“I have a few calls to make while you shower."
"I thought you were going to lock up and leave?"
"I'd rather not until I know you're settled in and going to bed for the night."
"Whatever," she says, frowning. "I'm too tired to argue."
She shuts the door before I can respond, and I rub my forehead in irritation. If she knew how close I was to grabbing her and throwing her over my shoulder, carting her out of here, she’d stop pushing me. Luckily for her, I have something that really can’t wait. That means I have extra time to gain control of my frustration
I pull out my phone and click on the number I need. Then, I continue walking around Zoe’s home, ensuring everything else is in place and locked up. As I do this, I take my time, looking around and taking in the pictures and items that I just somehow know Zoe had a part in putting on display.
"Damn. Callan Miller. It’s awful late for you to be stirring around, isn’t it?” Dave asks when he answers. “Is everything okay?”
Dave lived in the same home as Niko and I did. We were pretty close to him. He came to me a while back, asking me to help him with the legal documents on his corporation and for advice. He owns a garage not far from here and the place stays busy. Dave is about the best you can find at working on vehicles and knowing about them. He hates the business side though, and that meant all his tax crap and business permits and files were crazy before he came to me. I didn’t charge him shit because we’re damn near brothers. In return, he insisted I bring my stuff there when I need it worked on. I haven’t needed a reason to take him up on his offer, but tonight, that changed.
I can hear tools being set down in the back, meaning he's likely still in the garage. That works out for me because it means I didn’t wake him up.
“Yeah, man, sorry to bother you so late.”
“It’s no bother. I'm still working the graveyard shift. There’s no reason to go home when my bed is empty,” he laughs. “What's up?”
“I need a favor. My woman had a flat tonight, and her car is stranded at the diner where she works. I was hoping you could have it towed over to your shop. It’s pretty close to you," I tell him. “It’s the diner on Fifth Street? If you could get it towed back to the garage, I’d appreciate it. To be honest, I’d like for you to give the car a good going over. Let me know what it would take to make it safe to drive. I’m talking I want it to be something you wouldn't mind climbing in and driving across the country."
"I didn't know you had a woman," Dave says and I hear the curiosity in his voice. I had the reputation for a ladies’ man. I must admit that I earned it. I never saw myself settling down with one woman. Zoe changed everything and I’m fucking glad. Now, I just need to get her to agree.
"It's a new development, but a very good one. I still have to convince her of it, actually." I laugh, unable to stop the smile that spreads on my face.
"The great Callan Miller having issues with getting a girl to do what he wants? I guess miracles still happen.”
“Very funny, Dave.”
“Just being truthful. Anyway, I can pick up her vehicle no problem. Do you want it done tonight?" Dave asks.
"No, you can do it tomorrow. I'll drive by later and drop off the keys. If you’re asleep, I’ll just put them in your drop off box at the garage. It’s a beat-up rust bucket Toyota," I add while I’m thinking about it.
"Consider it done."
"Thanks, man."
"No problem. See you soon."
When I tell Zoe, I know she will likely get pissed off, but I need to take care of her. That includes getting that car of hers in better condition. She needs me. She will never believe that I need her more—but I do. This is the most I've felt alive in years. Having Zoe in my life makes me look forward to every day. It fills the air with excitement around me.
I check the last of the windows before heading upstairs. It makes me feel marginally better knowing that if I can’t have her in my bed, she’ll at least be safe tonight.
Chapter 14
Zoe
Once I get out of the shower and towel off, I quickly pull on an oversized football jersey. It’s so well-worn that the teal and orange color of the Miami Dolphins logo is faded to a pink and sky blue. It’s super comfy, however, and I don’t want a new one. My dad loves football. It can bore me at times, but I still love this shirt. I brush out my wet hair, zoning out as I work on trying to tame my curls. I jump when Callan's shadow darkens the doorway.
"I thought you left," I murmur, waiting for my heart to stop thumping so hard in my chest. With Callan so close by, I’m thinking that’s a pipe dream.
"Nope, I was just making arrangements to get your car towed into a garage in the morning to get it fixed," Callan says with a smile.
"You didn't have to do that!" I tell him. I'm shocked he thought about it. "My dad would've helped me get it squared away."
"No need. The garage owner is a friend of mine, and he'll make sure it’s safe to drive."
"Oh, thank you," I say. "I guess it's good I'm off tomorrow since I don't have a vehicle."
"You were going to sleep in, remember?"
"Oh yeah, that's true."
He walks closer to me, and my heart starts to beat wildly in my chest as I look up at him.
"I'm going to ask you for that favor," Callan tells me with a crooked smile. My breath catches as I look into his eyes.
"What’s that?" I ask. My brain-to-mouth connection seems to be on the fritz, and those are the only words I can get out.
"I find that I really want to hold you while you fall asleep," he says, holding up his hand so I don't argue. "I want to hold you close, but I promise to leave quietly. I'll lock up, and I won't bother you. I just really want more time with you."
Part of me is jumping up and down because I don't want him to leave. I want to be in his arms, but I know I should make him leave. I’m not this kind of girl. I don’t let men I’ve barely spent time with lie in my bed—for any reason. Still, the temptation is so huge that it’s a struggle to come to a decision.
"Please," Callan says softly. “See, Zoe? I’m not above begging you. You should know please is not a word that comes easily for me."
I can't stop the laugh that bubbles out of me. "I definitely believe it." He laughs, and I notice how his smile softens his face and causes these little lines to crinkle around his eyes. God, he’s just so… perfect.
"Whose shirt are you wearing?" he asks. Suddenly, the playfulness in his voice disappears. The change is so quick and dramatic that I’m surprised I don’t have whiplash.
I pull at my shirt, looking at it. "I'm wearing Ryan Fitzpatrick's jersey?"
My response comes out more of a question than a statement. I’m confused because although the name is literally printed on the back, anyone in Florida should know who he is and what his number is.
"Not who's jersey. Who does it belong to? Where did you get it?" he asks.