EMMIE
“Who are you messaging?” I ask, dropping down beside Calli on Theo’s sofa.
He’s with Alex, Nico, Toby, and Daemon in the kitchen, talking business. Business which involves the quickest way they can find my Pops and put an end to all this bullshit. I probably shouldn’t have gotten bored listening to them, but I’m fed up of it. I want to forget about all that and enjoy myself.
Calli moves so fast that she actually fumbles with her phone. It lands in my lap, but she comes to her senses quick enough to snatch it up before I get to it.
“Jesus. Is he that hot?” I ask with a laugh.
Her cheeks burn bright red and she stares at me with wide eyes.
“No, no. It’s no one.”
“Fuck off, Cal. That is not no one. Oh my God,” I gasp, lowering my voice. “Is it Xander?”
“What? No.” She sounds horrified by even the suggestion.
“He’s hot. I’d totally get it if you—”
“I don’t. I mean, yeah. He’s totally hot. But no. Not my type.”
“Okay so who is your type? Because I’m yet to figure it out.”
Her mouth parts to respond, but she changes her mind.
“Come on, Cal. This is me. You can tell me anything.”
Her eyes shoot to the guys, her brows pulling in concern.
“It’s no one. Honestly. Just a bit of stupid fun.”
“Even more reason to tell me. Are you sexting?” I ask, wiggling my brows suggestively.
“No.”
“Okay… so… is it someone I know?”
“No, it’s not. It’s really no one.”
“Okay, fair enough.” She looks at me as if she’s already feeling guilty about cutting me out. “Don’t do that, Cal. If you don’t want to tell me, it’s totally fine.” Taking her hand, I squeeze gently. “But if you need to talk, I’m here. Okay? You can tell me anything.”
Her eyes glisten with tears, which makes my stomach knot with concern.
What the hell are you up to, Callista Cirillo?
The music that’s pumping through the hidden speakers throughout Theo’s flat suddenly gets louder—so loud it actually makes Seb drag his lips from Stella’s on the other sofa for a second.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, letting me know that he’s close two seconds before the sofa cushion compresses behind me and his hands slide from my shoulders to my breasts, squeezing in the most teasing way, reminding me of exactly what he owes me.
“Dance with me, wife,” he growls in my ear.
Unable to deny him, I push from the sofa as he hops over the back and pulls me into his body.
“Hey, dickhead,” he mutters, slapping Seb around the head. “Fuck off home if you can’t keep your cock out of her. I don’t want your bodily fluids on my sofa.”
Seb flips him off over his shoulder, not ripping his lips from Stella’s for a beat.
“They’re in love, leave them to it,” I chastise, brushing my lips along the roughness of his jaw.