"Yeah!" I call back, clearing my throat. "Sorry, just checking in with Amanda."

I force myself to breathe, to calm the hell down, before stepping out of my room.

When I do, Callahan is already cleaning up the breakfast plates, loading them into my dishwasher like he's been here a hundred times before.

Like he belongs here.

I stand there, watching him, trying to make sense of the way he scrambles everything inside me. He looks at me, and the floor feels a little less steady beneath my feet. And then he holds something out.

A thermos of coffee.

"You made me coffee to-go?"

He shrugs. "Figured you might need it."

I take it, smiling before I can stop myself.

"You're very...prepared," I say.

Callahan nods. "Always."

I shake my head, taking a sip, grateful for the distraction. The coffee is perfect—just the right amount of cream and sugar.

"Do you mind driving me back to the store?" he asks after a beat, watching me carefully.

I arch a brow. "Don't you just want to go home?"

He lifts a shoulder. "Good point. We can stop at my place first so I can grab a shirt."

Then, with a glint of amusement, he adds, "And then we can finally go over that security brief you've been putting off."

I groan dramatically. "You really don't let things go, do you?"

"Nope."

I shake my head, laughing. The sound feels good after the tension of the morning.

"Fine," I say, tucking my hair behind my ear. "I guess I owe you that."

He watches me, like he knows something I don't.

And the worst part?

I think he does.

PARALLEL PARKING NEARLY KILLED ME, BUT I’D DIE FOR HER.

CAL

Izzy tucks her hair behind her ear, and I freeze.

It's such a small thing, something people do absentmindedly, but it sends a memory crashing through my head.

Of me doing that exact same thing last night.

Of brushing her hair back, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath my fingers, tucking her in like she was mine to take care of.

Like she already belonged to me.

And that wasn't even the worst part. The worst part was what happened after. After she'd passed out.

After I was left alone, hard as fucking stone, aching for her. Knowing she was just on the other side of that wall. Knowing what she had done.

What I had made her do.

I had spent all night on her couch, staring at the ceiling, listening to every shift of her sheets, every tiny sound, every exhale.

Tortured.

Knowing she had just come for me, to my words, her body shaking, her moans pure fucking sin. Knowing she was naked under those covers, her skin still flushed, still sensitive from her release. I had to fist my own cock in the dark, gritting my teeth, swallowing down my own groans just to get through the night.

And now?

Now she's standing here, fresh-faced, pink-lipped, looking up at me like I'm the crazy one.

And all I want to do is tuck her hair back again. Trail my fingers down her cheek. Tilt her chin up, make her look at me the way I want her to. I shove the thought away before it roots itself too deep.

"You're not really going outside like that, right?" Izzy asks, eyeing me like I'm insane.

"Like what?"

"Like shirtless." She waves a hand at me. "It's March. In New Jersey."

I chuckle, shaking my head. "I'll be fine."

She huffs, the sound soft and exasperated. "At least let me try and find you something. I have hoodies, t-shirts, something to hold you over."

I raise a brow, amused. "Izzy, I don't think we're the same size."

She waves me off with a scoff. "I know, but I might have something oversized." Then, almost instinctively, she mutters, "I mean, I'm already big, so⁠—"

I frown. "Stop that."

She pauses, blinking up at me. "What?"

"That." I tilt my head. "You say shit like that way too often."

She shifts awkwardly, clearly caught off guard. "I—I didn't mean⁠—"

"I don't care how you meant it," I cut in. "Just stop doing that to yourself."

Her lips part slightly, like she wants to say something, but instead, she closes her mouth and hurries into her bedroom. The door clicks softly behind her.

I exhale, dragging a hand through my hair. She really doesn't see herself the way she should. And that pisses me off more than it should. Something's happened to make her think of herself that way, and I have a pretty good idea who the culprit is.

A minute later, she comes back out, holding up a black t-shirt. The fabric looks soft from wear, but I can tell from here it'll be too small.

"Um," she says, looking hesitant. "You probably won't want to wear this after I tell you, but...it's Evan's. Might fit?"

I stare at her for a solid two seconds before I laugh.

Like, actually laugh.

She scoffs, glaring at me. "What?"

I shake my head. "I'm definitely not the same size as that guy."

She crosses her arms. "He works out."

I give her a look.

She sighs. "Okay, fine. What's the difference?"

I lean against the counter. The cool stone presses against my lower back. "Men like him lift weights to make their arms look big in a mirror. Men like me lift weights so we can carry a fully grown man over our shoulder while running uphill being shot at."

Izzy blinks, clearly caught off guard.

Then she snorts. "Okay, sure, super soldier. I'm sure you can just...carry people at will."

I tilt my head, watching her closely. I can see the doubt in her eyes and I’m going to fix that.

"Has Evan ever lifted you?"

She pauses mid-sip of her coffee. "What?"

I raise a brow. "You heard me."

She laughs, shaking her head. "No, obviously not."

"Why not?"

She shrugs, a shadow crossing her face. "Because I'm way too big for that."

I frown. Instantly annoyed. That's twice in five minutes she's referred to herself as "big" like it's some kind of defect.

"No, you're not."

She huffs, rolling her eyes. "Yes, I am, Cal. I'm too heavy."

I stare at her. "No, you're not."

"I am," she argues, and her voice shifts slightly, like she's repeating something she's heard many times. "Evan says⁠—"

I feel a spark of actual rage.

"Oh, well if Evan says it, it must be true," I say, voice flat.

She hesitates, her fingers unconsciously touching her side where her shirt clings. "I just—I've gained a lot of weight recently, okay? Like thirty pounds in the last three years. I'm heavier than I look."

Something in me snaps.

Enough.

Before she can say another word, I step forward, bend down, and grip her beautiful, juicy thighs.

She yelps, the sound echoing in the small kitchen.

And then, effortlessly, I hoist her up over my shoulder.

She lets out a full-blown shriek. "CALLAHAN⁠—"

I savor the way she feels in my arms. She’s all heat and give, her thighs molding easily to the grip of my hands. The curves that finance boy apparently finds so problematic? They're fucking perfect in my hands.

She's squirming, and it's making me hard.

I tighten my grip on her as she kicks her feet, laughing but also half-panicked. Her hands press against my back, fingers splaying over my muscles.

"Put me down!" she yells.