Intimate (8 page)

“Oh, now it’s
fine. Last I heard, it was too big.”

Caleb felt a
sudden wave of fury at her idle words. Did his best to suppress the violent anger
but couldn’t hide the protective resentment in his voice when he demanded, “Who
the hell said that about you?”

Her laughter
fading, she looked at him strangely. “You did.” Her tone didn’t convey any
accusation, but the words felt like a blow. Like someone had punched him in the
gut.

“I never said
anything so ridiculous.”

 “You certainly
did. It was just last month, when I was complaining about my jeans being too
tight.”

God. Caleb
remembered now. He
had
mentioned her ass. It hadn’t been an insult, but
his teasing hadn’t been particularly sensitive. How could he have ever said
such a thing?

Without
thinking, he muttered, “Nonsense. Your ass is spectacular.”

Her mouth fell
open adorably, and she looked embarrassed and rather gratified at his graceless
compliment.

But she looked
so surprised that Caleb was suddenly struck with the realization that he wasn’t
even close to getting what he wanted. He had miles to go before Marissa could
even fathom that he might really find her attractive.

And it was his own
fault that this was so difficult. He’d been blind and insensitive for too many
years—a jerk, as she’d called him so long ago—and now he was paying the price.

*
* *

Caleb could feel a headache
pounding at his temple as he tried vainly to focus on the music.

He’d been
practicing since before dawn without any stopping at all.

He always did
this when he was stressed by other things—played the cello until he was ready
to drop, in the hopes that he wouldn’t have to think about anything else.

It hadn’t been
a very good day, and it hadn’t helped that Marissa hadn’t called him or stopped
by today.

It was unusual.
Today was Saturday, which was the day she typically nagged him most relentlessly,
the day she refused to let him bury himself in music or sleep the day away.

He rubbed his
eyes, trying to clear them. He was so exhausted that he could barely see the bow
or strings in front of him.

A few more
hours, and then he could go to bed in absolute exhaustion.

It was actually
fortunate that Marissa seemed to be ignoring him today. He was glad of it. He
couldn’t deal with his inexplicable physical and emotional reactions to her
today.

But why hadn’t
she called? She always called or came by on Saturdays. She would tease and
pester him, and then they’d get something to eat or catch a movie or just sit
around and talk.

Maybe she had
something better to do today. Caleb refused to let it bother him. He didn’t
feel even the slightest bit hurt by her neglect.

And he definitely
wasn’t going to call her to make sure she was all right.

He caught
himself reaching for the phone but stopped himself just in time.

Caleb still had
his pride after all, and this newly formed lust was not going to change who he
was, how he acted, or the way he handled himself.

“Handled”
wasn’t exactly the word he was looking for.

But what it all
came down to was the fact that he wasn’t going to let Marissa change the man he’d
always been.

The phone rang,
and Caleb almost pounced at the sound, reaching to snatch it up.

It was about
time she remembered he existed.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey.” Her
voice was more subdued than normal. She must be tired today too.

“Hi.”

“Are you busy?”
Her voice sounded a little odd—maybe she’d been napping all afternoon.

“Practicing.”

“All day?”

“I grabbed some
lunch.”

“Caleb.” Marissa’s
voice started to sound more natural as it took on an edge of impatience. “You
know better than to—”

“I’m fine,” he
interrupted, sounding more terse than he’d intended. “And I don’t need you
nagging me right now.”

Why was he
acting so grouchy with her when he’d been wanting to talk to her all day?

“Okay,” she
said, the one word sounding a little choked.

Caleb sighed.
“Sorry. It’s been a long day.”

“I know.”

“Did you want
something?”

Damn it. Why
had he asked that? It had sounded—even to his ears—like her call had been unwelcome
and he was eager to get rid of her so he could get back to what was really
important.

“No,” she said
quickly. “I was just wondering if you might want to come over tonight.”

Something
softened in his chest at how wistful she sounded. Like she really wanted him
there.

