Falling For Caleb (Falling Book 7) Page 2

  With Lucas on one side and me on the other, we just about manage to get Taylor up the stairs and into their guest bedroom. Lilly trails behind us with Taylor’s shoes.

  “I’ll go get some stuff to clean him up with,” she says once we have him on the bed, and disappears behind Lucas.

  “What the hell happened, Taylor?” I ask, knowing I won’t get a response. He’s out cold.

  Chapter Two

  Caleb

  Lilly reappears a few minutes later with a bag of cotton wool, some warm water, and some butterfly sutures. Together, we clean him up properly and close the cuts on his eyebrows and lip. I did a pretty rushed job at our place.

  “You seriously have no idea who did this?” Lilly asks, but I think there’s more behind her question.

  “Why?” I ask sceptically. “Do you?”

  “I have a good idea.”

  “And?” I prompt.

  “Not my story to tell. I might be wrong, and I hope I am, but if he wants you to know then he’ll have to tell you himself. I’m sorry, Caleb. Thank you for looking after him,” she adds when she sees the look on my face.

  “What else was I meant to do?”

  “You mean a lot to him, you know.”

  “You didn’t even know I existed.”

  “I didn’t know who you were, but I’ve known there’s been someone for a long time. Taylor’s been…different. I pinpointed it to Christmas two years ago, but it’s all starting to make sense now. You were at Molly and Ryan’s New Year’s party, weren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You met Taylor that night. He’s been weird since then. I think you left a mark.”

  I shrug my shoulders at her. “I don’t know about that,” I admit.

  “I’ve never known anyone to make an impact on him, but you have.”

  Silence descends around us as I think about what she’s just said. Taylor’s been chasing me for two years, but it’s just for that quick fuck I turned him down on, right?

  “I’ll leave you to it. Call us if you need anything. Our bedroom is down the hall. The other guest room is across the corridor, if you want it. Goodnight, Caleb,” she says before giving Taylor a kiss on the forehead and gently running her hand over his hair.

  We’d already removed Taylor’s shirt, so I set about taking his jeans off so he can sleep comfortably. I undo his belt but stop when my fingers are hovering above his fly. I told myself I would never get inside Taylor’s pants. I look up to his swollen face. He’s fast asleep with his long dark eyelashes resting against his bruised cheeks. I feel some of the strength behind that promise I made to myself waning. Even swollen and bruised, he’s gorgeous. There are times I’ve nearly caved to him, especially in the early days, but I’ve stayed true to myself. It’s become easier, I guess. The longer I’ve gone without, the less I seem to think about it, though he affects me no less when he insists on walking around the flat in only his boxers, or leaves the bathroom door open when he’s showering. I’m sure my refusal is now just a game to him.

  * * *

  Two years ago…

  “Hey, stranger,” I say when I answer the phone.

  “Hey. I got bored of waiting for your call.”

  “You’d have been waiting a long time.”

  “You’ve no idea what you’re missing out on.” Just the sound of his deep voice over the phone makes me think that could very well be true. “Anyway,” he says, changing the subject. “A little birdy told me you’ve landed yourself a job in London. Congrats, man.”

  “Uh…thanks,” I say with some hesitation. This phone call is weird. I’ve met this guy once and he’s called me to say well done on my new job. There’s got to be more to this.

  “I was wondering if you wanted to go out and celebrate. There’re some insane gay bars in London. I wasn’t sure if you’d had time to try any out yet so I thought I’d offer my services.”

  “You mean you want to get me drunk.”

  “Well, yeah, that too.”

  “I’m good thanks, Taylor.”

  “Oh, come on. You can’t tell me you already have friends in London; you’ve only been there a few weeks.”

  “Well…”

  “Exactly. This weekend, yeah? I’ve got it all planned. Soho, Camden—”

  “Right, yeah, okay,” I say, caving to him. I don’t want to admit he’s right, but he is. My flat is still full of boxes because I’ve been so busy. I definitely haven’t had time to find any possible friends.

  Moving to London after returning to England with my family last year from America was always the plan. I dreamt of landing a great job to move down here for, but I wasn’t against working any job I could find just so I’d hopefully be in the right place at the right time with the agencies to get one I wanted.

  Moving here on my own with no friends or contacts didn’t really faze me. Moving across the world as a teenager and not really fitting in anywhere made it less daunting.

  I’d never intended on being a model. I wanted a very different kind of job, but when I got discovered while I was at college, I found out it really helped with the money side of things. Not only that, but it was great fun. I was travelling to all sorts of places, meeting loads of new people—people I actually fit in with and could have a conversation with. That was a bit of a novelty after being the misfit Brit for so many years.

  I never in a million years thought the one agency I really wanted to work for would even get in contact after I sent them my details, but they did, so I found the first available apartment I could and high-tailed it down here to get started. The apartment looked pretty grotty online but I was about to live my dream, so I rationalised that I could find something better once I was more familiar with the place. What looked grotty online was a proper shithole in real life. But for now, it’s home, and I’ll make the best of it.

  * * *

  I run up the stairs to my apartment, knowing Taylor’s going to be here any minute. This afternoon’s shoot over ran thanks to the airhead I was modelling with. I’m pretty sure she was drunk or high—or both, actually.

