Every Little Thing

She's Trying to Kill Me

Talking with her felt exactly the way I remembered—like breathing. Natural. Effortless. The way she looked at me while I spoke, so focused, like I was saying the most important thing in the world. We weren’t talking about anything earth-shattering—just our favorite things, really. Relearning each other.

But somehow, the love I felt for her then—back before everything—was still there. Only now it was deeper. Different. Before, I wanted to hold her hand, take her on sweet, innocent dates. But now?

Now, I wanted to be hers in every way. Body. Mind. Soul. I wanted to give her every part of me—and the way she looked in that bikini was not helping my efforts to keep that desire in check.

Her favorite color was still purple—amethyst, to be exact. Mine’s black now. She still preferred dogs over cats, which was a relief. Her favorite flower was still Gerber daisies, which I always found kind of funny considering her name. Mine hadn’t changed either—I still had a thing for roses. We talked about the books we’d read, our love for sunsets, and how we each got into our sports. She gave me a hard time for playing football—said she never pictured me as the type. Then admitted she didn’t expect me to actually be good at it.

I shrugged it off. “It’s not that hard to knock a guy down.”

She laughed. God, I missed her laugh.

After about twenty minutes in the hot tub, we moved over to the lounge chairs by the fire pit. I lit a small fire to help us dry off faster—not that I needed an excuse to stay close to her. In the glow of the flames, she looked unreal. Her hazel-green eyes caught the light like gems, and her sun-kissed skin glowed, making it damn near impossible not to stare.

“Happy belated birthday, by the way,” she said gently, leaning a little closer to me.

I blinked at her, momentarily confused. “Oh… shit. Thank you.” I laughed softly, still getting used to the idea of being eighteen. “Happy belated to you, too,” I added, forcing myself not to glance at how her bikini fit while she sat like that.

Her birthday was just a few days before mine. “Did your parents do anything special?” she asked. “You used to talk about a big family bash when you turned eighteen.”

My heart sank.

“Uh… not exactly.” I scratched the back of my neck, licking my lips as I searched for the right words. “My parents aren’t around much these days. Jace and I just rode dirt bikes for a while. Amy’s mom made me a cake.”

I tried to sound casual, but part of me still ached from the absence. They hadn’t been there for any of my birthdays since I was fourteen.

I caught the sadness flicker in her eyes—like she was trying to figure out what to say. She knew how close I used to be with my parents. She knew this wasn’t what I’d imagined for myself.

I exhaled and gave her a small smile, trying to shift the mood. “I’ll have to figure out a birthday present for you… now that I’ve got all this updated intel. Maybe something Stray Kids related.”

Her timing was almost too perfect—stretching in her chair just as I turned to the fire. It wasn’t the first time she’d done it tonight—arching her back, subtly drawing my attention. And yeah, I looked. Every. Damn. Time.

“Don’t tease me,” she groaned mid-stretch, her voice low and… dangerous.

My stomach did a full flip. The sound alone sent my imagination running wild.

I forced a grin and raised a brow once she settled back. “I’m not the one simping over Korean dudes.”

There was a flicker in her expression—something new. Not embarrassment. Not irritation. Something hotter. Bolder.

“I’m not simping,” she insisted. “I’ve just listened to every song they’ve ever released and can identify each member by voice alone.” She paused. “Okay, maybe I’m simping. But you can’t tell me you don’t have a musical obsession.”

Her teasing tone made it clear she wasn’t offended—and I loved that we could still do this, push and pull without crossing lines.

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t.” I leaned back in my chair, arms behind my head. “Guess you’ll have to wait and find out.”

I didn’t see her move at first—not until her hand gently cupped my jaw and turned my face toward her.

My breath hitched.

She was right there, just inches away. I dropped my hands to the arms of the chair, unsure if I was steadying myself or giving in.

Her gaze roamed my face, then lingered on my lips. Her voice was soft, teasing, dangerous.

“Caleb…” she breathed.

“Yeah?” I whispered, unable to take my eyes off her.

“Please tell me. I want to know your secrets.”

Her fingers trailed along my neck, into the back of my hair. A low groan escaped me before I could stop it. I couldn’t help it. Her touch felt too good—too intimate.

What is this girl doing to me?

I leaned a little closer, barely holding myself back. I wanted to kiss her—wanted it so badly I could taste it.

“Caleb,” she repeated, this time with a sly smile.

“Huh?” I blinked, mind dazed.

“Your musical guilty pleasure,” she purred.

Oh.

Right.

I blinked again, trying to ground myself. “Halocene,” I muttered. “That’s my favorite band.”

I half expected her to back off—but no. Her fingers only tightened in my hair, her eyes dancing with amusement like she knew she had me. And damn it… she was right.