Heathens & Hand Grenades (Book 1 of the Heathens Duet)

Chapter 24-Callie

Someone knocked over his legos with the way Rave stormed out of here. I don't know why he has it out for me. We've barely exchanged more than a few words and he has already made his mind up.

It's fine. In fact, his whole attitude is doing me a favor. Reminding me of who I am to them and how I should be feeling despite D's more welcoming nature. Feeling at home here, who am I kidding. This place will always be a cage, gilded not in gold but dressed in concrete and shag carpet.

My sour mood has the sandwich tasting like cardboard and settling in my stomach like a lead weight. Ugh. I just feel aimless. This place isn't exactly made for entertaining guests. A person can only stare at the wall for so long before it starts moving just to break up the staring contest. I figure I can at least write my letter to Aunt Rachel, even if she never sees it. I'll get right on that, after I find some paper. I mean, I understand hiding the knives in the kitchen, though spreading mayonnaise with a spoon is just not the same as a butter knife. But the pens, the pencils? How much damage could I really do? On the bright side, at least it means they don't underestimate me, but at the moment my escape plans are more of the hope and pray variety. I double check the door to see if Rave miraculously left the door unlocked in his rush.

He didn't.

Back to the drawing board I go. My wandering leads me to a book case filled with books some prepper would die for. Books on homesteading and living off grid, to what I'm pretty sure is an original copy of the Anarchist Cookbook. But nestled in between all of these books that I'm sure are chockfull of very riveting stuff, is an old pack of playing cards. Solitaire it is.

My thoughts sail off into the ether and all the craziness of the past day and a half slinks off into back of my brain while I play. It's a miracle I even remember to play, but Rachel has always liked board games and cards over tv, with an exception made for her Doctor. I blame Ten. It should be criminal the way he looks in that suit.

I'm pretty sure I've stumped myself as I stare at the three of hearts for likely the hundredth time as if it will spontaneously change suits to a club or spade. If changing hearts was this simple, I doubt I'd be here.

The door down the hall opens and God stomps out as if the floor has personally offended him. I shrink down even further on the floor in front of the coffee table. He looks down at me with a confusing expression. The only thing clear about it is indecision. Not exactly helpful when I try to figure out how to react.

"I'll be back soon enough. We'll figure everything out then. The others will be here if you need them," he says before leaving.

That's not ominous sounding at all.

Cupid leans over, brushing my shoulders with his calloused fingers. I shiver into his touch even as my shoulders relax. "Left side, four of clubs," he whispers. His warm breath tickles my ear and I squirm at the sensation with a giggle.

"Thanks. I probably would've scraped the game because I am apparently blind."

"Just needed to see it from another perspective," he offers. "Gotta dip to the Batcave. Snuggle later Callie girl?"

"Anytime D Man," I answer back, internally cringing. D Man, really? It's like my brain and my mouth have never met each other.

He laughs before heading off to his room to work on more of his super-secret squirrel stuff.

Pretty Boy eyes me with his signature smirk before wandering back toward his room. "Have fun with your game Bambi."

I'm half convinced at this point that Pretty Boy is some magic being because there is no earthly reason for his words to have me hotter than June in Texas. That or it has been way too long since anything has been between my thighs that wasn't battery operated. At least the only flower I have at home doesn't have to watered.

And with that kind of thinking, I need a nice cold shower. What a lady, I snort at the thought, does in the privacy of the shower is between her and the tiles.

I peak into Cupid's room, hoping to borrow another set of his clothes. I haven't seen mine since I took them off last night. His eyes are glued to his screen, headphones on his head swaying to whatever's playing while he sings along under his breath. He's so stinking cute. I want to wrap my arms around him in a hug. With nothing to stop me except the tiny voice in the back of my head telling me how terrible of an idea it is, I do.

His reflexive jump is more of a spasm that lands with him on the floor with me toppling down after him. Straight out of a cartoon, we land with him splayed out on his bottom and our chests pressed together, barely an inch between our faces. I can feel his minty breath tease my lips and my mouth parts instinctively on an inhale. Up close like this, his eyes are beautiful. His thick lashes frame those deep brown rabbit holes that I could fall into forever.

"Falling for me already?" He quips.

In this moment, I think I could. Cupid is easy to fall for and I send a silent thank you to all those women who were too blind to see it. My own eyes are wide open to the silly, goofy, lovable dork in front of me. His cringe matches my own making me feel twice as brave to be myself around him knowing he won't run the other way. Seizing that version of myself that Rachel and Nicole see buried in me seems so much more obtainable. And the first thing that strong, brave Callie would do is to take what I want instead of hoping and wishing for it to take me along for the ride.

I answer him with a tentative press of my lips against his. His eyes widen as they take me in before his right hand slides behind my head, pulling me in with a strength I never would've imagined he possessed. Any hesitation I had flees when his tongue presses against my lips, demanding entrance.

Doubt creeps in, that pesky voice so familiar. She whispers in the dark corner of my mind, best friends with the ghost of my tormentor. He could be with anyone. You win by proximity, nothing more.

Tuning her out is hard work, but I manage. I refuse to let my own issues ruin this moment. Cupid doesn't deserve this.

His tongue tangles with mine, making me dizzy with the taste of him. Cinnamon and cloves, sweet and spicy just like the man himself. He consumes me, driving that niggling voice far into the recesses of my thoughts where it belongs.

Despite my head filling with all things Cupid and the slow, sensual way his left hand has moved to grip at my waist sending shocks of heat straight to the apex of my thighs, I can't ignore the way my body lights up around God and Pretty Boy too. Rave could burn in a fire for all I care.

Cupid notices my drifting attention and slowly pulls away, his face full of concern, the very thing I was trying to avoid. I've really got to work on masking every emotion and thought that passes through me. Rachel always said I couldn't tell a lie to save my life. "Callie?"

Cupid is sweet and funny and deserves way more than some stupid girl who can't even focus all of her attention on him. He needs someone who sees him and only him. Colt was right. Just an empty doll, always needing me to steer you in the right direction.

"I'm fine," I grit out. Yeah, that was super convincing. I take a deep breath and try again. "I'm fine, really," I insist at the questioning expression on his face. "I just came to borrow some clothes. I can run a load or something to make up for it," I offer with an awkward shuffle of my bare feet.

His answering smile is about as flimsy as my excuses. Watching his fingers rake through his riot of bedhead curls, I wish it was my hair his fingers were tangled in. If I could stay present, they could have been.

The clothes are passed to me wordlessly, the lack of eye contact just another cinderblock wrapped around my ankles pulling me under into my own river of self-doubt and self-sabotage. Trust me to ruin another good thing, or what could've been.

Definitely need that cold shower now.