“There’s a spit bucket?” he asks in disbelief.
“Told you it was nasty.”
“So basically you’d chew and then spit it out?”
“Yup. No actual eating. At least not on my end. A food scene could take hours, if not a day or more, depending on the shots or the actors. Added onto that there are a lot of things that can happen when filming actually takes place. Like a director will need a close up of a face. Or someone will mess up a line. So, like, I could have to eat a hamburger a hundred times, and well . . . that gets sickening. And I wasn’t really able to eat, not when I needed to fit into a tight dress that very night for a movie premiere, concert, or award show.”
“It doesn’t sound like much fun.”
“It wasn’t . . . at the end. And maybe I would’ve liked it more if acting or singing or dancing is something I
loved
to do. I think when you’re really passionate about something, it doesn’t matter how much shit you have to wade through, how hard it is, or how many times you think you’ll fail and
will
fail . . .
“I think—no, I
believe
that when passion is ingrained in you, imprinted on your soul, and it’s everything you
are
, even when it’s
not
fun, it’s worth it. Because the other option, the one where you
don’t
do what you love will kill you.” I look out the window as we turn onto the highway leading to Burlington. “And I want to love what I do. I want to be passionate about it. I don’t want to just do it because I can, or that it’s what I have been doing all along.”
“But . . .” Caleb hesitates.
“But, what?”
“But what if acting, dancing, singing is what you’re passionate about? What if it’s who you are? What you should be doing.”
“No,” I firmly say. “It’s not. It’s definitely not anything I ever want to do. I don’t love it enough. I don’t even like it. But I do worry that maybe it’s all I’ll ever be good at, that I just won’t be good at anything else.”
“You will,” Caleb says. “You will.”
And hopefully I will.
Chapter 12
G
OOGLE CAN BE AN AMAZING
thing at times.
As soon as Caleb drops me off at the apartment building and I slip upstairs and into my place, I turn on my laptop. I shrug out of my leather jacket and enter my password. I don’t even check my email but immediately hit the search engine.
I type in “Caleb Fox.”
There are a lot of Caleb Foxes out there, more than I thought, and I don’t feel like wading through pages and pages of stuff that doesn’t tell me what I want. I retype Caleb Fox and Green College. I don’t even know what the school newspaper’s name is or if Caleb writes for it, but I’m hoping for something.
I’m curious about the kind of articles he writes.
A few seconds later some hits pop up. Sports articles. They’re Caleb’s and are written for
The Green
, the college newspaper. I’m not really into sports, even despite the summer romance I had a year ago with a top-notch player who had been recruited by the Angels straight out of high school. I know enough about sports to follow along, but it was never really my thing. So, when I click on the first article, I’m expecting to be bored and to read something that throws out stats left and right and uses lingo that isn’t exciting for a non-sports lover.
But then Caleb surprises me.
His writing style quickly engages me, and I’m smiling at his witty lines. He writes the recount of a game so that I feel like I was actually there, and breaks it down to what went right and what didn’t. I finish reading it and then read another article and another and another.
I’m halfway on the third page when I see a link for a blog page:
Three Guys and a Ball
.
I click on it, and it’s one of those free blogspot templates. Navy blue background and white in the middle where the text is. On the top bar there are tabs, and I click on the one that says ABOUT. This page has pictures of Caleb, Nick, and Jamie, along with a brief byline on each.
I go back to the home page and find the archives listed on the right. The first month is listed as January of last year. I go through all the blogs and soon can tell what blog is written by who, as Caleb, Nick, and Jamie each have their own style. Caleb is engaging and easy to read, Nick is more straightforward and tells the reader how it is, and Jamie is funny and charming, exactly like he is in real life. There are some pictures included in the blogs, ones of games or even a picture profile in their about section, and I see that each picture is attributed to K.L. or G.S. So Kai and Griff must take the photos.
By the time I’m done reading, a couple of hours have passed, my eyes feel gritty, and I’m tired. I yawn as I get ready for bed and climb under the covers, plugging in my cell and setting it on the nightstand next to me.
And before I know what I’m doing, I’m leaning over to grab the cell. I text Caleb a message.
