Calliope's ex-boyfriend, her high school sweetheart, crash-landed back into her life like a rom-com sequel she never ordered, ready to rewrite the script of her existence once again.
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"You...
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Maybe I'm a creep? Nah, fuck that. Can't be.
Alright, alright, I may come across as a low-level creep, but I swear I'm harmless. I'm not the type to follow someone home or get touchy. But damn, I can't help but stare from a distance as she talks to that guy in that dress... it's made for her, hugging her hips just right. And when she pulls back her hair? A fucking smoke show. Good thing I'm a few feet away.
While I helped Rory with her pitch all evening, my eyes kept finding Calliope in the crowd. It's like a magnet she feels too, because I caught her a few times. And now, I'm catching her searching for me, but I'm hiding behind a half wall, mostly avoiding Aurora. She's been cockblocking me all night, while I try to talk to her hot mentor. Every time I get the chance, she's talking to someone else.
Luckily, the event is winding down, almost over. There aren't as many people now, and Rory doesn't need me as much. She's going out with some other artist she met, which means she won't be in my house, stealing my shit. It's a win-win.
By the time I finish my drink, the guy walks away. Calliope's still staring at the same picture, lost in it. It looks like clouds crashing into each other, creating a colorful explosion.
I set my glass down and quietly walk up behind her. "Get my flowers?" I whisper as I pass by.
She jumps like I scared her, and as soon as she realizes it's me, she tenses up again. I stand beside her, fixing my gaze on the artwork, hoping she won't run off again.
"Dick Dickson," she says with a laugh, anger all over her pretty little face. I don't even have to look to know she's pissed. I catch her clenched jaw and that distant expression she gets when she's all in her head. "That's you? Should've figured. The name fits perfectly."
Guess she's not a fan of the flowers?
I nonchalantly shrug, turning toward her, hands in front of me. "Guilty. And ouch."
"Stop!" she shouts, but her eyes drift as if she regrets raising her voice. "My boss is all over me about those damn flowers in the building. I don't want anything from you. So just stop. Stop showing up in my life and stay gone."
Shit. That wasn't my intention. I didn't want to get her in trouble, but it all went wrong. I thought she'd love the flowers. Maybe they'd make her forget why she hates me. But damn, women are just smarter than us men. They see right through our bullshit.
I sigh, like pouring gasoline on a fire, and blurt, "Then fucking talk to me, Callie. Stop running."
Her lips part slightly, and I see the struggle in her eyes. They soften for a moment, and I feel a hint of hope, but then the intensity comes back, like a wall going up. She's torn between giving in and pushing me away, and it's driving me fucking crazy.
"I—" she starts to speak but stops herself. The flush spreads across her cheeks and down her neck, spilling over her chest. "Why are you doing this to me? You don't get to say that when you ran from me. So, stop sending the flowers, Chase. And don't call me that."
