Dirty Little Secrets (Dirty Little Secrets #1) (15 page)

Caleb laughs, making my hair flutter across my cheek. “Sounds appropriate.”
 

“I’ve never been appropriate,” I say, pressing my ass against him. He growls against my ear as a warning, but that’s what he gets for teasing me. “What else?”
 

“Anything you want to tell me.”

I grin, because I know him well enough to know that he’s definitely after something, but is unsure about outright asking the question. Just to assure him that I’m not feeling defensive or anything, I give his arm a little squeeze before I say, “You should go ahead and ask me what you’d like to know. I know you’re doing a little fishing here.”
 

He lets out a small sigh, and I’m not quite sure what that means. It takes a few moments before he finally speaks.
 

“You told me that your parents are dead, back when you were in the hospital. It was right after you woke up, so I’m not sure if you remember.”
 

“I remember,” I say.
 

“I was hoping you’d bring it up at some point, and I didn’t want to pry, but I’ve been thinking about it ever since.”
 

I can certainly understand why, after finding out this afternoon that his parents are dead, too. It’s only natural that he’d be curious, and I respect the fact that he didn’t want to pry, much like I don’t want to. I also appreciate that he asked me instead of going looking for the information. It’s certainly out there. Well, it’s out there for my father, at least.
 

“You don’t have to tell me about it if you don’t want to,” he says, nuzzling against my hair. “I know I’m bringing it up out of nowhere.”
 

“Not nowhere,” I assure him. “I figured you’d ask me about it at some point, and to be honest, if you’d waited for me to bring it up myself, I’m…well, I don’t know how long that would’ve taken.”
 

“It can take as long as you need it to,” he says, and I believe him.
 

I know that he’s curious—he wouldn’t have asked me about this if he wasn’t—but there isn’t a doubt in my mind that if I tell him that I’d rather not talk about this tonight, that it would be okay. I’m not ready to tell him everything; I’m especially wary of telling him about my father. It’s almost impossible to tell that story without getting into why I’m here now, so I’m going to offer up a compromise.
 

“Can I just…Is it okay if I just talk about my mother?” I ask hesitantly.
 

Caleb kisses my head. “Of course. You don’t-”

“I want to,” I tell him.
 

“Okay.”
 

“I look a lot like her,” I begin, as Caleb’s fingertips begin a soothing circuit up and down my forearm. “She had a fearlessness about her that just…it isn’t part of my make up. Sadly, I don’t remember a whole lot about her. She died when I was very young.” I don’t want to get into how she died; sometimes I can still hear the screeching of the tires on the hot asphalt, and the sickening crunch of twisting metal as the truck broadsided our car. “Most of what I remember about her are like…these memories dangling on strings that are just out of my reach. Sometimes I’m able to grab them before they float away, but sometimes they disappear. Like, I have clear memories of her having cheese and crackers waiting for me as a snack when I came home from school.

“Most of my memories of her are more like…feelings, if that makes sense. Sometimes I’ll walk into a room and I’ll smell her perfume, and I get these butterflies in my stomach, and I feel…
safe
. Or, I’ll see a woman who I think looks like her from behind, and for a moment I’ll forget that she’s dead, and in that moment? I’m happy. Sometimes I find myself humming the melody that she used to sing when she was cleaning up my scraped knee, and I just know that everything’s going to be okay. I know it sounds cheesy, but…”

Caleb holds me tight. “It doesn’t sound cheesy at all. What was the melody?”
 

I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and hum a few bars of the song. My voice is wobbly, and I’m probably not getting it entirely right, but this part stands out the brightest in my memory.
 

“You must have really missed her growing up,” he says, his voice tinged with the kind of sadness that someone only has when they understand exactly what you’ve been through.
 

