Page 7 of Pinky Promises

“Ha! You’ve made it this long without them. I think you can go a little longer.” I shove them back into my dresser drawer and pull out a pair of black leggings. Turning to face him, I begin dragging the leggings up my slender legs. “Plus, I doubt they would fit that thing you got going on there,” I tease. Once the leggings are in place, I lift my hand, waving up and down at his body.

“Whatever.” His mouth curves upward into a faint smile, but he never moves his focus from his phone.

I walk into the closet and search for a shirt, not without tripping over the items I discarded last night. “Fuck,” I mumble when I stub my toe on that damn heel. Burning them seriously does have a nice appeal now.

I grab a red plaid button-up shirt with such a force that the hanger flies off the rod, hitting the floor. I kick it to the side along with the other items. I’ll clean up later today when I’m not in such a rush—famous last words.

I’m fastening the last button when I spin to look into the mirror and cringe.

“Yeah, you might want to take care of that before heading out. Don’t need you scaring the neighbors.” He chuckles and winks through the reflection.

“Asshole,” I mutter under my breath at him as I take a makeup remover wipe and run it across my face. “What are you up to today?” I ask, applying a minimal amount of concealer, just enough to cover the bags under my eyes. “You sure you don’t wanna join?”

He nods as he throws the covers to the side and adjusts his shorts as he stands. “Nah, I’m meeting Zoe for coffee this morning, but I’ll be by a little later. Ben mentioned watching the game at their place.”

Ahh, yes, Zoe. She’s a sweet girl.

“Awesome. Well then, I’m sure I’ll see you later.”

I grab my cell off the nightstand and walk around to meet him in the center of my room. I press up on my toes and kiss his cheek quickly.

We head in opposite directions once we leave my room. I head for the door while Cal turns right toward the bathroom.

“Later, B,” he says as he closes the bathroom door behind him.

“Bye,” I shout, walking over to the couch, gathering up the items that had spilled out when I threw my bag on the couch last night. The familiar ding of the Bluetooth speaker in the bathroom rings from the hallway. I quickly open my music app and connect to the speaker. I know Callum’s shower routine where he turns the speaker on, then the shower, andthen connects his phone.I have to be fast, but it’s possible. Typically, it’s him scaring me with music, but I get him good now and then.

Callum’s loud laughter fills the apartment when “Strokin’” by Clarence Carter begins playing.

“Very funny,” he yells over the music as I head out the door to meet the girls for our weekly brunch.