Chapter 8: The Apartment Tension

By the time we reached my place, we’d both gotten pretty soaked.

I pressed the elevator button for my floor.

Caleb stood outside, features sharp, hair a little messy from the helmet, a touch of rakishness to his coolness.

His slightly damp tank top hung loose, faintly revealing his abs.

We locked eyes as the elevator doors slowly closed.

There was a slow-building tension, the kind that makes you want to press pause and live in that moment just a second longer.

I spoke lazily:

“You’re brave enough to come up, but not brave enough to lose the shirt?”

Silence. No response.

Suddenly—

——Bang!

Just as the elevator doors closed, a clean, strong hand slammed onto the frame, trembling slightly.

Caleb’s blue eyes blazed with emotion. But his ears were tinged red. The contrast was almost adorable. The model student, undone by one bold question.

I smiled, stepping aside to make room for him.

Inside, I turned on the lights and called over my shoulder:

“Want a shower, or just a towel?”

A glance out the window—the rain was coming down hard, no sign of stopping.

“Towel’s fine.”

Caleb stood at the entryway, not daring to step further in, as if restraining himself from crossing a line. Like a gentleman. He shifted from foot to foot, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

I looked him up and down and laughed:

“When you sent those messages, did you have this same expression?”

“You’re brave enough to come up, but not brave enough to lose the shirt?”

Caleb’s arm tensed, the light casting a shadow over his brow bone. He looked away, jaw clenched. A bead of rainwater slid down his neck, making him look even more vulnerable.

I poured a glass of water, leaned against the table, my gaze drifting over him:

“Caleb, since I was a kid, I’ve only liked good things.”

He looked up slightly, understanding my meaning.

Thunder rumbled. He walked toward me, step by step, then swiftly pulled off his damp tank top.

A red string hung around his neck, a small lucky charm dangling just below his Adam’s apple.

My gaze followed the charm down to his firm abs and smooth waist.

In a flash, he was in front of me, leaning down, one hand braced on the table, caging me in:

“Does it please you, Miss Natalie?”

His breath tickled my ear, nervous and eager.

I turned my head, fluttering my lashes, and under his intense gaze, my eyes slowly drifted downward.

Until—

Suddenly my vision went dark. Caleb’s hand covered my eyes. His hand was warm and trembling—like he wanted to shield me from more than just his own nerves.

His voice was hoarse and shaky:

“I want to be your boyfriend, not just do this kind of thing with you.”

Then, hurried footsteps as he escaped to the bathroom.

He left a trail of rainwater on the tile, his presence lingering in the thick, humid air of my apartment.

The apartment felt twice as quiet with him gone. I pressed my palm to the spot on my collarbone, half-smiling, half aching.