“I did.” It would have been nice to have her around when I got my first period, when I had my first kiss. It feels selfish to feel sadness over missing those things with her, but I do. “My dad did his best, though. We lived next door to a single mother and her son, and she always treated me like I was one of her own. I was lonely a lot, but…having them made it better.” When I think of Amelia—Marcus’s mother—I feel my breath catch in my throat. I’m reminded that I haven’t called him since my accident. I need to do that, or he’ll start wondering if Privya caught up with me. Even though I have to be pretty vague with him during our calls, I don’t want him panicking.
 

“I’m glad you had someone like that in your life,” Caleb whispers.
 

“I’m glad I did, too. I think the family you make is just as important as the one you’re born into.”

Caleb and I are already pressed pretty tightly together, but he somehow manages to wrap himself around me. He slides his thigh between mine, and rests his chin on the top of my head. Even though he’s definitely the big spoon in this scenario I get the feeling that I’m offering him way more support than he’s offering me.
 

The air around us stills in that way that it tends to, like something big is coming and you’re just waiting for it to arrive. There’s actual weight in the room, hovering just above us, and Caleb is getting ready to let it drop.
 

“My parents died in a plane crash,” he tells me. His voice is softer and more vulnerable than I’ve ever heard it before, and I know it’s taking a lot for him to share this with me.
 

I give his hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze. He gave me the courtesy of letting me work through my confession without commentary, so I’m going to do the same thing for him. Another, less selfless part of me, is afraid that if I say something, he’ll stop talking.
 

“They were on a trip,” he says. His voice is a little stronger now. “It was work related; my dad was trying to shore up some merger, and my mom had gone with him because she wanted to do some shopping in San Francisco. It was the day before my sixteenth birthday. They had bought me this amazing Porsche that I had been dying for, and they couldn’t wait to give me the keys. I know it makes me sound like such a spoiled little rich kid.”

“It does not,” I assure him. Okay, it does a little, but I can’t even imagine the Caleb that I know now as a spoiled teenaged brat. If his parents wanted him to have that car, it’s because they thought he deserved it, and he shouldn’t feel bad about that.
 

“My dad and I were supposed to go golfing in the morning,” he tells me. “It was a Simmons family sixteenth birthday tradition. My mom was going to make us brunch. Those sandwiches were the only things she knew how to make. It was the one day a year that she ever cooked anything for us, and I always looked forward to it.

“One of my dad’s meetings ran late, and there was an issue with the plane. A mechanic spent all day working on repairs, and assured my parents that everything was in good working order. My dad didn’t even give it a second thought, because he wanted to get home before tee time, and they were already cutting it so close.

“They ran into engine trouble somewhere over Colorado. The pilot wasn’t able to compensate when one of the engines went out.”
 

“Caleb,” I whisper. Despite the hold he has on me, I manage to turn myself around in his arms, so we’re lying face-to-face. I place my hand on his cheek, and it seems to calm him some.
 

“I hated that fucking Porsche,” he says with a sad smile. “My dad’s butler gave me the keys a few days after the funeral, and told me how excited he was for me to have it. I knew my father well, and even though I
know
he would’ve trusted the mechanic’s word that everything was fixed regardless, part of me will always wonder if he would’ve held off on leaving if he and my mother hadn’t been trying so desperately to get home on time.”
 

“You can’t think like that,” I tell him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.
 

“I know I can’t. I…I got drunk that night, when I got the keys. I got drunk and I drove, like a fucking asshole, and wrapped that car around a telephone pole. I went to live with Ben and his family until I turned eighteen. They treated me like one of their own kids, too. They always had. I’m lucky that I had them, but…sometimes I felt alone, too. So I know what that’s like.”

I feel tears pricking at the back of my eyes, because Caleb is such a loving and caring man. I can’t even picture a world without him in it. He’s only been a part of my life for a month, and he’s…he’s irreplaceable.
 

“We spent so much time alone,” I tell him, before placing another kiss on his lips. I feel sorry for the younger versions of us, crippled by loss and unable to really share it with anyone. But those losses led us here, so some good came out of them after all.
 

“Not anymore,” he says softly.
 

“Not anymore.”
 

