She belongs in my arms? It sounds like a lyric in a country song but shit, it's true. And I wanted to keep her there until I could figure out what it is that feels so right about us, because it's more than just how she feels in my arms. There's something between us that I can't quite figure out. It's like when you recognize someone but can't remember how you know them. I'm not saying I knew Callie before meeting her the other day. What I mean is that there's something familiar about her. Like we have something in common but she won't tell me enough about herself for me to figure out what that is.
Why is she so closed off? Why does she refuse to let me ask her a question? And why do I find her so damn irresistible? Whenever I'm around her I get worked up like some horny teenager. At 25, I'm normally better able to control myself around a beautiful woman but not with Callie. She gets things going down there and I can't seem to control it. But I think I've had an effect on her as well. She was a willing partner in that kiss we had the other night and I know she wanted me to kiss her again tonight. From the way she reacted from that foot rub, she might've even had sex with me tonight.
Maybe we should just do it. Maybe doing it would relieve the intense sexual tension between us and we could go back to being just neighbors. I doubt that would work. If we did it, we probably wouldn't be able to stop. It was hard enough pulling away from that kiss I gave her.
I close my eyes and imagine her lips and how they felt when I kissed her. And how she tasted when her lips parted to let me in. My hand makes its way under the sheet, heading for my boxers when my phone rings.
It's one-thirty. Who the hell calls at one-thirty in the morning? I grab my phone from the nightstand. Marissa's photo flashes on the screen. Why is she calling me? In the middle of the night? I panic, thinking maybe something bad happened. An accident. Someone's hurt. Someone died. There's no other reason she'd call me. She hasn't called me in months.
I answer. "Marissa, what's wrong?"
"Hey, baby." Her words are drawn out. She's drunk.
I sigh, leaning back on the headboard. "Why are you calling me?"
"Because I miss you."
"You don't miss me. You're drunk."
"It's not about being drunk. I miss you." Her voice sounds high and whiny. Did it always sound like that? If so, why did I ever date her? A voice like that would get annoying after the first date. Then again, I wasn't thinking about her voice that night. I was too focused on her body, which was wrapped in a tight red dress with a deep neckline that showed off her breasts, which are fake, by the way.
"Marissa, go to sleep. You need to be at work in a few hours and so do I."
"Are you still working on that house?"
"Yes." It comes out curt because this is an issue we fought about so many times I lost count. She didn't even want me coming down here to look at the house, saying I should just sell it and not waste time on it.
"I want to see you," she says, slurring her words.
"Marissa, just go to sleep."
"I'm breaking up with Michael."
I shove the covers back and sit on the side of the bed. "You broke up with him?"
"Not yet, but I'm going to."
"Why?" I turn on the lamp that's on the nightstand.
"Because I don't love him."
"And you're just figuring this out now? After dating him for eight months?" I'm only guessing about the eight months. I walked in on her and Michael six months ago and she later told me they'd been dating for the two months before that. But for all I know, it could've been longer than that.
"Can you come up here this weekend?" she asks in that whiny tone.
"I'm working this weekend, and every weekend this summer. I'm trying to finish this place by September and there's a lot to get done."
"Then I'll drive down there. I miss seeing you, Nash."
One of the main reasons I moved here was so I wouldn't have to see her anymore. How could she not understand that? It should be pretty freaking clear after what she did to me.
"My brothers are coming this weekend. And even if they weren't, I don't want to see you, Marissa. You cheated on me and I don't put up with that shit."
"Don't be that way. We had two good years together. You can't just throw all that away."
"I didn't. You did."
She lets out a long sigh. "Come on. It's just for a weekend. That's all I'm asking for. I'll come down in a couple weeks."
"I don't want you here. We're done. I've moved on."
"I know that's not true. Just a few weeks ago when I saw you in the lobby, you looked at me like you always did. Like you still love me."
Is she delusional? I did not look at her that way. I might've checked her out briefly because she's hot and always dresses to show off her assets, but that doesn't mean I love her. After six months of watching her and Michael go in and out of her apartment, which was just down from mine, any love I had for her quickly died.
"I'm going to bed," I say. "Don't call me again."
"But Nash, I—"
I end the call before she can finish. I set the phone on the nightstand and go over to the window and shove it open more because it feels like it's a hundred degrees in here and this room doesn't have an air conditioner. As I'm standing at the window, I look down and see lights on at Callie's house. What is she doing up so late? Is she always up this late?