Me: Thx for dinner. I had a really good time. Loved dessert. :)
I don’t think he’s going to respond so late, so I’m surprised when there’s a ding.
Caleb: Me too. :)
I wait a second before texting:
You’re a good writer.
Caleb: ???
Me: I Googled you.
My cheeks heat at this admission, and I bite my lower lip. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything at all.
Caleb: You Googled me, huh? That sounds kinda dirty. I like that.
Me: Sorry, I was curious.
Caleb: No need to apologize. So u read?
Me: Yes. 3 guys and a ball?
Caleb: Yeah. Nick’s idea. After that movie.
Me: I know the movie. It’s one of my faves.
Caleb: It’s ok. But I like
Ghostbusters
better. And
Star Wars,
of course.
Me: Of course.
Caleb: But not the prequels. Those are laaaaame.
Me: Agreed. It’s not a
Star Wars
movie w/out Hans Solo.
Caleb: I know. Soooo, we ok?
Me: Yeah.
Caleb: Good. I was worried.
Me: Don’t be. You’d know if I was mad.
Caleb: I wish I kissed u good nite.
Me: Me too.
Caleb: I want to kiss u right now.
Me: It’s late.
Caleb: It’s never 2 late 4 kissing.
Me: Kiss me tomorrow.
Caleb: 2 far away.
Me: It’s only a few hours away.
Caleb: If I was there, would u kiss me?
Me: Duh.
Caleb: Look out ur window.
Me: What? Why? Caleb! You’re here???
Caleb: Can I come upstairs? So I can kiss u.
Me: It’s kind of getting to early morning hours now . . .
Caleb: Semantics. I’ll kiss u good nite & kiss u good morning. I’ll give u all sorts of kisses.
Me: Only kissing, right?
Caleb: Only kissing. Promise.
I don’t think twice and buzz him in. I’m not waiting that long. Caleb is soon at my door, his shirt wrinkled, and he’s wearing jeans, as if he too jumped out of bed and hurried over here. His green eyes are dark, his hair messy, and I just want to run my fingers through his hair and mess the inky strands even more. I step back to let him in.
“You’re here,” I say, my heart pumping hard from my run down the stairs . . . and from being near him. Caleb Fox is a drug I never want to get over.
“You came,” he says softly.
Caleb holds out his hand to me, and I take it, for that’s the only thing I want to do.
Well, not the
only
thing . . .
Because I’m really looking forward to his kisses.
It doesn’t matter where he takes me because I’ll willingly go wherever he wants. The promise of his mouth upon mine makes my blood dance in desire; my pulse skips, and I tighten my fingers around his grasp. He’s not going to let me go. And he’s going to keep his promise.
He’s going to kiss me senseless.
Good thing, because I’m going to do the same.
Chapter 13
H
E PRESSES ME AGAINST THE
wall in the entranceway of my apartment. My hair is tumbled waves all around my face, and I hook my fingers in the loops in his jeans.
“You should take your shirt off,” I say. “Before you kiss me.”
“And why is that?”
“Because I want to touch you.” I meet his heated gaze. “And kiss you.”
He takes a step backward and removes his shirt. It dangles to the floor in his hold. But my eyes are focused on his chest. His very sexy chest, with the muscles, the washboard abs . . . all the places I want to touch, lick, kiss.
I hold out my hand. “Your shirt, please”
“Where are you going to keep it?” His eyes roam up and down my body, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. “I don’t see many places you can store it away.”
“Hand it over.”
Instead Caleb steps closer to me, finally removing that distance between us. He braces his hands on either side of my head, his shirt dangling near my left shoulder. “You always want my t-shirts.”
“Yup.” I still have his shirt from that day. And I’m not ashamed to admit that I haven’t washed it. There’s still a faint trace of Caleb’s cologne on the cotton, and I like wrapping myself in him. “But I paid you for that first shirt. Remember?”
“You don’t have any blackberries this time.”
I tap my finger to my mouth. “If only I had something you
did
want.”
“If only . . .” Caleb can’t stop looking at my lips, his eyes kissing me. “I guess you could pay me with a kiss.”
