I down the last swallow of whole fat chocolate milk.

"You should sit down."

I lick the chocolate flavor off my teeth. "I'm fine."

Back upstairs, Cal more or less pushed me onto the couch before he went to the kitchen to get me chocolate milk and make a call to the kitchen staff. Then he kept his hand on the small of my back while we walked down the glass stairs, passing Maven's room in silence. Cal closed the door to his bedroom behind us.

From the depths of his closet, Cal glares at me. He's in sweatpants now. From the threshold of the closet door, I just cross one leg over the other. I've discarded the Mets blanket on his bed.

I shift my head away. Cal's room is as chaotic as it was last time I saw it. That ridiculous poster of the woman in a black bikini top and Daisy Dukes glares back at me. Cal's bed is unmade, though I suspect he attempted sleeping in it at some point. An Air Supply vinyl sits in the record player. Heaping black drapes shut out the city lights, taking up an entire wall. It seems silly to need curtains to cover an entire wall.

For a moment, I feel a pair of eyes on my body.

But when I shift my head back towards Cal, he has his back to me. He shuffles through a massive collection of sweatshirts, looking for the smallest one.

Cal's heaping closet is like the rest of his room. The brown veneer is classy and elegant with its golden handles and glass panels. Cal's aesthetic clashes with the closet. The shelving is cluttered with sweatshirts and t-shirts and workout shorts and more workout pants. One section of glossy wooden drawers holds his ballet things, and another section of hangers bears some sweaters. He actually has a grand total of three, not one, pairs of jeans. His small collection of tuxedos and suits is housed behind a panel of glass. Dress shoes, riding boots for his motorcycle, running shoes, workout shoes, and a pair of Birkenstocks all find places on the floor at the closet's margins.

A beautiful scarlet rug matches my lingerie. I could lie down and blend in like a chameleon.

My eyes flit past a familiar black hoodie. It hangs from a golden hook among flannel and a couple more sweatshirts.

My lips twist into a smile at the memory.

"Perfect."

I venture further into the closet. "Did you find my pants?"

I can deal with a sweatshirt that goes halfway down my thighs. The pants are the hard part.

"Yeah. I think I did."

Cal sounds too proud of himself as he turns around, brandishing the pants.

I have to put a hand over my mouth as I almost fall to the floor in laughter. The simple grey sweatpants look tiny in front of him.

"Somebody messed up my order a few months ago. Now I'm glad I was too lazy to return these." Cal glances at the waistband tag. "Do you think that you're a medium boy?"

I keep my hand on my mouth as I cross the rest of the space between us. This time it's to cover a smile. Cal hands over the pants along with a henley and plain black sweatshirt. He even found some socks for me. I should hug the man.

"That's . . . perfect, Cal."

He makes me forget about the pain that attacks my stomach.

"Thanks, Cal."

"Mm-hmm." Now he crosses the closet. He turns on his heel, walking backward. "You change. I'll go see if dinner's ready."

My cold, hungry stomach welcomes the warm touch of creamy baked potato soup. The ceramic red bowl pushes heat into my hands as I watch grated cheese, chives, and bits of bacon sink into the thick cream of the soup. My eyelashes flutter at the taste of the soft potatoes, the pleasant heat on my tongue.

"You went a little over the top."

"You didn't tell me what you wanted. I figured you'd like something out of all of this."

God. I like all of it.

While I was still downstairs, Cal dragged one of the low tables up to the couch that I sit on. Now, wearing a sweatshirt that drowns me, I lean over it like an eager child as I choose what to eat next.

The nicest, most luscious steak that I have ever seen in my life peers back at me. Not that I've ever seen a steak before; I've never had steak before, actually. Cut into a slab, the browned meat bears grill marks, and butter glistens off its edges. Sautéed mushrooms and onions wait at the edges of the red plate, as though Cal wasn't sure if I'd like them or not.

A bowl of decadent macaroni and cheese sits to the side. Steamed broccoli and a Caesar salad with slices of chicken wait on the other side of the steak.

I wipe my lips with a fine black cloth. The half-finished bowl of soup goes back to the table. I take my fork and knife in my hands, leaning over. Cal's Mets blanket falls off my shoulders in the process. I pause just before the serrated knife comes into contact with the steak, deciding how to go about cutting the meat.

I glance up first.

