Stay With Me (10 page)

“Here.” His thumb grazes my cheekbone and then down my neck. “And here and here and here.”

“Just so you know,” I say, leaning into his touch, as his fingers continue to stroke me, pet me, caress my skin that burns under him, “I’ve wanted you to do the same. And I—”

I swallow heavily as Caleb’s head swoops down and he presses his mouth against the pulse in my neck. His teeth graze oh so gently against me as his tongue soothes the mark, and then his lips trail up my neck.

“You were saying?”

My hands clutch on his shoulders. “I want to kiss you.
Everywhere
.”

His dark green eyes darken to a midnight green, like a stormy sky. “Good, because I want to do the same.”

I moan as he presses kisses along my jaw line, and then his mouth is against the apple of my cheek. He slides his lips along the path his fingers had traced earlier. “Your skin is sweet. Hot. Intoxicating.”

“Caleb.”

“I burn for you.” His hand slides to the back of my neck, his other braced on the open door of the car, and then his mouth captures mine.

I don’t know how much time passes as we kiss, our tongues tangling, meeting, and leaving us both filled with more wanting. But by the time we break away, his mouth is damp from my kissing, slightly smeared with my shimmery pink gloss, and I take my hand to wipe the stain away from his lips. It doesn’t take long to get the pink away, but I’m delayed when his teeth catch the tips of my fingers, drawing them into his mouth, where he sucks and kisses them gently. The sky has turned a dusky purple, the twilight of blue starting to covertake over, like a holey blanket that lets allows stars start to shine through.

“It’s getting late,” I say.

“It is.” He backs away, closing my door and then crossing over to his side. Seconds later, he’s in the driver’s seat and pulling away from the building. “And I’ve got to make a good impression so that you’ll want to go on another date.”

I lean into my seat, smiling. “I think it’s pretty safe to say that I’ll go out with you again.”

“Good,” he says. “Because I’m not letting you go.”

“We’ll see about that.” I look over at him and arch an eyebrow. “It depends on how good dessert is.”

He laughs, and the sound is like a warm, comforting hug that I never want to let go.

Caleb doesn’t know it yet, but he’s mine.

Just like I’m his . . .

For as long as he’ll have me.

Chapter 10

W
E DRIVE FOR SOME TIME
and leave Burlington to head south. Eventually we pull up to a small restaurant seemingly in the middle of nowhere. I smile when I see the restaurant’s name.

“Starry Night,” I say, looking at the restaurant that was converted at some point from a red barn.

Caleb leans over the console, stealing a brief kiss. “I think you’ll like this place.”

I unhook my seat belt and Caleb’s already at my door, opening it for me. The night air is chilly, so I decide to wear my jacket after all, and enjoy the moment when Caleb’s fingers dance along my nape as he helps me free my hair from the collar. Then he grabs my hand, and we walk to the entrance.

“What do they serve?” I ask.

“Almost everything,” Caleb says. “It’s not a fancy place, but it has good food and even better desserts.”

“I’m sold.”

We’re seated almost right away, and the waiter takes our drink orders—both sodas.

“Not drinking?” I ask, as I know Caleb’s twenty-one.

“I don’t really like to drink anything when I’m driving. I know it’s only
one
drink, but the driver who crashed into Daphne’s car only had
one
drink.” Caleb shrugs. “Plus I don’t think I want anything to mess with me. Not when I’m with you.”

I fiddle with the menu. It’s such a new experience for me—for a guy, a man, really, to want to be with me just for me. “When is your birthday?”

“May 6.”

“A Taurus.”

He tilts his head, thinking it over. “Is that right? I’m not up on astrology.”

I wait as the waiter delivers our drinks and then takes our orders.

“Tauruses,” I say, stirring my straw, “are known to be stubborn. And they’re very tactile.”

“I definitely like to touch . . .”—he smiles at me—“
things
.”

“And you’re very stubborn.”

Caleb nods. “In a way. I know what I want,
who
I want, and, well . . . I’m very determined.”

“I’m not just some game to you, am I?” I ask suddenly and I feel really bad when hurt flashes in his eyes.

He leans forward, grabbing my hand. “No, Hailey.”

“I’m sorry I asked.”

