Page 37 of Chasing Callie

“Fuck you, Penelope!” Emmit calls from the beer pong table, his gaze connecting with mine. He dips his head in respect. “I never liked that bitch.”

Murmurs of agreement ripple through the kitchen. Gradually, the party returns to normal, but something fundamental has shifted. The video that haunted me for so long has been exorcised, named and claimed in front of witnesses. I’m not the bad guy. I never was. It’s nice to know that Knox isn’t either.

Aspen hands me a shot, a grin splitting her face. “That was the most badass thing I’ve ever seen.”

I knock it back, the tequila burning a path to my stomach. “I should’ve done it ten years ago.”

Lily clinks her glass against mine. “Better late than never.”

I’m about to respond when movement at the kitchen door catches my focus. Knox stands there, flanked by his brothers. They’re all watching me with expressions that make my stomach flip. Pride. Desire. Jax’s dark amusement. He always did think fighting was the answer.

Without really thinking, I grab three beers from the cooler on the floor and walk toward them, nerves swimming in my gut. Jax is grinning now like he’s picturing me naked, and honestly, I wouldn’t put it past him. Brax nudges his brother, who wipes the smirk off his face and tries to look as serious as Brax does. Knox ignores them both, gaze locked on mine as I stop before them.

“Thirsty?” I ask, holding up the beers. A peace offering. I’ve spent so long mad at Knox for that post, but it was never his doing. Maybe I should have stayed and demanded answers back then, but I was young and hurt.

“Parched.” Jax takes one first, fingers brushing over mine and electricity zaps along my spine.

“Finally,” Brax murmurs, though I’m not sure he’s referring to the beer.

“Can we talk?” Knox asks, voice rough and features as hard as stone.

A lump lodges in my throat. I look over my shoulder, and Lily and Aspen nod in encouragement. Someone murmurs that she’d talk to Knox if I don’t. I bite back a grin.

What is it about these men that makes women crazy?

“Callie?” Knox’s voice is rich like honey.

Sighing, I turn back and push a beer into his hand, searching his pretty blue eyes for traces of the boy I used to love but finding a man in his place. Someone I’m desperate to know. Without a reason to be mad at him, the only thing holding me back is myself. “Yeah, let’s talk.”

Chapter Fifteen

KNOX

The tension is so thick it coasts along my skin like the brush of her fingers. Every tiny movement Callie makes pulls at my awareness as if she’s got me on a leash. She sits on the edge of the bed in one of the lake house’s spare rooms, tucking her hands beneath her thighs. Her posture is rigid. She looks ready to bolt.

I lean against the dresser, arms crossed over my chest to keep from reaching for her. The sweet scent of her perfume fills my lungs with each breath, making it hard to focus on anything but how fucking beautiful she is.

“So,” Callie prompts, chewing on her plump bottom lip.

My focus slips to her mouth, watching the way her teeth drag across the soft flesh. It takes every ounce of self-control not to cross the room and replace her teeth with mine. Instead, I clear my throat and run a hand through my hair.

She shifts on the bed, and the springs creak beneath her. My brain immediately conjures images of other ways we could make that bed creak, her body sprawled across it, her hair fanned out against the pillows, her lips parted as I— Fuck. Get it together, Knox.

“You look good.”

She’s closer than she’s been in ten years and she still feels miles away. “Uh, thanks,” she says, forehead pinching. “Listen.” She pauses. “About Penelope⁠—”

“I’m sorry that I didn’t break up with her sooner. I should have done it the first time she was rude to you.”

Callie’s attention drops to her lap. Her feet bob back and forth, a nervous habit of hers I’d forgotten about until now. It’s both comforting and devastating to see because it’s proof that some part of the girl I knew still exists inside this guarded woman.

My Callie is in there. I just have to get her back. I push off the dresser and squat down to hold her gaze. “I’m sorry about the video.”

“You didn’t take it,” she says with a shrug, pretending it doesn’t hurt.

But I know her better than myself most days, or at least, I did. “I took it down as soon as I saw it.”

She looks away. “Were you?”