online

  Claiming Callie

  Part Three

  By Paige Rion

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2014 by Theresa Souders

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. No parts of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  More Claiming Callie

  CHAPTER ONE

  CALLIE

  His lips move over hers like velvet, while her heart thunders in her chest, reverberating through her body clear to her soul. His hands glide slowly up her back, just under her coat and shirt, then down again, his fingers tracing just underneath the waistband of her jeans. They trail fire wherever they touch, undermining the frigid February air, teasing her with the cruelty of an unrelenting despot.

  Dean draws back. He’s breathing hard and he stares at her for a moment, his blue eyes blinking as if she might be a figment of his imagination. But she’s not. This is very much real, and she wants his hands on her again so she can forget about her parents, forget about heartache and the stress of graduation, forget about everything but this moment.

  “Dean…,” she starts, but she’s breathless, her pulse thumping so hard it hurts.

  “God, you’re beautiful,” he whispers as his hands move to the zipper of her coat to deftly remove it.

  She shivers, from his words or the cold, she’s not sure. When he lowers his mouth back to hers, she groans and kisses him with everything she has, forcing every ounce of emotion and feeling into the moment, wanting him to feel what she feels. Hope, desire, heat, and love.

  A ball of fire ignites in the pit of her stomach, smoldering inside her until scorching fingers grip her heart. When she presses into him, he moves to her neck, kissing every inch of her skin in reverence, while his hands move around to her stomach—teasing, touching, taking their time. His mouth returns to hers, just as Callie moves her hands under the thick fleece of his jersey. Tracing the muscular planes of his chest, she breaks away from his mouth to graze her teeth over his jaw. A subtle groan escapes him and sends Callie’s hormones into a tailspin. Gripping his shirt with barely-restrained passion, she pushes him to his back, where she moves to straddle him.

  But something’s not right. A sudden gust of cold air whips at her, and Dean’s warm embrace falls away. With a woosh, the impact of something hard hits her back and steals her breath. Opening her eyes, she’s staring at the stars. Blinking, she remembers where she is. She must have lost her balance. On a roof.

  And she’s falling.

  She feels herself slide another inch. The metallic taste of fear fills her mouth.

  “Callie!” Dean yells, and something warm and strong grips her arm. “I’ve got you.” His breath is coming out in ragged puffs and she can see it like a thin smoke in the cold. “Come on,” he says, now crouching. “Just lift your knees and come back up here to me. I’ve got your arms. You’re not going anywhere.”

  Callie does as he says, grateful for the dark that hides what she suspects is the worst blush of her life. Note to self: Don’t make out on a rooftop. Ever. Even after you’ve just had an epiphany that the boy you’ve known since the time he wore Spider-Man briefs is the man of your dreams.

  She returns to his side with as much dignity as she can muster. Needless to say, the gap of silence that ensues is torture.

  What is he thinking? She wants to know so bad it nearly kills her.

  He sighs and bends his leg up, resting his arm on it, breathing hard. His hands are doing this weird clenching and unclenching thing, and she finds herself trying to decipher the unknown gesture like sign language. She thinks she hears him curse under her breath, but she’s not sure. Her thoughts are too scrambled to trust her ears, but when he turns to her, finally meeting her eyes, she can hear him loud and clear.

  “It’s getting late…and cold out. Why don’t I get you home.”

  It’s a statement, not a question, and a harsh one at that. Callie feels the words like a blow to the ribs. After all, just seconds ago they were hard core making out on a rooftop, and had she not nearly fallen off and plummeted to her death—had they been anywhere but here—she’s pretty sure things would have gone further. Much further. He may as well have just said he didn’t want her.

  He stands and reaches down, offering her his hand. She takes it, though a part of her doesn’t want to. She doesn’t want to care for him. She doesn’t want these feelings or the seed of rejection swelling within her chest.

  Standing, she follows him and makes her way back to the ladder. Dean goes first, so he can help her down. His arms grip her as she descends and she resents the way they wrap around her so perfectly, strong and secure, warm on this cold winter evening.

  The ride home is quiet. She catches him glancing over at her from time to time, but she avoids his gaze, only watching him from her peripheral. When he pulls up outside her apartment, he shuts the ignition off and turns to her. He starts to say something, but she interrupts him. “You don’t have to walk me up. I’ve got it.” She’s already opening the door when he reaches out and grips her arm.

  “Wait. Callie, I—”

  “I had a good time tonight,” she says, trying for a smile, but for some reason it hurts. “Really, I did. Thank you. For everything,” she says, staring into those blue eyes. The ones that she thinks might understand her better than anyone.

  “Yeah.” He swallows, hesitating, as if he’s unsure of what to say. “Goodnight, Callie.” Then, finally, he releases her arm and lets her go.