“Don’t be. I get why you asked.” His hand squeezes mine. “You don’t want to get hurt. But I like you. Just you. And I want to know everything about you.”

I’m not so sure about that everything part. I want to believe Caleb. I really, really do, but past experiences have taught me to be wary, cautious, and protect myself more than I did in the past. But when I’m with Caleb it just feels . . . so perfectly right. And I decide in this moment to really put myself out there with him, to let him in and give him—give us—a chance.

“I’m a Sagittarius,” I say, needing to lighten the tension. “Born on December 11 at 11:11 p.m. My mother thought it was a sign that I was born under a horoscope known to be independent.”

“Mothers can be weird at times. My mom named all my sisters after Greek myths.” Caleb lets go of my hand as the waiter brings us our dinners—steak for him and grilled chicken for me. “And she wanted to name me Apollo, but my dad blackballed that name. But she won the middle name war.”

“What is your middle name?”

Caleb looks down at his plate, his ears tingeing red, and mutters something.

Uh oh. This has got to be embarrassing.

“I couldn’t hear you,” I say apologetically, feeling bad I’m going to make him repeat it.

He looks up at me and grimaces. “Eros.”

“Arrows?”

“No.” His expression grows tortured, and he cuts off a bite-sized piece of steak. “E-R-O-S.”

I drop my fork to my plate. “She named you after the love god? The one who shoots arrows?”

“Yeah. Unfortunately. My father thought she meant arrows and was like okay, you’re obviously high on meds but since you’re not naming our first child after the sun god . . .” Caleb trails off, shrugging. “But yeah, my mom is a mythology fanatic.”

“And your dad is not?”

“My dad likes myths, but he’s more a poetry-loving, Harley Davidson, Boston Red Sox are evil type of guy.”

“He sounds awesome.”

“Yeah, he pretty much is. They both are, actually.”

I eat my food, ignoring the pain in my heart. It doesn’t work so well, but wishing for a different type of mother never worked before, and it’s not going to work now. But still, I wish I had a fraction of what Caleb does with his family. I’d kill to have an embarrassing middle name; I’d kill to be able to say funny, quirky things about my mother or even be able to recall a time when she hugged me
off
-camera.

“Hailey.” Caleb hesitates. “There is one more thing I have to tell you. And I don’t think you’ll like it. At all.”

“Oh. What’s that?”

“My major.”

“Your major,” I repeat slowly, recalling the times when Caleb’s sidestepped the subject. “What is it?”

“I’m majoring in journalism.”

Chapter 11

I
T TAKES A MOMENT FOR
it to sink in.

“You’re—what—?” My head reels. “You’re a
journalist
?”

“Not yet. I’m studying it, but, yes . . . that’s what I want to be.”

“You want to be like one of
those
—those—” I sputter, tripping over the words. “Do you know what
they
do to me?”

“A journalist, Hailey. Not a member of the paparazzi. There
is
a difference.”

I feel betrayed. No wonder Caleb avoided the subject. He’d probably guessed I wouldn’t react well—and with good reason. “Not much of one.”

“Listen, please. Just listen for a moment. Just give me a chance to explain.”

I have nowhere to go. We’re out in the middle of nowhere in this restaurant. I push my half-eaten plate away and cross my arms. “Sure. Go ahead.”

“I wanted to tell you, I did. I swear. But I was . . . scared you’d not give me a chance. That you’d think I only was interested in you because of your name. Of how famous you are.”

The night we first met . . . his words from that night whisper across my mind.
With
the
Hailey Bloom.

But he’d said those to a guy who was only looking for one thing. Caleb has not once treated me like that, like I’m something that’s to be objectified and talked about, where my humanness is almost erased for a public image.

“Everyone knows who I am,” I say, feeling sick. “Nothing’s secret—not even from you.”

Except that one huge secret I’m keeping . . . the one that somehow has managed to be kept hidden all these years.

“Please, Hailey. You and I both know all of that is not real. I don’t know
you
, Hailey. Not like I want to. I want to know you, just like I hope you want to know me.”

“I do, but you’re . . .”

“I know this might not make a difference to you. Because you don’t like any sort of journalists.”

