Stuffed: A Thanksgiving Romance Page 6

  I felt my lips tip up as I looked over at her. "That's why you put him up by me on the pull-out, isn't it?"

  "Can you blame a mom for trying?"

  I followed her gaze to the field where Adam was throwing his head back and laughing. We were too far to hear, but I knew that sound so well, I could recognize it in a crowd. "Why bother, though? Our lives are in different places."

  She exhaled a little and gave me her full attention. "As someone with slightly more life experience than you, can I let you in on a little secret? It's not the things that we did impulsively, without thought, without consideration of consequences that we end up regretting. It's the things we didn't do, the chances we didn't take, the men we didn't kiss, the love we didn't give. I don't want you to live to regret never knowing what it was like to kiss someone you have loved since you were a little girl. I know you, Cal. You're a perfect mix of your father and me. You, like me, think things through, think them to absolute death more often than not. And, like your father, you tend to hide away from things, live through the worlds other people have created. You would have let an entire lifetime go by and never know what it felt like to really let yourself have something you have always wanted. I figured if I could maybe give a nudge..."

  "So you're telling me to let it happen, even if all I get is this holiday weekend?"

  "I'm not telling you anything, Cal. I am just suggesting you perhaps stop listening to your head for a couple of days."

  We fell into a companionable silence for a long time, watching the guys play. My mother saw a couple friends and climbed down to talk to them. Cold from sitting still for so long, I got up and walked down the bleachers toward the field as well, resisting a lip curl when Amy moved closer toward me.

  "Callie, is that you?" a male voice called, making me jump and turn to see one of the players walking up. He was as good looking as the rest of them, tall, broad, classically attractive chiseled features, with blue eyes and dirty blond hair. He was vaguely familiar to me. I remember seeing him hanging out with Cory and Adam time to time.

  "Hey Matt," I said, giving him a small smile.

  "Look at you!" he said, giving me a charming smile, waving a hand at me. "All grown up. You look great, sweetheart."

  I felt a slight blush creep up, unaccustomed to being complimented and maybe still harboring the high school girl feeling of "OMG, the football player just said I looked good!"

  "Thanks. You look good too."

  "How have you..." he started, obviously in full-flirt mode and I wasn't unaffected.

  But then I suddenly felt an arm wrap around my lower back as lips pressed a kiss to my temple.

  "Hey Pip, cold?" he asked because at his touch, I shivered slightly.

  "I, ah, um..." I bumbled, watching Matt who nodded his head, understanding the possessive gesture. "A little," I admitted.

  "Don't worry," he said, giving my hip a squeeze, "I'll warm you up later," he said and I felt my stomach drop as he released me. "Ready, Matt?" he asked.

  I watched in stunned silence as the two of them ran back off to the field.

  I only got about half a minute of shock, though, before I felt a body move in beside me. I didn't need to look to know it was Amy.

  "It's sweet of Matt to come over and say hi. I'm shocked he even remembers you."

  But if she teased you, you have to know it was because she saw you as competition.

  Maybe there was some truth in that after all.

  It was no secret that Amy had made her rounds not only on the football team, but baseball and soccer as well. Chances were, she and Matt had had a thing. And, despite her best efforts earlier, he had moved out of arms reach so she couldn't paw at him.

  "You know, we're not in high school anymore, Amy," I said, shaking my head a little. "They're not the jocks anymore. And I'm not the nerd." And you're not the pretty popular girl either.

  She seemed to pick up on the silent message, her eyes narrowing at me.

  "And Adam with his sweet big brother act," she went on. "Cute."

  I felt my spine stiffen, my mind and tongue seeming to come together in agreement that it was time to stop mumbling and bumbling and pretending her words didn't bother me. For the first time in my life, I was able to stand my ground.