Cal sits across from me. The lights are all on now, casting the Calore living room in warmth. His back rests against the arm of the other sectional, and an NYU blanket covers the tall legs that take up half of the ample sofa. One of his arms rests along the back of the sectional, and the other falls away from the couch. His hand hangs limply in the air, the outlines of cords continuing from his forearm into his hand.

Is he just going to sit there?

The snarky question almost slips from my lips. Cal watches as I open them before sewing my mouth back together.

He smiles darkly, knowing very well that he's winning.

I don't even know what game we're playing.

"Are you warm?"

His henley caresses my skin, the fabric warm. I try to forget about how my bare breasts are against Cal's shirt. The slip is discarded somewhere on his bedroom floor. Despite the size of it, his sweatshirt keeps the drafts out, the cotton cuddly against my neck. I had to roll up the sleeves. It fits me like a small, albeit baggy, dress. There's something about the thick sweatshirt, still laced with that scent of Cal's cologne, that makes me feel safe.

Incredibly safe.

"Yeah."

My fork pierces the edge of the steak. My knife comes down before it, cutting into the meat. I catch glances of red inside.

"Are you sure?"

The knife works farther into the steak. "Yes." I'd motion to the blanket, sweatshirt, sweatpants, and oversized socks if I wasn't busy. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know. You are a cold-blooded woman. I just wanted to check."

I glance up, a smile playing at my mouth. "That was a good one."

Cold-blooded creatures rely on their outside surroundings to stay warm. They can't generate body heat by themselves. They need other creatures to stay warm.

They need big, strong men like Cal in their beds.

I push the thought away with a swallow.

The bite of steak comes away from the rest. I pick it up with my fork.

"Why are you still awake?"

I deposit the steak in my mouth before I can regret the question or feel like I'm overstepping. Cal's given me food and clothes. A little white tablet that'll take away the pain behind my forehead rests upon a paper towel on the corner of the table. He's given me a way out of my headache too.

The beef is tender in my mouth, the edges crispy, the rest soft. It's moist and a little salty. I pick up the mushrooms and onions on the side, shoving them into my mouth behind the beef.

"Can't sleep."

I'm cutting into the next bite when I speak again. "Why not?"

"I was brooding," Cal says quietly, laughing a bit. His eyes fall to the floor. He crosses one of his legs over the other, circling his ankle. "There was some bad stuff going on tonight at the Plaza. Right under our noses."

I enjoy another bite of my steak, mushrooms, and onions. Cal regards me as I eat. He looks satisfied as my eyelashes flutter again at the tangible warmth in my stomach. The pain's starting to subside into regular hunger.

"What kind of bad stuff?"

"I can't really talk about it."

I raise an eyebrow. "Not even to me? Who am I going to tell?"

Cal considers my words, pushing a hand back through his now-dry hair. Exhaustion dulls his eyes, takes away his dimples.

"So whenever we go to these sorts of parties, Dad usually books a hotel suite to have whiskey with his business friends in. They all go to these parties, so it's a good time to meet. Volo and Orrec are always there.

Around ten-forty-five, I went upstairs, got into the suite with the keycard Orrec gave me. I was looking for Dad, and I figured that he might be up there, having a glass by himself. Evangeline had kind of ditched me, and I . . . needed to get away from the women who were trying to dance with me."

These women should take a hint and get the hell away from Cal.

I paint a careful stage face, knowing the rest of the story.

"About a second after I shut the door and called out "Dad," I heard this crash. It sounded like somebody fell hard on the stairs. I heard a woman's heels pound up the steps. I said "hello" and called her "Ma'am." By the time I was down the hallway, she had slammed the door to upstairs."

Eye contact with Cal comes in glances. It's all I can manage. I shouldn't be asking about what happened tonight at all, but the hungry, tired part of me doesn't know any better.

"I, um, feel stupid now, but at first I thought she was one of Volo's mistresses. Um, he has a lot of them, and they make appearances at parties, and I knew he had been up there. I didn't really know what to do, but I went up the stairs and knocked. I could feel her through the door. I swear I heard her breathing. I don't know how I could tell, but she just seemed terrified of me."

My face wears confusion and amusement. It's all I can manage as I switch to the mac n' cheese. "Why do you think she was afraid?"

Cal lets out a tired sigh. "Because she wasn't Volo's mistress. She was a Scarlet Street Fighter, and I just about caught her red-handed."

