I'm frozen, for once not out of fear, but surprise. Hints of his flirty side have always been around, but this bold version of Cupid is nice too. Very nice. I'm so confused. My head is a mess and I don't which way is up. While I want to go full steam ahead, I can't allow myself to be blinded by lust. I've already done that once today and that lead to the guys fighting and me spiraling.
"YYou're what now? I thought you said you were hurt," I sputter out.
His fingers trail down my arms, absently rubbing at my pinched skin, soothing the ache. "I am a little hurt. You ran out of here earlier like your ass was on fire, but I didn't want to push. Next thing I know, the guys are fighting, Boss Man is hollering for me, and you look...upset."
I snort at the assessment. "You can just say rough. I mean I was a bit upset, but that's mostly my own issues. Not Jaxson's fault," I say easily before slapping my hands over my mouth. I'm not sure whether or not admitting I know one of their names is the best idea still. Yes, things have changed, but how much have they really?
I'm still not allowed to leave.
Though my opinion on that isn't nearly as clear as it once was. A pretty cage is still a cage.
My shower only did so much. I need food, a nap, and a coloring book so detailed it will take all of my attention to stay within the lines. Not necessarily in that order.
Not seeing his face right now seems like a small mercy considering how loud the silence is as I wait for his response to my slip.
A huff turns into a full-blown belly laugh as he wraps an arm around my waist to keep me from falling off his vibrating lap. "I don't even know why I bother," he sighs. "Jax is gonna do what he wants at the end of the day."
Umm. Any elaboration would be great, because my thoughts have all taken off running off far beyond the four cardinal directions. At this point, they're opening multiverse portals. Super helpful little things.
"Might as well tell you my name. You already have half of it anyway," he says, spinning me on his lap so that my thighs straddle him and I can look deep into those brown eyes of his I could just dive into. "Dario Rossi, at your service," he says with a slight incline of his head.
Excuse me while I swoon at the cuteness. I'm sure my cheeks are as beet red as his are pink. It helps take a little bit of my nervousness away, knowing he's feeling it just as much.
"Alright, so that sounded way smoother in my head. Let's just pretend that's how it came out. Okay?" He shrugs, puppy dog eyes in full effect.
I can't help it. He's too cute. I throw my arms around his shoulders in a tight hug, made less than platonic by the tension growing between us. Yes, tension. Not the tree branch in his pants that we are both purposely ignoring.
"So smooth," I assure him with a grin that aches as it stretches across my cheeks, all lips no teeth. "Like peanut butter or late-night jazz on NPR. We're still good? Even though I-" I trail off, still unable to form the words, "with Jaxson?"
He muses over my words for a moment before he places a hand on each shoulder, capturing my attention. "Do you still want me, Callie Girl?"
How could he even ask me such a silly question? He's been the only one I felt comfortable with here, completely. Yeah, he may have come off a bit strong when we first met, but I know now that was just an act, an exaggeration of the sweet, funny, nerd underneath. Of course, I still want him. It's just now I'm realizing that maybe he's not all I want.
If I can want to marry both Henry Cavill and Tom Hiddleston, I can want more than one guy in reality.
"Yes. I never stopped, even if I ran scared at the way you make me feel."
"Oh," he asks, moving his hands from my shoulders up to cradle both sides of my face in his callused fingertips. "And how is it that I make you feel, Callie?"
The lack of nickname throws me off. Serious Dario is a heartstopper. Even his name sounds like something out of a broody mafia romance novel. I'm never going to survive the full power of his attention on me. Already I'm melting. That or my brain is because what are words. What was the question?
Light dances in his eyes as he smirks.
"I said that out loud, didn't I?" I grimace.
"Yup," he says, popping the p with his perfectly kissable bottom lip.
"I'll ignore your smooth introduction if you ignore my word vomit. Deal?"
"Deal," he replies with an easy smile.
"You make me feel like I've got a second chance," I say honestly. I can't look him in the eyes as I speak, feeling too vulnerable even if he doesn't understand the full weight of what I've admitted.
He lays a soft kiss on my forehead before trailing down and placing another on my lips. "Then we're good Callie Baby," he says as he pulls me up with him, lacing our fingers together as he leads me out into the living room.
I mentally brace myself to see the guys again, but it's relatively calm. Jaxson is gloved up and hovering over a spot on the floor, furiously scrubbing as though it personally offended him.
"You missed a spot," Dario calls out.
Jaxson's scowl as he looks around makes me stifle a giggle.
"We're going to need to buy more soda if bloodstains become a habit," he replies.
"Wasn't planning on it. Were you?"
"We'll see," he says stiffly. He resumes his task without even sparing me a glance.