“I’ve got some
more to do here, but maybe I can stop by afterwards.” He tried not to sound too
eager. He
wasn't
eager, damn it. What was happening to him lately?

“Okay. If
you’re too busy, no big deal. Maybe I’ll see you later.”

She’d sounded
sincerely disappointed as she hung up, which was more solace than Caleb was
entirely comfortable with.

She’d also
sounded either tired or ill. He wondered if something was wrong with her.

He would go
over to see her soon.

He’d just
finish wrestling with this one piece, first. After all, tomorrow—the
twenty-eighth—was the date of the performance…

Caleb’s heart
suddenly dropped into his gut.

The
twenty-eighth was tomorrow. Which meant today was the twenty-seventh.

He had
completely forgotten.

He quickly
jumped up and put his cello in its case. Grabbing a shirt to pull on over his
dingy t-shirt, he ran down the empty hall toward the elevator.

No wonder Marissa
had sounded so strange. She’d probably been crying.

According to
the lighted numbers, the elevator was all the way on the ground floor. Which
meant it would take a minute to get up to his floor to pick him up. Caleb
couldn’t stand around and wait that long, so he didn’t even bother hitting the
call button. He pushed open the door to the stairwell and raced down several
flights of stairs.

Despite
Saturday evening traffic, he made it over to her apartment building in record
time. He knocked loudly on her door. Since she wasn’t expecting him, he felt
awkward just barging in with his key.

There was no
answer to his knock, so he called out, “Marissa, it’s Caleb. Let me in.”

He waited, but
there was still no answer. He banged on the door again. “Marissa, are you all
right? Let me in.”

Sweating from
his hurried journey over and breathless from running up her building’s stairs, Caleb
tried to compose himself.

He had reacted strangely
to the realization of his absentmindedness.

This wasn’t
really a crisis situation, and yet he had instinctively acted as if it were. Marissa
was an adult and was perfectly capable of dealing with things on her own. Of
course, he should have been there for her today, but…

…but why the
hell wasn’t she opening the door?

Ignoring the
nagging thought that she might be avoiding him on purpose, he pulled out his
key and let himself in.

Caleb glanced
around the entry hall. Empty. Looked into the kitchen and main living area. All
empty.

His heart,
which had finally made its way back from his belly to his chest, was starting
to inch its way up into his throat.

Turning around
sharply, he made his way back to her bedroom.

It was empty
too.

“Marissa!” he
roared. Where the hell was she?

“Damn it, Caleb!
You almost gave me a heart attack!”

He whirled around
and saw her emerging from the bathroom, her hair sopping wet and a bathrobe
covering her damp skin. Her eyes were red and a little swollen though.

She’d
definitely been crying earlier.

“I was in the
shower,” she explained, rubbing at her hair with a thick towel. “Is something
wrong? You look all fight-or-flighty.”

His throat
relaxed enough for him to take in air, so he tried to even out his breathing.
“I’m fine. I just…” Now that he was here, he wasn’t quite sure what to say.

She shifted
from leg to leg, looking a little awkward herself. “What are you doing here? I
thought you had to practice.”

“I’m sorry,
Marissa. I just remembered what today is.”

She tried to
smile, and she tried to nod. But her face kind of crumpled instead. “Yeah. But
I’m okay. You didn’t have to come running over. It’s been a year after all.”
Her voice started to break, so she paused to clear her throat. She was
unconsciously twisting the towel in her hands. “If you have to practice, you
don’t have to—”

Caleb stepped
over and gently removed the towel from her frantic grip. He dropped it onto the
floor. “I’m so sorry. I should have been here for you before.”

For some
reason, that was what broke her control. She tried for a minute to stifle the
sobs with her hands, but she wasn’t remotely successful. Then she reached out
for him, grabbed at his waist blindly, and buried her face in his shirt.

This was why he
had come. This was how she needed him today. So he tried to fight back the
rising anxiety and discomfort as she wept into his chest. He put his arms
around her—rather stiffly—but she didn’t appear to notice how tense he was. Her
soft little body clung to his desperately. Unselfconsciously. Trustingly.

