Page 78 of The Other Side

It feels like I’ve been flying for the last few days after our hot encounters. But now? I’m crashing into a concrete wall.

To the pits of Hell.

My eyes stay on her sage-green gaze. I notice her lashes have been thickened with mascara, and her lips are stained with that familiar berry lipstick.

God, she’s so fucking stunning.

But I can’t win.

Because all I want to do is smear all that shit off her face and reveal her to me.

My Callie.

I nod once, pointing to her side where Jesse’s office is. “That’s fine. I’ll wait.”

“Okay,” she says, backpedaling along the marble of the foyer. “I just got home from work not too long ago. Can I get you something? A drink or a snack?” she asks, allowing me room to step inside.

“Sure,” I respond as I cross the threshold.

I’ll take anything she’s had her hands on.

Fucking pathetic, but so fucking true.

Her heels knock along the floor as she walks in front of me, her head peeking over her shoulder. “I don’t have finger sandwiches, but can I interest you in a mini quiche? Spinach and cheese?”

I smile, too entranced to pay attention to what she just said. “Yeah, sounds good.”

We cross the dining room, eventually steering right to enter the kitchen. She wastes no time opening the fridge door, and I poke my head behind me.

I place my supplies on the granite of the island, and when I realize the coast is clear, I walk over to her.

She plucks a dish from behind the stainless-steel door. Her head immediately dips when I’m an inch away from her, focused on the platter. “You’d be surprised how tough it is to find mini pie crusts,” she rambles while flipping the saran wrap over. “Here.”

My throat rolls. I reach for a tiny quiche, popping all of it in my mouth. The creamy filling bursts around as I munch, and my eyes never dodge her stare. “Thank you,” I mumble, stroking the inside of my cheek with my tongue.

“More?” she offers.

I shake my head. “No. I appreciate it though.”

Her chest gently swells as she pops her eyes up and down the length of me. She pivots to return the platter on the fridge shelf when she says, “Let me get you something to drink.”

She slips away from the appliance door, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her posture is more rigid, bundled with nerves that I’ve seemed to cause.

Callie buckles when my fingers meet hers on the cabinet knob. She falters, eyeing me when I continue to help. I drag the mahogany panel out, eyes resting on her as she sinks back on her heels.

I ignore the heat that snaps along my skin while extracting a glass. I hand her the cup, and she wears a suppressed smile before peeling away.

Her voice is slightly spent as she dips into the refrigerator again. “I have iced tea. Strawberry seltzer.”

“Water is fine,” I assure her, my hands slipping into my jeans pockets.

“Okay,” she breathes, almost flustered. The fridge door snaps shut, and then she’s pouring water from it.

The filter shuts off before she’s returning in front of me with a full glass of water.

“Cal—”

She hands the drink to me, planting her palm on my upper arm to lift on her toes. Her touch injects serenity through the material of my long-sleeve shirt, and her soft lips meet my cheek.