The Bully (Calamity Montana #4)(23)

Cal.

With my bag hooked on my shoulder, I shut off the lights to my office. I made sure the alarm in the lobby was set. Then I walked out the door, locking the office behind me. I’d just turned the key when the sound of an engine purred through the lot.

Cal had on the same sunglasses he’d worn this morning, but his hair was trapped beneath a baseball hat. It accentuated the definition of his jaw. It highlighted the stubble on his tapered chin.

My breath caught as he came to a stop. Damn him for being so handsome. Damn this attraction. Whether he was in a three-piece suit, a football uniform, or jeans and a T-shirt like he was today, it was always difficult to tear my eyes away from Cal.

“Hi.” I gave him a tight smile as I opened the passenger door and climbed inside.

The windows were already down. Good. Cal smelled as good as he looked, and that heady scent of leather and spice and male was hard to ignore. This morning, when I’d caught myself breathing in his intoxicating cologne, I’d practically stuck my head out the window.

“Hey.” His voice had this delicious, deep rumble. How many women had fallen into his bed because of that baritone whisper? At least one.

I stuffed my bag between my feet and buckled my seat belt. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Sure.” He pulled away from the building and headed into town, driving with one wrist casually draped over the steering wheel. The ends of his hair stuck out from beneath the hat, the strands curling.

“You need a haircut.” I actually loved his hair a little long and messy. Which was why I needed him to cut it.

“You sound like my mother.” He chuckled. “She said the same thing when I was on FaceTime with her earlier.”

“Is she still in Denver?”

“Yep.” He nodded and shifted his hand to the wheel, gripping it too tight. “Still living in the same house.”

Probably with his father. Last I’d heard, they were still married. Not that I’d ask. Cal’s dad could go fuck himself.

“Your parents are still in Denver too, right?” he asked.

“No, they’re in Arizona.” Mom and Dad were coming to visit in a couple of weeks. I’d have to make sure they were far, far from Cal because he was not someone either of my parents would want to see.

“Oh.” His forehead furrowed. “I didn’t realize they’d moved.”

“We don’t exactly share personal updates, do we?”

“No, we don’t.” He glanced over, staring for a moment too long.

My heart thrummed harder. Desire curled in my lower belly. I blamed it on his stupid Tennessee Titans hat. It made him look relaxed. Normal. Sexy. “Eyes on the road, Stark.”

The corner of his mouth twitched but he obeyed. “Why Arizona?”

“The weather.”

He hummed, the soothing sound filling the cab.

I shifted, crossing my legs. The throb in my core was beginning to bloom, but I refused to let Cal—his voice, his smell, his freaking hat—turn me on. Not today.

My bag toppled to the side at my ankles as I twisted, shifting closer to the window as the air rushed past my face. I breathed in the summer air and studied the landscape, from the green meadows to the indigo mountain tips still capped with untouched snow.

Downtown was abuzz for a Friday evening as we eased down First. The parking spaces outside Jane’s were full. The bar would be packed later if Lucy was singing. Larke had texted me earlier and asked if I wanted to meet her around eight. That gave me time to make some dinner. Unwind. Then refresh my hair and makeup.

Cal navigated the streets to my house like he’d been there ten times, not once. And when he pulled up to the curb, he didn’t bother putting the Land Rover in park.

“Thanks.” I opened the door and swept up my bag.

He stayed quiet as I shut the door. Then he was gone, his taillights disappearing down the block.

“Huh.” Not exactly a friendly conversation, but then again, no conversations with Cal were ever friendly. But we hadn’t fought. The absence of banter and bickering was . . . unsettling.

Was something wrong? Was he upset or angry?

“Not my problem,” I muttered as I walked across the sidewalk to unlock my front door.

I set my bag on the table in the entryway, then kicked off my heels.

The living room was finally void of boxes. I’d spent the evenings this week putting the last of my belongings away. The random kitchen gadgets had been stowed in drawers. The knickknacks had been placed on various surfaces. And since my TV cabinet looked empty and sad in the living room, I’d ordered a new flat screen.

The only boxes I hadn’t unpacked were those that Cal had hauled to the office upstairs. I needed to sort through my old diaries, business texts and romance novels, but I’d decided to save that job for a snowy winter day. For now, those boxes were stacked in the office’s closet.

Little by little, the house was becoming mine. Every time I walked through the door, I felt more at peace.

I unbuttoned my blouse, letting it hang open at the front. A stretchy pair of jeans, a cotton tee and a bra without underwire were calling my name. But before I could head upstairs to change, the doorbell rang.

“Shit.” I rebuttoned my shirt, hitting every other hole, then rushed to the door, opening it to see Cal.

His SUV was parked on the street and he’d left his sunglasses behind. His gaze darted to my chest and the buttons I’d missed. Those hazel pools darkened, the gold flecks swirling with chocolate and green. He’d turned his hat backward. Why was that so flipping hot?