Stay With Me (25 page)

“Next year,” Caleb says, “we should go to that.”

I smile. “Definitely.”

We walk past the shops and restaurants until we reach a building at the end.

“Why are we here?” I ask.

“You’ll see.”

We walk up the steps and enter the building. Caleb leads me to the coat check area, and I still have no idea why we’re here or what he’s up to.

“Caleb,” I say as we walk away and head into the main room. “What is going—”

“Surprise!”

I stop.

Stare.

Gasp.

And then glance over at Caleb.

“Surprise,” he says.

“Happy Birthday, Hailey!”

“Caleb,” I say, suddenly overcome with emotion. “I—I—”

Everyone is here. Daphne is smiling wide, dressed in black pants and a sparkly green top that brings out the green in her hazel eyes. Nick, Jamie, Griff, Dylan, and Kai are all here, each in dress pants and a nice shirt. Nick already has his tie undone and is fiddling with the top button of his shirt. Even Caleb’s family is there—his parents, his sisters.

In the center of the room is a cake on a table, candles unlit. Art hangs on each wall.

Caleb threw me a surprise birthday party in an art gallery.

Oh my god.

I hug him.

“You are too much,” I whisper. “This is too much. I . . . I . . .”

“You only turn nineteen once.”

“Caleb.” I lean back and press my palm against his cheek; I look deep into his green eyes. “You . . . you mean so much to me.”

“Good,” he says, hauling me to him once again. “Because you mean the whole world to me.”

Awww. I wipe my eyes. “Stop it. You’re going to ruin my makeup.”

“Hailey!” Daphne runs up to me. “Caleb, let her go so I can hug her.”

“Okay. I guess.” Caleb heaves out an exaggerated sigh.

“Happy Birthday,” Daphne says, pulling me away from Caleb and further into the party. “He is totally crazy—”

“I know!”

“—about you.”

“I know,” I say again. “He—”

“He, what?” Daphne prods. “Spill. Now.”

“Nothing.”

Daphne tugs me behind one of the pillars in the room. “Hailey.”

“He gave me these,” I say, pointing to my earrings.

“Ohhh. Pretty. I’m glad my brother has good taste.” Daphne places her hands on her hips. “Now. Spill the real thing.”

“Daphne.”

“Don’t ‘Daphne’ me.”

I lean against the pillar and look over her shoulder at the painting behind her. Swirls of yellow and black flowers tangle together on a huge canvas.

“Hailey.”

I lock eyes with her. “He said he loves me.”

“He did?”

“Yeah,” I say softly. “He did.”

“And . . .?”

I knit my hands together, worrying my lower lip. “And I didn’t say anything back.”

I shouldn’t have told her. I shouldn’t. She’s his sister. She’s going to hate me now.

But Daphne is just studying me, then shrugs. “Well, you will. When you’re ready to.”

Then she slings her arm over my shoulder, dragging me back out to the party.

“Wait. You’re . . . you’re fine with it?”

“You’re my best friend, Hailey,” Daphne says. “And who am I to tell you when to say ‘I love you’ or not? I’m not big on that mushy stuff anyway. You say it when you say it. Besides, you make googly googly eyes at Caleb
all
the time, so it’s not like you’re
not
into him. If that was the case, that you weren’t into him, I might have to hurt you.”

“Well, thank God for small favors.”

“And, you know,” Daphne says, looking toward her brother. “It’s good for Caleb to have to work for this. For you. Guys should have to win the girl.”

“That sounds kind of anti-progressive, Daph.”

“Oh, please. I’m all for chasing after guys. But the guy should totally fall for the girl and do the big, sweeping romantic gesture, and bring her flowers, and all that other cr—”

“He brought me roses.”

“See? He’s working for it.”

Nick approaches us, carrying two drinks. “Who’s working for what?”

“Caleb. Hailey.” Daphne gives Nick a look. “Those for us?”

“Of course.”

“Good. Now, stop watching over me and leave.”

“I wasn’t watching . . .”

“You’ve been hovering.”

“I don’t hover.”

“Nick,” I say, taking a drink. “Thanks so much for this.”

“Happy Birthday,” he says. “I don’t hover, Daph.”

“Scoot.” Daphne grabs the other drink, shooing him away. “You can glower at me from across the room.”