  As she makes her way to her apartment, she doesn’t allow herself a glance back. She refuses to be that girl. The one that’s desperate, the one that would’ve given herself so easily, only to be rejected. Reaching her door, she unlocks it and closes it harder than she intends, the slam echoing in the quiet, but she doesn’t have enough cognizance to care. Her heart is beating like a drumroll, and her head is a flurry of feeling that she can’t quite seem to soothe into one singular emotion.

  It’s dark inside, the furniture illuminated by the streetlights outside, and, for once, Callie is grateful there’s no sign of Jinny. The familiarity of their place soothes her and the silence seems good company at the moment.

  Sliding down the length of the door, she rests back against it as she sits. She stares off into the living room without seeing anything but her thoughts.

  Dean.

  Her eyes fill with moisture and her throat begins to ache. Why do I feel like I’m going to cry?

  Because Dean wants someone else. Because I’m scared. Because I like him so much. Because I think I love him. Or at least I could, if I allow myself.

  She swipes at her eyes and presses her forehead into her legs, with a dawning realization. I’ve never felt this way. About anyone.

  The thought thrills yet terrifies her in equal measure. An
d the only question left in her mind is what she should do about it.

  * * *

  Stirring, Callie rolls onto her side, not quite ready to wake. She had the best dream, but can’t remember it. She’s only left with the fuzzy comfort that comes from the too-good-to-be-true reality that visits only in your sleep.

  She can hear Jinny’s voice out in the kitchen. Trying to block it out, she tries to recapture whatever dream she had, when the sound of Dean’s voice slices through her sleep-riddled brain.

  The dream…

  It wasn’t a dream at all, she realizes. Images of last night surface to her consciousness—sitting on a rooftop on the precipice of Mount Washington overlooking the city, realizing that she has fallen for him, their kiss, and the overwhelming, heart-clenching emotion.

  Her eyes fly open. She checks the clock and blinks. Ten o’clock? When was the last time she slept in?

  She gets out of bed and hears Dean ask, “Is Callie here?”

  She knows she shouldn’t, but she scurries over to her door and holds her ear to it, hoping she can hear more.

  “Yeah, but she’s still sleeping,” Jinny says.

  “Really? She never sleeps in.”

  “I know. Weird, huh? Could this have to do with last night? How late did you get in?”

  More like it has to do with the fact that I spent hours thinking about him, imagining what might have happened had we been on a couch and not a roof.

  “We didn’t get in late, but…”

  His voice trails off as Callie leaps away from the door and rushes to her dresser.

  Oh God, what will he say? Will he say anything to her about us making out? About how I almost fell off the roof like a complete idiot? Or the awkwardness in the car after? If he tells Jinny he doesn’t have any feelings for her, she doesn’t want to hear it. She’s not ready.

  She takes a glance in the mirror and quickly assesses her appearance. Not too bad. It’s not like Dean’s never seen me with no makeup and bedhead before.

  The thought of bedhead sends thoughts of him in her bed shooting straight through her like a volt of electricity, and her hair stands on end. She can feel his hands on her, the way they played at the waist of her pants, and her stomach twirls. Wrapping an arm around her midsection, she forces the tingling away as she busts out of her bedroom, before he can say anything more to Jinny.

  She nearly falls into the short hallway off the living room. Righting herself as she stumbles, she straightens and tries to look less ridiculous than she feels. “Hi, guys,” she says, placing her hands on her hips.

  Jinny raises a brow at her and says nothing. Glancing at Dean, Callie fights the urge to squint, almost afraid of what she’ll see in his expression. His eyes register surprise from her abrupt entrance into the living room, but a pained expression takes its place. His eyes crinkle around the corners and his lips form a tight line.

  “Hey,” he says.

  Hey? That’s it? That’s it! All night I tortured myself with what he may or may not be feeling.

  Knowing this is a bad sign, Callie swallows and lets her arms fall to her side. “Um…so, what’s going on? Any plans for today?”

  She focuses on him, waiting for his answer, but all she can seem to think about are his lips and the way his citrus and spice scent still lingers on her skin. He shifts on his feet, breaking her trance, and, for the first time, Callie notices the basketball in the crook of his left arm.

  “Uh, yeah. Kinda. I have ball later. You?”

  Callie scrunches up her face and shrugs. “No. Nothing, really.”

  AWKWARD!

  Jinny looks back and forth between them, her eyes narrowing. “What’s up with you guys? Why are you acting so strange?”

  Callie shakes her head. “I’m not—”

  “It’s nothing—” Dean says, answering at the same time.

  Snapping her mouth shut, Callie feels her face catch fire. Eyeing Dean from under her lashes, she sees him doing the same thing and they both look away.

  “Okay,” Jinny says, drawing out the word. “Something’s going on, and one of you is going to fill me in.”

  “Oh, I…uh…I can’t.” Callie glances at her wrist, pretending to check her watch for the time, but realizes too late that she’s not wearing one. “What time is it?” she asks, looking at the clock by the television, feeling her face flush further. “Oh. I’ve gotta go. I have this…thing.”