"They locked down the Plaza. But she's gone. I can feel it in my gut. I mean, she and some dude ziplined off the hotel balcony and broke a window. There's no reason why she wouldn't have gotten out altogether."

Cal tells me the whole story.

Somebody stole from Volo Samos. Somebody broke into the Plaza penthouse suite. Somebody spied on Mister Calore and his friends. Somebody got caught by Cal. Almost, anyway. And then somebody escaped off the balcony and sailed through ten stories of air, breaking a window and vanishing into the labyrinth of the Plaza Hotel.

"So there was a man, too?" I ask.

Cal's gone over the story already. Now he's filling in the gaps.

"Yup." Cal nods, eyes still glazed. "I heard his voice through the balcony door. He said, 'God, Princess.' Maybe he was her boyfriend."

Ew. Most certainly not.

I didn't think that Tyton was that loud.

"Everything else that he said was muffled. But the lady never said a word. Like she didn't want me to hear her voice. I mean, that makes sense. She was downstairs at the party. She was wearing heels. I heard them go up the stairs. I don't know how the hell she got into the Plaza, but she was right there with us the whole time."

Cal takes to staring out the penthouse window. He doesn't try to muffle his irritated sigh as he slouches into the couch, massages his temples with the pads of his fingers.

My stomach feels full and warm now.

The mac n' cheese, creamy potato soup, and steak feel wonderful in my stomach. The gluttonous foods weigh me down, exhaust me enough to make my eyelids heavy. Getting through the salad and broccoli was a struggle, but I didn't want to hear a lecture from Cal about the importance of vegetables.

Only a few bites of steak peer back at me, daring me to eat them.

"You shouldn't beat yourself up over what happened," I murmur. "I know it's easy for me to say that, but still. You couldn't have done anything differently, Cal. You couldn't have stopped that lady from pickpocketing Volo or breaking into the hotel room. You couldn't have."

Cal rips his gaze from the window. His bronze eyes stare at me.

"I didn't say she was a pickpocket."

Oh. Oops.

Adrenaline tears through my body. It shoots up my arms and legs, making my limbs tense and shaky in an instant. My heart beats hard against my ribcage, just as it did on the stairs in the suite.

My eyes steal a glance at the elevator. But it's too far away. Cal sits between me and my escape, and there's no way in hell that I can—

"Hmm." Cal puts his chin in his hand. "I guess I hadn't thought of her as a pickpocket before," he murmurs back.

I blink at him, recovering. I fix my face into a little smile as I stare back. "Wasn't that what she was?" My words contain no breaths in between, all the same note.

Cal only smiles back at me.

"Yeah. I guess so. I'll have to mention that to Davidson."

"So, do you think—"

Out of instinct, I offer Cal a cold roll of my eyes. I do it as I take my last bite of steak, down it with a gulp from my glass of regular milk. Now that I'm clothed and fed, I can't afford to stumble in our game, let down another wall. Especially when my heart beats just a little quicker than it did when I was alone in my room.

Cal laughs lowly, his lips barely parting with the sound.

"Your appreciation for the food and clothes that I gave you wears off fast."

I shake my head. "I was delirious before, Cal. But now that I've returned to my full-fighting, lucid state, I remember that—"

"So, do you think, considering that I've so generously provided you with the best meal of your life and clothes of the non-lingerie variety, that I can have an extra question?"

I might be lucid, but I'm also tired as hell.

Hints of his cologne linger on the cuffs and collar of his sweatshirt. It takes every fiber of my being not to raise my own wrist to my nose. I trail Cal's figure, my eyes assessing his broad shoulders as they rise and fall the slightest bit in slow, calm motions.

They'd be nice to hold onto.

I don't let myself think about why in the world I'd need to hold onto his shoulders.

"I suppose so," I say, the words stupidly slipping from my mouth. "Shoot."

He pretends to think, as if he doesn't already know his question. He always does this during our lessons, though lately, his questions have been light and easy, asking me about the Mets and Cal's Epic Playlist. Without blinking, I lied and told him that I haven't bothered listening to it once.

He didn't believe me.

I shift my body, tucking one of my legs under myself. He can probably tell how my body tenses, how my eyes harden.

"What's something that you want but don't have?"

I relent in our staring contest, letting my eyes droop to the ground for a moment. My eyes alone can't possibly tell him what I want, but I hide them from him anyway.