I’m sitting at the island in Caleb’s kitchen, surrounded by several different varieties of gourmet bagels, and a selection of artisan cream cheese spreads from one of my favorite bakeries down the street. A steaming hot mocha, made just the way I like it, is warming my right hand.
 

In retrospect, I should’ve known that Caleb was trying to butter me up for something.
 

My mouth is hanging open, which I’m sure makes me look absolutely ridiculous. It takes me a minute to find my bearings, but when I do, all I’m capable of saying is, “You want me to go to a
ball
?”
 

Caleb laughs, shaking his head as he dips the end of his knife into a tub of garden vegetable cream cheese. “It’s not a ball, it’s a benefit.”
 

My eyebrows scrunch together. “Is…is there a difference?”
 

Caleb has been pretty patient with me thus far, but he’s starting to look at me like I have two heads or something. Like the answer to this question should be obvious. “Balls are held for a bunch of rich, pompous windbags who get together to dance and eat insanely expensive food, and stand around and congratulate each other about how rich they all are.”
 

“Well,” I say, blowing into the small opening on the lid of my cup to cool down my coffee. “That doesn’t sound appealing at all.”
 

“
Benefits
,” he replies pointedly, “are held for a bunch of rich, pompous windbags who get together to dance and eat insanely expensive food, and stand around and raise money for charity.”
 

I can’t help but laugh at his unflattering, probably accurate description. “And you want me to attend this gathering as one of your fellow windbags?”

“Not a fellow windbag.” He sounds offended on my behalf. “As the date of a windbag. This windbag,” he says, pointing at himself. “I need some arm candy.” He grabs his bagel and his coffee, walks around the island, and comes to rest right in front of me.
 

“Oh, I’m arm candy now, is that right?”
 

“You’re the sweetest arm candy there is.” He leans down and kisses me, and I have to admit…it’s pretty sweet.
 

“You’re not playing fair, convincing me with a kiss like that.”
 

“There’s more where that came from, if you need more convincing.”
 

“Oh yeah?” I say, sounding breathless in a way that would embarrass me, if I cared even a little bit about being embarrassed in front of this man.

“Yeah.” Caleb leans in, and presses his lips against my neck, sucking gently in that spot that drives me crazy. Oh, he’s good.
 

Okay, he’s kissing me into it. “Is that why you told Felicity to pick out a nice dress for me when we went shopping the other day?”
 

He hums against my neck, and oh, that’s nice. “Maybe,” he says, as his lips brush across my skin.
 

“Sneaky,” I reply. “I like it.”
 

Caleb leans back, looking at me with what seems like just a touch of apprehension in his eyes. “My friend Oliver will be there. I’d like you to meet him.”
 

First Ben and Felicity. Now Oliver. He’s integrating me into his life more and more, and even though I should probably tap the brakes on this thing, I don’t want it to stop.
 

“Tell me about the food,” I say with a grin, as I swipe my fingertip along the edge of my bagel, then lick the little bit of cream cheese off.
 

“So much food,” he says. “Trays and trays of food.”
 

“I’m warming up to this idea,” I reply, teasing.
 

 
“Tell me what it’ll take to get you warmer.” Caleb is sliding his hands up and down my arms, and giving me that look that’s impossible to say no to. Not that I was ever going to say no in the first place.
 

“You should probably tell me what will be waiting for me after the benefit.”
 

He furrows his brow, and looks adorably confused. “What’s waiting for you after?”
 

“I mean, what’s going to happen after this benefit. You’ll be looking amazing in a tux, wearing suspenders, I assume?”
 

Caleb grins. “Suspenders can definitely be arranged,” he says, bracing one hand against the countertop so he can lean in like a gorgeous predator, going in for the kill.
 

“I’ll be wearing a dress.”

“Mmm,” he hums. “A very sexy dress.”
 

“Low cut,” I tell him, skimming my finger down the collar of my tank top. Purely for demonstration purposes. “After the ball-”