  “Shit, for fuck’s sake,” I curse as I try to get my front door open. The lock’s sticky and it takes a certain amount of skill. Finally, I manage it, slam the door behind me and start to strip out of my hoodie and jeans en route to the bathroom. I make the best of the pathetic dribble of water that drips from pipe sticking out of the wall and wash that woman’s scent off me, although it was so strong I’m sure it’ll linger around for a few days.

  I just pull on a pair of boxer briefs as I hear my front door being knocked. “Fuck,” I complain as I grab a shirt and shove my arms through it.

  “Whoa, I knew this was a good idea,” Taylor says with a beaming smile as I pull the front door open. His eyes run the length of me twice before eventually finding my eyes. His look darker and more intense than I remember. I try to fight the zing of excitement that rushes through me but I can’t. “Fuck going out, lets have ourselves a party here.”

  “Come in,” I mutter, standing back to allow him to enter as I start to do up my buttons.

  “Aw, you’re ruining it,” he complains when he looks back at me.

  “You’re here to introduce me to some clubs. That’s it.” The look of disappointment on his face almost makes me change my mind, but I don’t. I’m standing firm by my decision to find someone for more than the night. “Let me finish getting ready. There’s some beer in the fridge,” I say over my shoulder as I head to the wardrobe. This studio apartment might be a shithole, but thankfully it’s big enough to have defined living and sleeping areas, even if they are all in one room. And unlike many others I looked at, there’s just enough space for a bed and a sofa—bonus!

  “Don’t take this the wrong way,” I hear Taylor say as he heads to the kitchen. I’m not entirely sure it can actually be described as a kitchen; it’s so small you can’t really prepare any food in it—not that I ever cook. “But this place is a bit of a dump.”

  “I
’m well aware,” I say with a laugh. “I only saw it online before moving here. I just wanted somewhere cheap for now. Once I get settled I’ll look for somewhere better.”

  “That won’t be hard,” I hear him comment.

  I finish getting ready and leave Taylor to whatever it is he’s doing. I’m aware we need to get out of here as soon as possible. Being alone with him in a small and confined space will do nothing for my willpower. I hoped he’d turn up and have become really fat and ugly since I last saw him. Not the case, though; I think he’s hotter than I remember, actually.

  “Caleb West,” I hear him announce from the sofa.

  “Yeah?”

  “Caleb,” he repeats, making me turn around to look at him.

  He’s not looking up at me like I expected. Instead, he’s staring down at the coffee table.

  “Shit,” I mutter to myself, because in my rush, I forgot to put my photographs away.

  “You’re an underwear model?” Taylor asks, but it’s obvious he doesn’t need an answer. “Of course you fucking are. You’re too fucking hot not to make use of it.”

  I feel heat rush to my face. I’m not shy or easily embarrassed but here I am, trying my very best not to fall into bed with this guy who has made it very clear that those are his intentions. I didn’t want him looking at me practically naked. It was bad enough I was barely dressed when I answered the door.

  “I knew you were familiar to me somehow,” he continues, thankfully without looking up to see my humiliation. “I never would have thought it was from a magazine though, or from when I went underwear shopping,” he says as he pulls the waistband of his boxers out from behind his shirt, showing me they’re the same brand as I’m modelling in the photograph he’s holding. “I’m practically wearing your underwear. That’s pretty hot, right?”

  I rush over and scoop up all the photographs before snatching the one he has in his hand away from him. It slips from my fingers and flutters down to the floor, landing face down.

  “Hey,” he complains. “I was looking at that.” I watch as he reaches out to grab it but instead of turning it over to get another look, he focuses his attention on the back, at the sticker of company who took the shots. I don’t think anything of it and have another more successful go at taking it away from him.

  Taylor takes me to a club I never would have found by myself, and it’s just my kind of place—and that’s not just because it’s filled with hot men. It’s got this easy going, chilled out vibe going on. I can see myself spending a lot of time here from now on.

  “Come and dance with me?” Taylor asks for the thousandth time since we arrived. We’re on the top level of the club, looking down over the dance floor below. I’m kinda transfixed watching all the guys and girls below grinding against each other. It’s way more erotic that I thought it would be, which is exactly why I keep refusing to dance with him. I do not need his body rubbing up against mine. That, along with the shots we’ve had, will lead me down a road I don’t want to go down with him.

  He’s hot and seriously my type, there’s no denying that. And we click—we click in a way I’ve never experienced with another guy before. It makes me think stupid things, like he could be the one I’m looking for.

  I won’t risk jumping into bed with him. I don’t want to fall back into my old life where my apartment may as well have a revolving door on it. I want more. I think about how happy my sister was in her relationship before it all went to shit. I want that. I want to know that I’m going home to someone who is waiting for me. Someone to watch old films with, to go out for meals with. I’m fed up of having to do all that stuff alone after whoever I might have just had a roll around in my bed with has left.

  “For fuck’s sake,” Taylor declares before I feel him grab my hand and tug. There’s no point me fighting because he’s a lot bigger and stronger than me, so I allow myself to be pulled along behind him until we’re in the middle of the dance floor surrounded by hot, sweaty bodies.