You.

"I have everything that I want," I tell him casually as I peer back up.

The feelings that I have for Cal are only carnal. If Evangeline hadn't said anything—if I wasn't two weeks past my period—I wouldn't feel anything at all.

Cal regards me curiously, draping one of his arms across the couch back again. The corner of his mouth lifts up in a crooked smile. "What do you want?"

Now I've ruined it.

By now, Cal knows to watch my every move. One wrong glance at the floor from me, and he knows that I'm lying. His question is easy, simple. It's just a question that he came up with off the top of his head. There's no hidden trap other than the one that I've made for myself.

"You immediately thought of something that you wanted. What is it?"

Feeling attacked, I cross my arms. I regret it instantly, realizing it makes me look uncomfortable. "No, I didn't. I was just thinking. Where did you get that question from?"

Cal shrugs.

"I don't know. There are things that I want that I don't have."

I raise an inquisitive eyebrow. What could Cal want that money can't buy? "Well, what do you want, then?"

He makes a face. "I asked the question, Mare. It's my question. And now I'm interested, considering how oddly defensive you're getting."

I fight the blood that rises to my throat beneath Cal's sweatshirt. Another slug of milk keeps the rush of heat to my cheeks at bay. I have to say something that'll get him off my scent. I blink awkwardly at Cal, mentally scrambling to think of something that I want other than him.

There aren't many things that I want. In fact, I have everything that I ever wanted. Cal gave me a chance at everything that I ever wanted. I have a job that I love, an apartment to myself, a nice sum of money in my bank account. I have girlfriends and a boyfriend that treats me like a queen and a Monopoly robe.

Coming up with nothing, I sigh out loud.

I pull my blanket tighter across my shoulders, lying down in defeat. My cheek hits the cushion, and my legs sprawl out across the couch. Despite the verbal sparring, tiredness still pulls at my body.

Maybe if I look tired, Cal will stop bothering me.

"I don't know," I tell Cal. Sideways now, he gazes at me through long eyelashes, his fingers pushing soft black hair away from his forehead. "Can I have some time to think and tell you tomorrow during our lesson? You can still have another question then, too."

Perhaps realizing that he's hit a nerve that he wasn't supposed to touch, Cal nods.

"Thanks for dinner," I say after a moment's worth of awkward pause.

He nods again. "Do you need anything else?"

Just you.

"Just a glass of water," I tell him, yawning. "With a little ice, please. A small one. Otherwise, I'll have to pee."

Cal chuckles as he extricates himself from his blanket. Unfortunately, his nice, muscled, tan legs are still covered by sweatpants. I blink at him through eyelids that now feel very, very heavy.

"Okay," he says. His voice is gentle. "I'll be right back."

"Hey."

A man's hand brushes against my arm, going from my elbow to my shoulder in a few strokes.

"Mare, I have your water. Wake up."

His voice is soothing. It gives me no incentive to move from my position face-planted into the couch. My bones and skull feel heavy. My body's sunken into the Calore's couch, encompassed by Cal's comfy clothes and blanket. My skin feels warm for once as I sleep on my stomach.

"Mare, I have your water. Wake up."

I hum at Cal, staying limp on the couch.

"I'm sorry, Dad called me right when I was getting your ice. Davidson had some questions for me about what happened in the suite at the Plaza. I had to talk to him."

Ah. So time has passed.

Pleased to hear that, I purr again.

His words fade away as soon as he says them.

At last allowed sleep, I hardly intend to let Cal tear it away from me.

Cal tugs gently on my shoulder. As soon as he lets go, it falls right back into the couch.

I groan incoherently, muttering some swear or other.

"Mare," Cal says my name again. "Wake up. I have water for you."

He pulls at my blanket, but it wraps around my body like a cocoon. He'll have to get a little rougher to take it away from me.

"No," I moan.

Cal's hand pauses at my hip. "You're not sleeping on the couch." Again, there's that growl to his voice that I don't quite understand. "Come on. Don't you want your water?"

I let myself drift away from Cal's voice again.

Quiet envelops my mind until he gives my blanket another tug.

"I can't," I mutter.

If Cal was smarter, he'd just give me a few shakes to force me awake.

"Doesn't your bed sound nicer than the couch?"

"No," I tell Cal. "I hate my bed."

