“I didn’t fuck him,” I confessed. Because whether he was too drunk to rationalize anything, I needed him to know that. “I’ve never fucked Jackson.”
His hands gripped my cheeks, and he made me look at him, his brows furrowed. “But I watched you.”
“It was pretend. We faked the whole thing. He’s never actually gone down on me either.”
He blinked a few times, taking in my confession, and ended up only nodding. However, his eyes seemed to be less tortured than a moment before, and as mad as I was at him, I didn’t want him to hurt.
“I should go,” he said.
“Okay. Get some sleep. And water. Lots of water.”
Cal gave me a small smile, and I lifted up to press a kiss to the dimple on his chin.
And then he left. When I walked out of the room, he was already gone. I spent the rest of the night serving drinks and trying to process Cal’s words.
Between that and the issues with my car, I was emotionally done by the end of the night. I tossed everything on the floor when I walked into my apartment, stripped down and collapsed on my bed, laughing at how it would have driven Cal nuts to see everything strewn about.
Even after the mess that tonight was, he was the last thing on my mind before I finally fell asleep. I worried if he was okay and had drank enough water. I worried how he would feel tomorrow.
And I worried I’d never really find out what made him drink and come to Voyeur.
chaptertwenty-four
Callum
Once the poundingin my head stopped Saturday morning, I grabbed my phone and messaged Oaklyn, worried she’d be too mad for a phone call. Not that I blamed her.
Me: I’m sorry about last night. I was wrong.
Almost immediately the bouncing dots appeared.
O: You were wrong.
O: But I’d be willing to let it slide if you explain to me why it happened.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I didn’t want to explain to her that I lost control of my emotions. That I tried to numb myself with alcohol. So, I gave her a half-truth and hope it was enough for her forgiveness.
Me: I just started drinking last night and didn’t realize how many I had. When I found your panties in my pocket, I remember thinking how I wanted to return them to you. How much I wanted to see you.
O: Okay. As much as I would’ve loved my panties back, I could’ve done without the insults.
Me: Fuck. I’m sorry, O. I can’t say it enough. I saw you with Jackson and I just
I swallowed hard, taking a moment to think over my words, deciding to just be honest with her.1
Me: I just let my jealousy control me. I didn’t even think.
The dots floated for a while and each time they bounced, my chest squeezed tighter and tighter, preparing myself for what she could be typing.
O: Okay.
Me: Okay? Does that mean you forgive me?
O: Yes. I just need time to think about it. I just need to process everything.
Me: Okay. I understand.
O: I have to go. I have a star paper to work on and it’s taking all my time.