Nick glowers. “I don’t glower.”

Daphne imitates his face. “Yes. You do.”

“God, I don’t even know why I bother.” Nick walks away. “I’m leaving now.”

“Good,” Daphne says loudly. Then she smiles at me. “See? Make him work for it.”

“I don’t think that’s working,” I say. “Nick sort of looks like he could strangle you.”

“Pfft.” Daphne takes a sip of her drink. “He can’t decide if he wants to strangle me . . . or kiss me.”

“Why don’t
you
kiss him?”

Daphne heaves out a sigh. “Because then he would know I like him. And I can’t have that.”

“So, you just annoy him. That seems smart and mature.”

“Well, he
is
annoying with all that overprotective, club holding, Alpha thing he has going on.”

“Daphne,” I say. “I love you and all, but you’re totally crazy.”

“I know.” She grins huge. “Let’s get you to open some prezzies. I’ll give you mine first. You’ll
love
it.”

“No present opening yet,” Caleb says, as he walks toward us. “First, we need to do the cake.”

“You’re right,” Daphne agrees.

“Come on, Hailey.” Caleb takes me away from Daphne and brings me over to the cake. The candles are now lit, and the lights dim in the room.

And then everyone sings “Happy Birthday” to me.

“Make a wish,” he says.

I lean over and blow out the candles.

And make a wish.

T
HE PARTY IS STILL GOING
strong when Caleb nudges me to a back staircase. “Feel daring tonight?”

“Always. I am still eighteen for”—I check my watch—“five more minutes. Born at 11:11 p.m. on December 11.”

“I remember,” Caleb says and leads me up the stairs.

We pause at the top and he opens the door, sliding the catch down so we don’t get locked out. We’re on the flat surface of the roof, and I can see Church Street and Lake Champlain. People are walking from bars, laughing and talking. And the snow is still falling onto my hair and my dress.

“So, Hailey Bloom, there’s only one thing I want to know.”

“What’s that?” I ask.

Caleb holds his hand out to me. “Can I have this dance?”

It’s so easy to take his hand, and he spins me toward him, my heels making soft swirls on the faint dusting of snow on the roof.

I let out a delighted sound as my body meets his, and he lets go of my hand to slide his arms around my waist, dragging me even closer to him.

His heart beats against mine, slightly faster than normal.

I raise my hands to his shoulders, squeezing the solid, broad expanse of muscle there. He’s so strong. I can’t believe how
strong
Caleb is—how he’s always there for me, no matter what.

His love is like a beacon to me, a light in these dark, tumbled waves I was lost in. The shipwreck that was my life is sinking behind me, and I’ve been fighting toward something else, something different . . . something
more
.

And something I didn’t expect.

Who can ever expect to be loved like this?

I don’t deserve him, and I wish I could say the words back right this second. That I could open my mouth and tell him, but I’m still finding my way. I’m so falling for him, but Caleb is so . . .

Caleb is the best man I’ve ever known. He deserves the best
me
possible.

And I just want to make sure. Not of him, but of
me
. I know Caleb’s love is constant—he knows who he is and what he wants.

I don’t.

But I’m getting there.

“Hailey,” he says. “Stop thinking so much. Just dance with me.”

I tilt my head back, to look at him. “There’s no music.”

“Isn’t there?”

Soft, delicate snowflakes land on my face, and on my bared back. Perhaps this wasn’t the smartest dress to wear after all.

“Cold,” he says, sliding his hands up my back, making me shiver and goose bumps to appear. “Let me warm you up.”

He steps away, shrugging out of his suit jacket, and holds it out to me.

Much like that first night we met.

“You want to put this on?”

“I would, but I have this.” I raise my hand, as if I’m holding a drink.

He smiles and moves toward me. “Here, let me.”

I slide my arms through his sleeves, and then he’s turning me in his arms, pulling the lapels close.

“Better?”

“Still cold.”

“That’s because we’re not dancing.”

“No music—”

“Yeah. There is.” Caleb takes me in his arms. “With you, there’s always music.”

I loop my arms around his neck, sliding my fingers through the ends of his inky black hair. “You’re silly.”

“I’m trying to be romantic,” he says. “Besides, there is
some
music.”

I move with him, as we slowly glide back and forth on the roof. The sounds from the nearby bars, the steady beat of music pulsing . . . “I hear it.”