Cal lets out a "hmm" filled with displeasure. "I fixed the AC. It's better now."

I ignore Cal. His tender hand that rubs at my arm again only puts me to sleep.

"Mare," he says, and I wonder if more time has passed. "Wake up. I have water."

His incessant voice persists.

"Mare. Wake up. Please?"

I blink once, letting in the slightest bit of light from where my face is pressed into the couch.

"Carry me," I mutter, slinking off into sleep again.

A strong man eases his arms underneath my body, one slipping beneath my knees and the other beneath my back. He finally gets me to roll over as he lifts me up against his chest, my head resting against his shoulder.

Warmth envelops my delirious body. A sweatshirt could never keep me warm the way he does. His big arms hold steady, making me feel small inside his embrace. For once, I don't care. Not as long I can be close to the hard muscles of his arms and his sloping, broad shoulders.

As though my weight is nothing to him, he moves quickly across the living room marble. His chest rises and falls against my blanket. His breaths seem deeper than they need to be.

I nuzzle my face into the soft cotton of his shirt, where I find an intoxicating scent of spices and sandalwood. It's similar to his cologne, though not as intense. And it smells so much better when I'm up close. It must be whatever body wash he uses.

Cal and I should take a hot shower together sometime.

My eyes flutter open as Cal and I leave the scope of the living room's lamps and descend into the darkness of the stairwell. Out of some ridiculous, impossible fear of dropping me, he takes slow and careful steps on the glass stairs.

"You're impossible."

Cal mutters the words to himself, thinking that I don't hear them.

"I'm sorry."

Most of my view is just of his shoulder and neck, though I do catch a glimpse of the vanishing living room behind us.

A pause. Cal doesn't speak, and he stops breathing for a beat. He turns down the stairs, passing another hall that leads to Maven's room.

"Why do you have to be like that?"

Exhaustion tries to rip me from my train of thought. Cal's blanket, sweatshirt, and body tempt me to let my eyes close shut again.

"Because you're winning our game," I tell him.

I don't know what our game is. All I know is that I'm supposed to be icey and cruel to Cal, never let him in like I did when I met him. I have to get him out of my head, get him to stop seeing through my stage faces and piercing my soul.

I have to hate contemporary.

I have to stop adding things to the list that I owe him.

Cal laughs a little, the vibrations echoing into my body. "Well, I know that. So why don't you give up? I wouldn't make you suffer anymore with the push-ups. We could be . . ."

Cal trails off. He could've said friends, but that doesn't make sense. The word doesn't sit right on my tongue either. Cal and I could never be friends. I don't think that we're compatible in that way.

What the hell would we do as friends?

The hallway to my room passes in silence. When Cal crosses the bedroom door, I don't feel any cool gusts of air. He scares the loneliness away from the room, too.

I part my lips, meaning to take a deep breath and tell him that I like him, that he makes me feel safe, that I want him to stay with me. I want him to close the door behind us, get under the covers, and hold me.

Cal puts one knee on the bed, leaning over so that he can deposit me gently in its center. My head connects with the pillow that I left some time ago. A burst of excitement shoots through me as he sets his other knee down along with both of his hands, edging a little closer.

He reaches past me to the end of the sheets, pulling up the thick fabric from its tangled mess. He does the same with the side that he's on. The absence of his body lets the hollowness creep back in, and the sheets, although warm now, aren't the same as he is.

Still, Cal leans over me for a moment, shifting so that he's seated on my bed. The lights of the city illuminate his face. He looks pleased with himself in some way.

"What?" I ask, lucid enough to ask him a single word.

Cal exhales a breath. "Nothing. Goodnight, Mare."

"Night-night."

With nothing left to say, I flip over onto my side, the side that faces away from Cal and the door.

Central Park glares at me, knowing full-well what I want. The hollow air, no longer cold, presses down on me, urging me to fall asleep before I might do something that I can regret.

After one of those pauses, Cal's weight leaves the bed. His steps are slow and heavy and reluctant.

My mind fades away from the bedroom just as a boy's footsteps pad down the hallway. Although the door was never closed, it swings open a bit further, shifting the shadows of the room.

I feel Cal's body freeze up. Both sets of feet stop, dead in their tracks.

"Cal?" Maven asks. "What are you doing in here?"

But not even my boyfriend's voice is enough to pull me away from the sweet lull of sleep.