  “What’s wrong? Don’t you think you’ll be able to say no this time?” he asks suggestively in my ear as he pulls me to him.

  “Uh…”

  I allow myself to get carried away. The feel of his hard body up against mine pushes all my earlier thoughts out of my head and I move in time with him to the music. His hands roam all over me and after a while, I find mine are doing the same: discovering his body, learning that he’s a piece of artwork under his clothing. A piece of artwork I desperately want to appreciate with my eyes as well as my hands.

  * * *

  I wake up to the feeling of someone playing the drums against my skull. My mouth is dry and tastes disgusting, and my stomach feels a little delicate. I stay still for a while, trying to remember last night. The last thing I remember was dancing with Taylor.

  Taylor!

  I sit up way too fast for my hungover head to deal with and look at the other side of the bed. It’s empty.

  Thank fuck.

  I hear a snore and look up to see a body on the sofa. The sun from the small window at the other side of the room lights up his body, giving me an incredible sight to wake up to. He’s covered from the waist down in a blanket but his stomach and chest are all there for the taking. Every perfect tanned inch of skin, every line and indent all on display for my eyes to follow.

  “How’re you feeling?”

  I’m so lost in his body that his voice scares the shit out of me. I squeal like a little girl and jump up from the bed in fright.

  “Jesus, Taylor,” I say between pants.

  “Sorry,” he says as he swings his legs off the side of the sofa and sits up. “How are you feeling? You were out of it.”

  “Rough. I don’t remember drinking that much though,” I say as I run through what I can remember of the night before in my head.

  “I didn’t think so either. You’re either an epic lightweight or your drink was spiked.”

  “How did we get back here?” I ask, hoping to fill in some of the blanks.

  “Well, when you started to look a little worse for wear, I suggested leaving. You passed out in the taxi and I had to carry you up here.”

  “Then take my clothes off?” I ask, slightly amused.

  “It was a tough job but I thought it was for the best.”

  “Right,” I mutter as I begin to make my way to the bathroom in the hope of making myself feel a little more human.

  When I return after having a shower, I feel a little more alive. I head straight for the kitchen to make some much needed coffee.

  “Coffee?”

  “Sure.”

  I look over my shoulder because the sound of his voice comes from a different place than the sofa.

  “For fuck’s sake, Taylor,” I complain when I see him stood in the middle of the room stretching his arms over his head with a massive hard on tenting his boxers.

  “What?” he asks innocently. “I can’t help it, as I’m sure you well know.”

  “Whatever,” I mutter, turning back around to focus on what I should be doing. “Just cover it up.” before I do something I shouldn’t be doing with it, I think as I grab the jar of coffee on the side.

  “You know you want it,” I hear him say before he disappears into the bathroom.

  I lean forward and place my palms on the work surface as I try to get my head straight.

  I don’t want him. I want something meaningful, I say to myself as a reminder.

  Taylor

  Present…

  My body feels like lead when I wake up. I try to move an arm but it doesn’t cooperate.

  What the fuck?

  I go to open my eyes but they only open half way and refuse to go any further.

  What the fuck?

  And then it hits me—almost with the same force he did.

  Fuck.

  My eyes begin to focus in the dark room and I see I’m not alone. Propped up on the headboard on the other side of the bed is a stunningly topless Caleb. Well, if anything can make this b
etter, it’s the sight of him half dressed. If only he was totally undressed, I think to myself as I run my eyes over his sculpted torso.

  I look up to see his head resting back against the headboard. His eyes are closed, his long lashes resting on his cheekbones, and his full lips are slightly parted.

  How is it possible that I still want him as much as I did that first night? I thought I would’ve got over my infatuation by now. I want to say that the only reason I’m still interested is because he constantly turns me down, but I know that’s not true. It’s not just about sex; It’s about him—about us.

  We just work together. We click in a way I’ve never discovered with anyone else. I hoped when I moved in with him last year he would have some really irritating habit that would turn me off, but unfortunately, all I discovered by living with him is that he’s perfect. I mean, yeah, I find his worn socks on the coffee table after he takes them off watching TV, and he never washes the hair away after shaving, but it’s his flat and he can do what he wants. I’m just crashing the party.

  I should have moved out a long time ago. I’m earning enough to get a small place to myself now, but something keeps stopping me from mentioning it. He’s never brought it up either, and I like to imagine that’s because he secretly doesn’t want me to leave.

  It used to freak me out when thoughts of him being the one entered my head. The one everyone is looking for; the one person who completes you. The one person I never had any intention of looking for, let alone finding. I’m starting to get used to the idea that he could be a constant in my life and it wouldn’t worry me. It would far from worry me—I’d love it.

  I never thought I would even consider something like that. After years of watching how my mum’s the one treated her—and me—I knew it wasn’t something I wanted. But I’m beginning to realise that what they have isn’t the norm. People do actually have loving relationships that work, that make both people happy. Just look at Lilly and Lucas. I thought that was a disaster waiting to happen at the beginning, but I’ve never seen Lilly as happy as she is now. Maybe I could have that.