“A kiss for a t-shirt?” I scoff, even as excitement shoots through me like a live wire that hits water. Sparks of lust explode in my body, little fireworks that shoot through the night. “That seems pretty high to me. I think I should get something more for a kiss.”
His head dips lower, his mouth a whisper away from mine. “Like what?”
“You.”
“You already have me.”
And then his mouth touches mine, and those little fireworks become one gigantic sonic boom inside me. He tastes like fresh mint and him—that intrinsically wonderful taste that is all Caleb—and I just want so much more. He slides against me, his lips catching on mine, tugging on my lower lip to suckle gently. His tongue meets mine. We touch, lick, and play with each other, learning what the other likes.
Everything about him turns me on.
The way his bared chest rubs against mine, still covered by my tank top. How he nudges my legs a little wider apart so he’s pressed against me, his hardness rocking lightly against me. At some point his shirt drops unheeded to the floor, and all we do is keep kissing each other.
Caleb’s fingers tangle in my hair, tilting my head up and his mouth is against mine, hungrily seeking. He slides his fingers through my long, wavy strands, until one hand is pressed against the side of my neck, lightly touching my erratic pulse. I run my palms along his hard abs, feeling his muscles instinctively tighten, hearing his breath catch against mine when my finger grazes the waistband of his jeans. But I don’t go any farther than that. I don’t dare.
He kisses my smile, his mouth trailing a path of hot, open-mouthed kisses along my jaw line. His hand brushes a wavy strand of dark hair from my face, and his lips tug on my exposed earlobe. Tug. Bite. Suck.
My body clenches with need. Pleasure rushes to my core, and it’s becomes a throbbing need that pulses in me; my clit begging for his touch, for his cock to rub against me, to feel his hardness fill me, stretch me, as he thrusts deep and fills me, thrusting, thrusting, thrusting.
His head lowers, and I tilt my head to the side. His mouth sucks on the curve of my neck, trailing kisses along my shoulder line. His kisses land on my shoulder, my bicep, and he moves back up again and does the same to my other shoulder.
Hot kisses along my collarbone. Hotter, wet kisses land right where my heart beats. A lingering touch of his lips against the top of my cleavage, where the dip starts to happen.
Caleb looks up at me, his dark green gaze, searching, asking, and I place my hands at his head, my fingers tracing over his ears, and bring him closer to me once again.
He smiles with his next kiss, just above the bared flesh of my breast from the tank. I feel that smile through every bone and nerve of my body. His smile of a kiss spreads through me, melting me in ways I’ve never been melted before. My body feels soft, malleable, and so wanting, and then he kisses my breast over my tank. I arch up, my hands landing on his shoulders and tightening there, leaving little half-crescents in his flesh.
He pauses.
I don’t look away from his hooded gaze. Can’t. Don’t want to.
His lips touch my nipple through the cotton. I moan just at that barest of a touch. His mouth lingers longer this time, his mouth still closed, and not sucking me into him, not even a little nip. I clench harder on his shoulders because God, I want him on me
right now
.
And then his mouth encloses around me.
I stop thinking.
I stop doing anything but being here with him, staying with him, here, now, always in this moment.
Everything in me is strung tight, as he takes me in his mouth, suckling so deep that a cry escapes me. I shudder in pleasure when he moves to my other nipple and tugs it oh so gently, and I don’t want this tank top on me anymore. I don’t want anything on me. I want to feel his mouth against my bared nipples. I want to feel his chest against mine.
I want it all.
With him.
His kisses move up my neck and back to my mouth. He kisses me deeply, truly, and I kiss him back, loving how he tightens when my fingers scrape down his chest, when his heart pounds against my palm. And I am just so greedy for him.
I want him.
I need him.
He grabs my hands, raising them above my head, and thrusts his tongue into my mouth where the slow, hungry kiss is full of licks, like I’m the frosting he needs to lap up and savor. He lets go of my hands to land on my hips, and widens my stance even more.
Then he drops to his knees on the ground and presses his head against my tank. He lifts the tank slightly so my stomach is bared.