The Devil Inside

7: ...But Calla Parker Works Harder

Three weeks.

It had been three weeks since Cooper and Calla last spoke about their plot to retrieve (steal) an autopsy report. Three long, unbearable, and lonely weeks.

Cooper stared down at his phone. Debating.

"Man up and call her," Calla ordered from the passenger seat. He started, having forgotten that she was there. "You're wrong. She's right. End of story."

Cooper bristled. "But I'm not wrong. Venus is, and she knows it. You said so yourself."

"You're dull as a cardboard box, aren't you?" Calla asked, popping open the passenger door. She threw him an exasperated look over her shoulder—the same look she'd been giving him for a week now. "If you want to make up with your girlfriend, you're going to have to apologize."

"Why should I apologize?" he pressed. "I haven't done anything wrong."

"You're a man, and you exist." She stepped out of the car. "That's really all there is to it." And then she slammed the door in his face, her ponytail bouncing aggressively as she crossed the parking lot.

"Well. That seems a little unfair," Cooper muttered, snapping off his seatbelt. Once more, he found himself scowling down at his phone.

Man up and call her.

He blew out a deep, frustrated breath. "Fine," he snapped, talking to no one in particular. He grabbed his phone—

A light tap on the passenger window made him jump. He looked over, his heart lodged in his throat. Venus stood outside, a binder clutched against her chest, her silvery-blonde hair tucked behind her ears.

The sight of her scattered his thoughts. He stared at her, dumbfounded, before cursing his own stupidity.

Open the door for her, jackass.

He hastily reached across the seat and did just that "Hey. I—I was just about to call you, actually." He cleared his throat as she tentatively climbed inside, closing the door behind her. "Venus—" he started.

"You haven't called," she blurted. Her eyes were on her lap, her arms still wrapped tightly around the binder—as if that were the only thing holding her together.

Guilt burned his throat. "I wanted to." He fiddled with the steering wheel. "Look. I need to apologize."

Her head whipped in his direction, and her grip on the binder slackened somewhat. She'd worn his favorite camisole today: the cherry red one with the impossibly thin straps. It left her smooth, soft skin on full display. "Really?"

He couldn't help but wonder if she'd chosen that shirt on purpose. His eyes drifted to her collarbone. Lower. He forced himself to look at her face. "Yeah, really." You're wrong. She's right. End of story. "I was wrong," he recited. "I'm sorry—"

Venus was on him in an instant. Somehow, her binder ended up in the space between his hand and the door. She crawled over the console and straddled his lap, her fingers twisting in his hair as she crushed her lips against his.

I should apologize more often, he thought wildly, his arms wrapping around her slim waist. His fingers ventured to the delicate straps at her shoulders, toying with them. She sighed against his lips.

This was what they were good at. Maybe if he could just keep his mouth shut for the rest of his life, they could be happy. He could do that. Couldn't he?

This doesn't have a happy ending. The voice in the back of his head sounded suspiciously like Calla.

Cooper banished the thought, forcing himself to stay in the moment. Admittedly, it wasn't that hard to do. Venus smelled incredible—sweet and spicy, all at once. Her lips moved down the column of his throat, pressing against his racing heart. She smiled as she felt him react to her.