And there’s other types of music too.

The soft sounds of our feet as we sway together, the way the wind whistles, kicking up snow in its path, his heartbeat steady against mine.

The sounds should be anything but harmonious—it shouldn’t make sense . . . it shouldn’t even be heard. But, here, in this moment, with him—always with him—I hear it.

And I dance with him to it.

With the lights below us and the few stars twinkling above . . . I’m falling for Caleb deeper and deeper with each step we take. He dances me back into the building, shutting the door behind us, enveloping us in heat once again.

The drastic difference in temperature has my teeth chatter and rubbing my hands over the jacket. Now that I’m inside, I realize even more how
cold
I am. How cold it was out there. I don’t have time to even warm up.

Caleb does it for me.

He presses me against the door and takes my mouth, hard. Warmth seeps into my skin, melting the last bit of snow that still clings to me. I sizzle, my mouth yearning against his, seeking, stoking the flames. I grasp his tie, pulling him tighter to me, and kiss him deeply. He presses his forehead to mine.

“People are probably looking for us,” I say after a long moment of us just staying like that. “They might wonder where we are.”

Caleb looks into my eyes. “Let them wonder.”

Chapter 31

A
FTER THE PARTY, CALEB AND
I end up at my place, carrying in presents, leftover cake, and a few slices of pizza we grabbed on our way here. We were going to take some leftover food home, but none was left and I was still a little hungry, so more pizza—hot, cheesy, and absolutely delicious.

After we’re done eating, I put the cake in the fridge. Both Caleb and I are too stuffed to have any more cake, and I just leave the presents on the table in the living room.

“Hailey.” Caleb looks over at me. “On second thought . . . I
am
hungry for more dessert.”

I start toward the fridge.

“No. Not that kind of dessert.”

I turn around and meet his heated gaze. Ohhh.
That
kind of dessert.

“I guess . . .” I tug at the skirt of my dress. “I guess that could happen.”

He gets up, stalking toward me.

I lean back against the kitchen counter, resting my elbows on the granite surface.

“Come here,” he says, crooking his finger at me.

I shake my head. “No. You come here.”

He does.

He lifts me up on the counter, scooting me to the edge. I flatten a palm against the side of the fridge, and the other on me.

“I’m still dressed,” I say, stating the obvious. “This doesn’t seem like the smartest way . . .”

“Let me worry about that.”

He backs away, leaving me there, and opens the fridge door. Removing the cake, he puts it on the other end of the counter.

“I guess you’re really having dessert,” I say, raising a brow.

Caleb takes a butter knife from the drawer, cutting a slice, and putting it on a plate. He puts the rest of the cake away, and then cleans off the knife, putting it in the dishwasher.

“In a way,” he says, coming back to me, holding the cake. “Hold this.”

I take the plate in my hands.

“Now.” Caleb glances at my dress and my stockings. “I guess I’ll have to get . . . creative.”

I dab my finger along the bottom edge of the cake, sweeping up the excess of frosting there. “I guess so.”

And then I suck my finger into my mouth.

Caleb inhales sharply.

“You probably should get a move on,” I say casually, “before I’m not hungry anymore.”

“Is that a challenge?”

I take another lick of frosting. “I don’t know. Is it?”

“In that case. I accept.”

Caleb grabs the plate from my hands and sets it down on the space beside me. He takes some frosting off the top, covering two of his fingertips.

And then he smears my lips with it.

I dart my tongue out to clean it off, but Caleb beats me to it.

His mouth covers mine, licking along my lips, removing all traces of butter-cream frosting. He nibbles. Just a little on my bottom lip, his teeth grazing the sensitive center—a nip, then a slow tug.

A tug I feel straight to my core.

Slow, long drags of his lips against mine.

I whimper when he pulls away.

He reaches down, his hands on my thighs. His fingers caress a path down to my ankles and back up again.

Caleb presses his hands against the inside of my knees, thumbs grazing along there, as he widens my stance.

My stockings are true stockings. Not thigh-highs. Not held up by garters. They go to my waist, covering my tiny scrap of underwear, and the only way to get them off is to reach up there and shimmy them down my legs.

“How attached are you to these things?” Caleb asks, his hands caressing my legs through the nude stockings. “On a scale from one to ten.”