Claiming Callie: Part two (18 page)

 
What
’
s worse than his anxiety at her reaction
is that a part of him
loves
that everyone will think she
’
s his. It
’
s what he
’
s wanted for so long, and the article in many ways is like his dreams coming to fruition. Maybe everything happens for a reason. Maybe this is a sign that she
’
s supposed to be
with him. Maybe the world—or God, or Mother Nature, or whatever—is giving them a little shove.

I
’
m such a selfish jerk for even thinking this way
.

No matter how much he might kinda, sorta, definitely like the article and how it solidifies their status, the
last thing he would want is for this to upset Callie. With this in mind, he moves to his dresser and pulls out a pair of jeans. He yanks them on over his boxer briefs and throws a T-shirt on. Grabbing his coat off the desk chair, he moves to the door.

“He
y, where you going?” Emmett asks.

“I need to find Callie.” He rushes out into the hall and pulls his cell phone out of his coat pocket and dials Callie, but she doesn
’
t answer. Desperate, he tries his sister next.

“
Hello,
” she mumbles, her voice thick with
sleep.

“Jinny, where
’
s Callie?”

“What?”

He sighs, trying to keep the impatience from his voice. “Callie? Your roommate? Best friend of—oh, twenty-some years?”

“Ha ha,” she grumbles. “She
’
s at class. Which I am not. I was sleeping. Until this phone call.
Thank you very much.”

“Did she see the article yet?”

“What article?” Jinny asks, sounding more awake.

“The
Pittsburgh Post-Gazette
ran an article on us in the Sunday paper. Apparently, they were at the game Friday night and were impressed with my…er…displa
y.”

Jinny laughs. “Oh, shit. You
’
re kidding me. I totally have to get my hands on Sunday
’
s paper now.”

He
’
s not in the mood for this.  “Jinny—”

“You know, that
’
s what you get for doing something so sweet. I mean, who does stuff like that? A rose for every
basket you score? You had to have the florist on standby. Pretty impressive,” she says, drawing out the words. “If not a little vomit-inducing for your sister to watch. Callie, though…she was eating it up.”

Dean pauses in front of the doors to the dorms, s
uddenly not so annoyed with his sister
’
s rant. “You think so?”

Jinny snorts. “I
’
ve known Callie, as you
’
ve said, for over twenty years. She can pretend all she wants that a part of her wasn
’
t swooning over that display, but I know better.”

Dean leans forwa
rd, pressing his forehead into the glass on the door.
Please, let Jinny be right. God, for once, I actually want my sister to be right.

“What class is she at?” he asks. He needs to find her. If she doesn
’
t already know, he needs to tell her about the artic
le, soften the blow. He can
’
t let this ruin things now. Not if Jinny actually thinks there
’
s a chance this whole scheme might be working.

“Uh, lemme think…”

Dean grits his teeth, as Jinny
ums
her way into an answer.

“I know! It
’
s not one of her core classe
s. Political science, I think?”

Deans feet move and he
’
s out the door. “
Wesley Hall. Thanks.
” Then he hangs up and runs the rest of the way through campus.

He waits outside of the Wesley W. Posvar building, his eyes fixed on the exits.
Come on, Callie.
Come on…

He spots her immediately and catches his breath. Her hair
’
s pulled into a loose knot at the nape of her neck below a soft white hat, her lips painted ruby red. She
’
s wearing a pair of tight cream-colored pants tucked inside knee-high brown boots a
nd a camel-colored jacket with fur around the neck. Damn, if she isn
’
t the most impressive thing he
’
s ever seen.

She says something to the girl next to her as they leave. Dean moves toward her but hangs back a bit, waiting until she
’
s finished. As Callie s
ays good-bye to the girl, she glances his way and smiles, but even from here her eyes are questioning. The girl waves and leaves. Stepping forward, Dean freezes when another guy steps in and touches her arm.

He turns away immediately, feeling the sting of
heat in his cheeks.

No one said she is
’
t allowed to talk to other men. Of course she has male friends. That
’
s okay. To be expected, really. How could she look like she does, have the brain and personality she does, without garnering a lot of interest?

He l
istens. He tries not to, but he can
’
t help himself.

“Looks like I got beat,” the guy says.

“What do you mean?” Callie
’
s voice is pleasant. Not overly friendly or disinterested.

“I
’
ve been trying to find the nerve to ask you out all semester. Did you really
think I needed to borrow your notes almost every week for no reason?”

“Oh.”

Is that a good
oh
or a bad
oh
?

He can
’
t read the tone of her voice and he grits his teeth until he fears he might crack a molar.

“Yeah. I wasn
’
t at the game Friday, but I heard
about it. Then, Sunday, I saw the paper. Talk about missed opportunity.”

Dean stills. His muscles tense and his eyes widen.
The article.
Oh, shit.

He turns around just as the guy grabs Callie
’
s hand. Dean
’
s stomach lurches at the sight of the guy’s hands o
n her, and any apprehension he had about the article quickly drains away.

“Looks like I
’
m too little, too late,” the guy says.

Without thinking Dean moves forward, closes the gap, and comes up next to Callie. He swoops in and puts his arm around her, tuck
ing her into his side possessively. The guy stammers, mid-sentence, then drops Callie
’
s hand and takes a step back.

That
’
s right, asshole. She
’
s mine.

“Uh, sorry. Nice job at the game, man,” the guy says, clearly trying to recover.

But Dean
’
s not having
it. He sets his jaw and stares him down with cold eyes until the guy mumbles his good-byes and walks away.

Once he
’
s gone, Dean
’
s nerves set in and he can feel the prickle of sweat on his neck. Callie scoots back and eyes him. “Jeez. You didn
’
t have to sca
re him off like that.”

“Please don
’
t tell me you
’
re interested in that tool,” Dean says, pointing at his retreating form, swallowing down his jealousy. He can feel the raging heat of it course through his blood, and he hates himself for it. He has no right
.

Callie crosses her arms. “I
’
m not at all. But that
’
s not the point. You didn
’
t have to be rude.”

“I didn
’
t even say anything to him.”