  "Hmm," I said, looking at the field. "I'm not so sure about that. I'm pretty sure big brothers don't kiss you in apple orchards or climb into your bed at night and go down on you," I said, moving my gaze over to her, thrilling a little at her wide eyes and open lips. "This cattiness is getting kind of old, Amy. We're not in high school anymore." With that, sure that if I kept talking, I would likely start tripping over my own words and thereby ruin the strength of my arguement, I walked off to join my parents and catch up with their old friends.

  After football, we all piled in for dessert.

  Then Cory and Adam took turns showering off the dirt and sweat from their game.

  And, all stuffed and exhausted, we all filed off to bed.

  I was woken up a couple hours later to Adam standing in my doorway.

  "Pip, come here for a minute," he demanded before disappearing back into his part of the dormer.

  I sat up in bed, suddenly very aware that I had changed into pajama pants with bananas printed on them and a giant Hogwarts sweatshirt, but deciding it was too late to change, and moved into the doorway, a little nervous that maybe he was going to expect me to sleep with him.

  But when I moved into the room, I found the pull-out couch folded up. Which, well, was weird because since he folded it out the first night, he had always just left it open. It was silly to keep opening and closing it when we didn't need the floorspace. Maybe he had folded it up because he knew I would see it that way and wanted to ease my mind.

  "Come on," he said, sitting down on the couch and reaching for one of the giant, soft, knitted blankets my mother kept on the backs of all the chairs in the house. This one was my favorite, a big white and red one that reminded me of Christmas.

  "What are you doing?" I asked, crossing my arms, suddenly very aware that I didn't have a bra on.

  "We," he corrected, "are watching a movie."

  "Oh," I said, looking over to see the TV cabinet open.

  Movie nights were a big thing when we were younger. My mother used to insist Cory invite his friends over to our house where they were allowed to take over the living room and watch movies and eat junk food and mess around. She figured it was a good way to ensure that they got a little bit of independence while being subtly watched.

  I, however, was banned.

  By my brother.

  "Come on," he repeated, blanket draped down his legs and folded over for him to pull over me when I sat.

  I moved across the floor, sitting down as far as I could while still getting under the blanket. "What are we watching?"

  "Remember movie nights?" he asked, as if he had read my mind.

  "I remember not being allowed to participate," I admitted, curling my legs up into my chest.

  "And I remember you throwing an absolute shit-fit about that Joss Whedon movie."

  "Serenity," I said, recalling that night vividly. I, unlike Cory, had been a hardcore Firefly fan and had been waiting to see the movie since I heard it was being created. But when he came home with the only copy in town and insisted he and his friends were watching it and I could watch it after, I blew my lid. "I was so mad about that."

  "I tried to talk him into letting you in. You with your Nathan Fillion crush."

  "Still didn't work."

  "It was about ten against one, Pip."

  "I bawled my eyes out that night," I recalled, shaking my head at my teenage dramatics.

  Adam winced at that. "Yeah, I know. Your eyes were all puffy when I gave it to you when we finished."

  He reached for the remote and hit the play button for the DVD player and the opening screen to Serenity played.

  "I can't believe you remembered that," I said, shaking my head, feeling my heart do the expan
ding thing in my chest.

  He gave me a small smile as he reached over, putting an arm behind my back, and pulled me across the couch until my whole side was against him, my legs pressed up to his stomach. "What part of 'come here' was so hard to understand?" he asked, shaking his head at me as he hit play.

  So then we watched a movie that had meaning to both of us.

  And all the while, his arm held me to him. His other hand stroked up my arm, through my hair, traced shapes on my thigh.

  It was chaste, sweet, perfect.

  And I fell asleep as the credits rolled.

  Then when I woke up again, I was in my bed.

  Alone.

  Again.

  EIGHT

  Callie

  So by the time I dragged myself out of bed the next morning, then all through my shower, and then all through wrapping myself up in full-on defeated black leggings and my old bright orange college sweatshirt that I bought in a mens three-X so it hung down almost to my knees and hinted at no body shape beneath the thick, forgiving fabric, I over-thought, I fretted, I drove myself half-crazy.

  My hair went up in a messy bun and my giant glasses went on my nose.