The clanking of glasses along with a faint curse from the kitchen draws my attention as Dario continues to mess with Jaxson. The quick kiss to my cheek surprises me, but the casualness makes it easier to accept it for what it is.
God is staring at a collection of ingredients as if they'll miraculously assemble themselves if he just stares hard enough. I watch as he looks at the whiskey, lemon juice, and three different types of hot sauce with a scrunch of his nose.
"I'd appreciate the help if you're offering it again. For the life of me, I can't figure out the exact ratio to whatever it was you made me earlier. Or the sauce. I'm not trying to poison myself experimenting."
Why is he not yelling? Lecturing me? Anything. He looked so disappointed when he walked in, whether with me or Jaxson; I'm not sure, but I felt it all the same.
I can feel his eyes on my back as I reach for a mug, a smile tugging at the corner of my lips as I settle on the same 'Best Daddy Ever' mug I used earlier.
I go through the motions of assembling the drink as he leans against the counter observing. I try to go a bit slower so he can follow along, but something keeps me from speaking. I like being able to help him like this.
Raiding the small spice cabinet finds me the missing ingredients as I pull down the cayenne and honey.
"So, I wasn't even close to right," he snorts. "Good to know." He moves behind me, putting the hot sauce away with a small shake of his head.
"Most people think it's Tabasco. It's the cayenne. Something about the powder instead of the liquid works better. I don't exactly get it, but I do it anyway," I rattle off like he's any old person asking, not the leader of this group. Gang? No, that doesn't sound right. Outfit?
"No need to mess with perfection," he replies easily, oblivious to my inner turmoil.
His presence has me on high alert. My movements are stiff as I microwave the water in the mug. "Two shots or one," I ask before looking at his face. "Two shots it is."
"That bad," he huffs. "Ouch," he mocks with a hand over his heart.
"Never," I say honestly. Too honestly at his heated look. "That would be rude," I quickly correct. "Figured you could use it after diffusing-" I nod my head at the living room, "-that."
"Yeah," he sighs. "That. Are you okay with that?" That. One word that encompasses so much right now. His eye brows are raised as he waits for my answer with his hands splayed open on the counter at his sides.
Lord, even his forearms are yummy. Thick veins span the surface and I want to run my fingers along them, feeling the strong muscles twitch beneath my fingertips.
The high-pitched ding of the microwave rouses me from my drooling. If I focus hard enough on what I'm doing, he might forget his question.
Unlikely, but this whole situation is unlikely. A Series of Improbable Events, a memoir by Calista Danvers.
While I love that they feel the need to check in on me, rehashing that I'm alright with the raw and filthy things Jaxson and I did is mortifying. The me that fought and gave just as good as Jaxson in the tunnels, I barely know her. With the adrenaline and tension of the moment and fight over, I'm struggling to find that woman again. She was confident in taking what she wanted, saying the sexiest things. I can't even say- what we did.
Two steps forward, three steps back.
Yeah, I guess he's well within reason to ask about my mental state. I'll be sure to let him know as soon as I work it out myself. Which Callie am I? And which one do I want to be?
I've been stirring his drink for so long while I think, the thing has likely gone cold. He doesn't comment as I hand it off, just slowly sips while his eyes never leave my face.
"I am and I will be."
His eyes close as he continues his drink, mulling over my answer. "You come to me if you're ever not okay," he says finally after a moment. "Understood?"
My core clenches around a fantasy at the command in his tone. "Yes, sir."
A blink and it's gone, but I could have sworn I saw heat flare in his eyes at my response. His tongue slides along his teeth, wet with whiskey, and filling my thoughts with things that would have a nun blushing. "Good girl."
Get your mind out of the gutter Callie. Not the time or the place.
"Do you have a first aid kit?" I blurt out.
The tension dissipates as his posture relaxes. I hadn't even realized he had pushed off the counter and was leaning forward. His presence always feels larger than life.
"Are you hurt?" His eyes roam my body once more, but more clinically. "I can fix you up if you need it."
"No. No, I'm fine. Nothing time won't heal. I was more worried about Rave. He did some damage out there. For me." My fingers suddenly become the most interesting things I've ever seen as I fold them together and do the lamest wave ever. "I feel like I owe it to him to check on him at least. Guys like him rarely take care of themselves. Probably didn't even put ice on his hands."
By the end I'm talking more to myself than God. He doesn't waste time calling me out for hiding, even from myself. He just reaches out to the cabinet underneath the sink and hands me the case.
"Ignore his words. His actions are where his heart is at. Good luck Calista," he says, sending me off with a raised mug and a nod of thanks.