  “What the—” Jinny says. “I thought you said you had no plans?”

  “I forgot. Sorry,” Callie says, then heads toward the door, not even daring to look at Dean, who has remained unusually still and quiet through her embarrassing babbling. It’s not like she can tell Jinny, I’m sorry. I can’t do anything, let alone form a coherent sentence in front of your smokin’ hot brother, who, by the way, I’ve decided I have a full-on, debilitating, and incomprehensible crush on.

  Jinny clears her throat just as Callie begins to put her boots on. “Uh, are you going to get dressed first? Or go out in your flannel PJ pants and a tank?”

  Facepalm! Oh, my God. Could this get any worse?

  “Actually, I’m just going to Buzz and then to return a library book, so all I need is a coat and I’m fine.” She tries to smile, but the muscles in her mouth barely budge.

  Before she can make even more of an ass out of herself, she rips her coat from the closet, struggling with the hanger while her hands shake, and puts it on before hurrying out the door. Once outside, she squeezes her eyes shut.

  What the hell was that, Callie?

  The fact that Dean was acting every bit as strange as she was may be a comfort to her if only she knew why. Is it because he might have feelings for her, too? Is it because he knows that she has feelings for him and they’re not reciprocated? After all, he ended things rather abruptly last night. Of course, she did almost plummet to her death. But that’s beside the point. Maybe he feels bad for her. Maybe she was a fool to imagine there might be a possibility that he cared for her, too. She swore she had felt it last night in his kiss. But it’s possible she was so blinded by her own emotion that she saw what she wanted to see and not what really was.

  She exhales a deep breath and makes her way to her car. She needs to make a plan, decide what she’s going to do. Because if there’s one thing she knows for sure, it’s that if she doesn’t do something about her feelings for Dean soon, she’s going to implode.

  CHAPTER TWO

  DEAN

  Dean stares at the door, and the moment Callie leaves, he breaks into action and hurries to where Jinny stands. “I think my plan is working.”

  “What?” Jinny frowns. “Does this have anything to do with how weird you both were just acting?”

  “Yeah. Maybe.” Dean shifts on his feet and runs a hand through his hair, trying to focus—a hard thing to do when his thoughts are doing sprints around his head like they’re competing in the Olympics. “Something…happened last night. Something changed, I think. I can’t put my finger on what, how, or why. But it did.”

  Last night. God, how he’s replayed it in his mind. Minute by minute. In excruciating detail, until all he wants to do is kick the crap out of himself for taking Callie home when he did. Leave the rooftop, fine. It was cold, and by the looks of Callie’s near fall, dangerous, but why not take it to her place? Jinny was out. Or hell, he could’ve taken her to his place. It was high time he kick Emmett out and return the favor.

  Sighing, he clenches his hands into fists because even though he knows the answer, a part of him hates it. Because it’s not me. Because Callie doesn’t know the truth, so it would be wrong. And though he wants her—in every way—more than he’s ever wanted anything, he wants it to be completely genuine. If something further happens between them, he doesn’t want it to be under the guise of some scheme. Still, it doesn’t mean he’s entirely happy about it. Especially when he can’t keep his mind from drifting to the memories of last night... The way her neck smells like lavender and her hair like vanilla. Th
e way she moaned at his touch, sending shockwaves through every nerve in his body. She had wanted him, every bit as much as he wanted her. He felt it. He just needs to be sure.

  “Hello?” Jinny snaps her fingers in front of his face, then punches him in the shoulder.

  “Ow!” Dean rubs the spot she just hit.

  “Well, pay attention. Don’t start to tell me something, then zone off! So, what do you mean something happened?”

  “I think Callie might have feelings for me. Maybe,” he adds as his insecurities seep through his thoughts and get the best of him. “The date went great. We were talking, and then the next thing I know we’re kissing, which she initiated. Not me. And it turned into us making out. This was different than our first kiss. This was heavy. It was heated, like a fire pit had opened up and engulfed us. And I could tell—”

  “Nooooo.” Jinny holds a hand up. “I don’t want to hear all the gory details. Blech.” She sticks her tongue out and makes a gagging noise. “As happy as I am for you, you’re my little brother, remember? I don’t want to hear about how you got all,” she grimaces as she waves in the direction of his pants, “riled up.”

  Rolling his eyes, he ignores her and reaches out to grab her hands. “I need you to do something for me.”

  “Oh, no. No.” Jinny shakes her head, trying to back away, but he won’t let her.

  “Jinny, please. I need help. And you’re her best friend. You’re the one she confides in.”

  “No. No,” Jinny repeats. “I knew this would happen. I knew when you started this thing that somehow I would have to get involved, and I’m not going to do that. I’m already more a part of this than I want to be. I’m glad for you, that this seems to be working, but…”