  Because I was in a very f-it mood.

  "Hey honey, sleep well?" my mother asked, having keen eyes and knowing my f-it attire when she saw it, but saying nothing because both Amy and my grandfather were sitting at the table drinking coffee.

  "Yeah. Sorry," I said, shaking my head, knowing she generally wasn't a fan of her kids being lazy. But, well, I was an adult. She didn't get to dictate my sleep and waking schedule anymore. "I was beat from all the cooking yesterday."

  "Well, good news for all of us today then," she said, giving me a smile as I made myself tea. "Amy is going to be cooking us dinner tonight. Her mom's lasagna recipe with homemade garlic bread too."

  "Sounds great," I said, actually meaning it. I was pretty sure there was some rule in the universe that said when women were in crummy moods, they wanted pasta.

  "Yep. Well, on that note, I really should be hitting the grocery store," she said, standing and heading toward the front door at almost the same second that Adam and Cory walked in from out back.

  "Actually, I was wondering if you and Adam would be willing to bring Grandpa home for a couple hours?" my mother asked, nothing subtle about it and, judging by the way Adam smiled, he had her number too. "He said he wanted to change out some of his clothes and do some cleaning before he comes back for dinner."

  "Sure thing, Pops," Adam said, resting his hand on my grandfather's shoulder for a moment before walking past. "Whenever Cal is ready," he added, doing a quick once-over and when he was done, his lips were twitching a bit.

  "I just need my shoes," I said, turning and walking toward the front door where I left them. When I walked back into the kitchen, Adam and my grandfather were in their jackets and Adam was holding out a thermos to me.

  "Your tea," he told me and I had to ignore the warm feeling in my chest at the consideration of that.

  Did he have to be so good all the time?

  "Thanks," I said, carefully taking it so our fingers didn't brush. "Ready, Poppy?" I asked and he gave me a weak smile. He had never been much a fan of family gatherings and I bet my mother's demanding holiday schedule was wearing on him. I wouldn't be surprised if, after we dropped him off, he called my mother to fake some kind of ailment to get out of coming back. The anti-social gene ran strong in my father's family.

  "All set," he agreed and we all shuffled out to the car, Poppy going into the front seat with Adam and me in the back, for which I was thankful. "Nice seeing you, Callie-bear," my grandfather said as he climbed out of the car, further validating my belief that I wouldn't be seeing him again until Christmas.

  "Climb up, Cal," Adam demanded while we watched him disappear inside his retirement facility.

  "I'm good. It's a short ride back."

  "Climb up, Cal," he said, half-turning to look at me, his voice a little firmer than usual.

  I sighed, not wanting to have a stupid fight over it, grabbed the door, got out, and got back into the front seat.

  "Where are you going?" I asked when he turned off the highway that my parents' side street was off of.

  "Quick stop, Pip. Relax. No need to jump out of your skin."

  He was right; I was anxious. With no good reason really.

  I took a deep breath and relaxed against the seat.

  That was until Adam rolled his car into the driveway of a somewhat beat-up, okay... really beat-up, three-story, Queen Anne-style home with a dream-worthy wrap-around porch, multi-gabled roof with a domed turret, chipping white and green paint, and old, cracked windows.

  "Oh my God," I gasped, shaking my head.

  No way.

  No way did he live in my absolute dream house.

  "Come on in, Pip. I'll give you a tour. Fair warning, it's a mess."

  "I don't care if I fall through the floor," I said, already halfway out my door. "What colors are you going to paint it?" I asked as we walked up the front path.

  "I was thinking gray with white trimmings," he said, unlocking the front door and opening the door for me to walk into.

  I walked right into an impressive foyer, a giant, grand staircase landing leading up to the next floor, openings to the library on the right and the living room on the left with a hall beside the stairs that led to, I imagined, the kitchen and dining rooms.

  "Oh, come on!" I groaned, looking over at him. "This is all the original wood!"

