“Fine,” I huff, trailing behind.

This weekend is already a disaster.

***

“You’ve got to be kidding me…”

My jaw drops as we step inside. The room looks like it belongs in a luxury magazine. The warm chestnut cabinets. Marble countertops. Floor-to-ceiling windows showing off downtown Toronto in all its glittering glory.

Even the inner artist in me is impressed.

I spot the giant king-sized bed on the one side of the room and snort. “One bed?… I’m assuming I get the couch?”

Caleb arches a brow. “Did you want to climb up in the bed with me like old times?”

My eyes narrow. Here he goes forcing old memories at me, reminding me instantly how big of an ass he is to ruin it all. “Fuck you,” I reply.

Honestly, it’s generous of him to let me stay at all. But still… this weird tension is hanging in the air and comments like that aren’t making it any better.

I drop onto the couch. “I’d rather not think about us actually being friends.”

“Friends is an understatement but I’ll let that slide. First—drinks. Then we trauma-bond.” He heads toward the bedroom side of the suite—open concept, so I really have no choice but to look as he peels off his shirt.

He’s always doing that. Shirtless at any given opportunity. Even back in high school. Just had to show off how attractive he was. It’s like he thinks that’s his only good trait or something. I shift in my seat, trying not to stare…but my eyes betray me, tracing every muscle and tattoo scattered across his chest and ribcage.

Goddamn. Looks like he hasn’t lost one ounce of muscle since high school.

A glass appears in front of my face snapping me out of my head. “Here.”

Shit. Was I staring?

“Oh. Thanks,” I say, clearing my throat. “What is it?” I sniff the drink but there’s barely any smell.

“Vodka and Sprite. Best the minibar could do.” He shrugs and sinks onto the couch beside me.

This is the most we’ve talked in years. Strange how normal it feels being around him… until I remember how it all ended.

I can’t believe I’m actually here. With him.

I take a long sip.

“Easy there, it’s not going anywhere,” Caleb chuckles, draping an arm across the back of the couch.

His tattoos from his chest stretch down and along his forearms, all the way to the little designs on his fingers—so many more than he had before. I glance at my own clean skin and roll my eyes. He’s just always been...more. Cooler. Louder. More intense.

No wonder Sarah did what she did. He drips sexual energy like it’s his day job.

I sigh, resting my head back on the couch.“Out of all places in the world. Why’d you have to be here?”

He smirks. “I could ask you the same thing, Nathaniel.”

I flinch. “Don’t call me that. You know that’s not my name.”

“It is to me,” he says, low and quiet. My eyes shoot to him to see him watching me intentively. I glance away, annoyed at the way my pulse stutters. Fuck, I hate when it does that.