Caleb really
didn’t like it.

He knew he was being
selfish, but he hated the way this made him feel. His throat was constricted.
There was a strange ache in his chest, and his stomach felt heavy and slightly
ill.

He wasn’t any
good at this. How was he supposed to comfort her? He didn’t have a clue about
what to say. Since he didn’t have any words to offer, he tried rubbing her
back, but that seemed to make things worse. As soon as he started, her sobs
became even more urgent.

His head hurt.
And his throat hurt. And his chest hurt. And his belly hurt. And a large spot
on his shirt was now wet.

Although
admitting it made him feel like an ass, he really hoped this would end soon.

He’d been
dreaming about holding Marissa in his arms for a few weeks now, but not like
this. He was so far from being aroused it wasn’t even funny.

Finally, her
sobs tapered off. She gasped and hiccupped a few last times into his shirt, but
then lifted her head. Her hands still clutched at his sides. “I’m sorry. You’d
think after a year, I would be able to keep it together.”

He lifted his
hands and wiped away some lingering tears with his thumbs. Then dropped his
hands abruptly. Something about the gesture felt too intimate, and not the kind
of intimacy he liked.

“There’s no
reason for you to keep it together,” he said hoarsely. “You can cry all you
want.”

But he was silently
pleading for her not to cry anymore. It felt like he was being ripped apart.

She smiled up
at him weakly. “I think I’m done crying. Let me put some clothes on, and maybe
we can—” She stopped, looking a little uncertain. “I mean, unless you have to go
back to practice or have other plans.”

The fact that
she could even question whether or not he was planning to stay felt like a
blow. A self-inflicted one. Because Marissa had only past experience to work
from, and he put other things ahead of their friendship most of the time. “I’m
not going back to practice. You change clothes—I’ll find some food.”

Something
warmed in her eyes that caused him to swallow painfully. Before the strange
ache could grow any deeper, he turned around to leave the bedroom.

“Caleb,” she
called out after him.

He turned back
to look at her. Her face was beautiful and pale, surrounded by her damp, messy
hair.

“You have no
idea how much it means that you came over tonight.” Her face twisted some, as
she tried to retain her composure. “When you’re with me, I miss my dad…less.”

And now his
eyes were hurting too. Everything was hurting. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you
sooner.”

Their eyes
locked, and his words lingered in the air—taking on a strange kind of
significance in the silent room.

An alarming
confusion was growing on her face, so he hurriedly tore his eyes away and made
his way out of the room.

After
ransacking her refrigerator and cabinets and finding nothing that looked
appetizing, he called a delicatessen nearby and ordered some homemade soup and
fresh bread to be delivered. He doubted either one of them was very hungry, and
soup was supposed to be comforting.

At least, that
was what everyone said.

He heard the
hairdryer going in the other room, so he selected a bottle of wine and opened
it. He was pouring the wine into two glasses when she emerged. She wore old
sweats, and her hair wasn’t all the way dry, so it curled in little tendrils
around her face.

She took the
glass he offered her gratefully. “Thanks. I’m sorry about the breakdown
before.”

“There’s no
reason for you to apologize.”

“Yeah, but I
know how much you hate that kind of thing. Believe it or not, I don’t actually
like to make you miserable.”

Apparently,
he’d not done a good job of hiding his discomfort earlier. “We’re friends, and
you never make me miserable.” That wasn’t entirely true, but any misery Caleb
felt around her certainly wasn’t her fault.

“Uh huh.” She
took a step over to him and put her free hand on his shoulder. Then she stretched
up and gave him a kiss on the jaw. “You’re a big liar, but I adore you just the
same.”

It was all he
could do not to leap backward to get away from her. He would have been
gratified and delighted if her kiss and words had been remotely sexual. But
they weren’t. They were sweet, and tender, and intimate. But they weren’t
sexual at all.

And it was only
sexually that Caleb knew how to handle such things.