“With good reason.” I uncross my arms and fold my hands in my lap. “I know it’s their job, their livelihood, and my career
was
advanced because of all the publicity, interviews, and everything else I was forced to do.”

“Forced?”

“Yes. Forced.” I meet his eyes. “I’ve been telling you this from almost the start. I don’t want
that
anymore. I just want to be normal. I want to disappear and just have a life that’s
not
lived to please others. Ordinary.”

“Hailey. You’re anything but ordinary. You’re extraordinary.”

My breath catches, my chest pinches. “That’s just it, Caleb. I’m really not. I’m just a girl. A really, really lucky girl whose mother wanted fame and fortune more than anything else, and I got it. I got everything I ever thought I wanted, wished for, dreamed for, and . . .”

I give a hollow laugh.

“And?” Caleb asks.

“And nothing.” I close my eyes for a brief moment.
Too close. That was way too close.
I take a deep breath and decide to focus on his revelation. “So, you’re studying journalism, and you didn’t tell me until just now because you thought it would ruin things between us.”

He presses his mouth together, hearing how bad it sounds. “Yes.”

I nod and start folding and refolding the napkin on my lap. “You said earlier that it might not make a difference to me. What did you mean by that?”

“I want to be a sports journalist.”

Something inside of me relaxes. Sports journalism is a totally different thing than wanting to go to Hollywood and work there. “You want to work for ESPN?”

“No, I don’t want to be on TV. I . . . uh . . . actually don’t like public speaking. Never have.” Heat crawls up his neck, and he takes a sip from his soda. “But maybe for an online magazine or . . .”

“Or?”

“It’s kind of crazy, but Nick, Jamie, and I want to start our own online magazine. But it would take a lot of work, and a lot of other things we have to factor in, like start up costs, how we would do it, and how we could grow it. We’d start off small but hopefully grow our audience each year.”

“That sounds amazing,” I say, meaning it.

“So,” he drags out the word and braces himself. “Are we okay?”

“Well, I don’t like that you kept that from me.” Guilt makes me shift in my seat. I’m keeping something from Caleb—a
big
something, and he might hate me if he ever finds out. He won’t, I assure myself. But because of that, I can find it in me to let it go. “But I understand.”

And if my secret does come out, I can only hope Caleb will not look at me with disgust, or worse . . . hatred.

“I am sorry, Hailey. I don’t want this to get between us.”

“Me neither.” I sigh, then smile at him. “You’ll just be the first journalist I ever kiss and tell with.”

He smiles back at me. “I’ll be the
only
journalist you kiss and tell with.”

“You did promise me dessert. Really fabulous dessert.” I change the subject, needing and wanting to get on different ground. I also just need a moment to process everything. Caleb did keep something from me, but I’m doing the same. “It better not disappoint.”

“It won’t.” Caleb meets my gaze. “And I’m not going to let you down. No more secrets.”

I don’t say anything. I can’t.

Because I’m going to keep this secret.

D
ESSERT DOES LOOK VERY PROMISING.

A rich chocolate cake, the color such a deep brown it almost appears black, thick frosting coats layers and layers and layers of cake. The outer edge of the cake is coated in chocolate chips, and on top there is dark piping leading to a hard but smooth-looking chocolate heart.

It looks so sinful that I’m wondering if I’ll spontaneously combust upon eating a single bite. Hell, it’s the sort of cake that I just look at it and feel the extra weight settling onto my skin. But the slice of cake is huge, and I have no idea how I’ll eat it all.

Thank God for doggie bags.

Caleb opted for a different dessert: fried ice cream covered in a hot fudge sauce and sprinkled with coconut flakes.

I take a forkful of cake and bite into it, immediately closing my eyes.

“That good?”

“There are
no
words to describe how good this is,” I say, taking another forkful. “The last time I had dessert . . . I think I was seven?”

“You haven’t eaten dessert in ten years?”

“In over ten years.”

“But what about for when you did movies?”

I laugh at the thought. “That definitely doesn’t count.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’d tell you, but then it would definitely ruin this. Trust me on that.”

“Later?”

I nod my head in agreement. “Later.”

After we finish dessert and Caleb pays for the bill, we get back on the road. After some time has passed and some prompting from Caleb, I figure it safe enough to talk about eating in films.