  He was giving me a big smile, his perfect teeth on full display, his eyes dancing, like he was enjoying my enthusiasm. "Possibly its best feature," he agreed with a nod. "Well, that or the library," he said, holding an arm out to the room in question.

  I was shaking my head at him. "Nope. No. I might die of depression at the very sight of it," I said, moving toward the staircase and running my hand over the banister.

  "Alright, we can go in there on the way out. Let's head up," he said, moving beside me. "You need to see the master bathroom."

  I did.

  I needed to see it.

  I needed to see every damn inch of the place and then, possibly, handcuff myself to the bookshelves in the library and never leave.

  We didn't make it to the master bath, though.

  Adam led me right inside the master bedroom, the only room I had seen so far that had been fully restored. The floors were shining as was the wood trimmings. The walls were painted a cream color that I thought would be better replaced with some kind of patterned white wallpaper, but it looked nice enough. The space was dominated by a giant four-poster bed, stained the same color as all the trimmings and covered in a seersucker cream comforter.

  "Wow," I said, shaking my head, already picturing myself sitting on the window seats and reading, looking out on a rain or snowstorm. Like I always wanted. Like I always knew I wouldn't be able to.

  Adam's hands slid across my sides, then folded over my belly tight, his warm body moving in behind me, his face dipping into my neck. "You like?" I shook my head. "No?" he asked, sounding surprised.

  "I love it," I countered. Then, uncomfortable with the moment, moved on. "You've done a really good job so far."

  "Lot of work and I'm pretty sure I'm not sticking to the right style..."

  "Wallpaper, not paint," I agreed immediately and his warm chuckle moved through his body and vibrated through mine. Intimate. Way, way too intimate.

  His face turned slightly, planting a kiss to my neck, making me shiver. "See? What would I do without you, Cal? Screw up my restoration, it seems," he added as his fingers slid lower, down my hips, then thighs, looking for the obnoxiously low hemline of my shirt and inching it up from where it fell almost to my knees. "Should have come visited you in college," he murmured, making my stomach clench.

  "Why?" I asked, my voice a throaty, airy imitation of itself.

  "Thought about it a dozen or so times while you were there. Passed by D.C. on a business trip
once. Should have popped in."

  "Why?" I asked again as his fingers moved the material up my belly.

  "You were old enough," he said, his fingers touching the underwire of my bra, exposing the skin to the air as the shirt gathered up under my arms, waiting for me to raise them to free it. And, without thinking, they rose, and he pulled the material off me. His fingers traced across my clavicle then between my breasts, then the center of my stomach.

  "Why didn't you?" I asked, my voice wavering as his fingers moved across the waistband of my pants, dipping slightly inside.

  "Figured it was pointless. You were all grown up. You must have had the guys in your school all over you. Forgot all about me." I swallowed hard, inwardly acknowledging that, eventually, yes, I had moved on. I had dated. I had lost my virginity. I had loved men. But I had never forgotten him. "Thought we missed our shot. Timing is everything in stuff like this," he went on, his nose tracing up my jaw until I felt his tongue trace my earlobe. "But then you walked into that kitchen, all grown up but the same damn Callie I knew all my life. And you looked at me. And I knew."

  "You knew what?" I asked, feeling like I was swallowing past my tongue as his hands started to move down the material of my pants.

  "I knew you hadn't forgotten me. Maybe I became background noise, but I was always there. You never got over me." There was truth in that, as uncomfortable as it was to realize, so I remained silent as my pants became loose around the knees and fell to the floor. I stepped out immediately, leaving me in a purple and black striped bra and pantie set. "Say something, Callie."

  I shook my head, resting it backward on his shoulder, burying my face into his neck and breathing in. "I don't have anything to say."

  He made some kind of noise- raw, primal, making my sex clench tight. "Then let's stop talking," he suggested, his hands moving over my hipbones, then up my belly to cup my breasts over my bra, squeezing slightly.

  I let out a small whimper, exhaling my air as his fingers squeezed, making my breasts get heavy with desire, my nipples harden.