top of Caleb and trace small circles on his chest, and he plays softly with my hair, wrapping it between his fingers, gentle.

I think he can sense that I'm preoccupied, and when he speaks I can feel the roughness of his voice through my skin, caressing my anxious mind.

"So," he begins slowly, letting his hand brush against my bare hip. "Just in case you couldn't tell... I really like you, Rosalyn."

My face spreads into a quiet smile, his words making me warm. The shy look I give him earns me a golden grin, and those sparkling blue eyes of his are honest, incredible. My lips twitch. "Is that so?"

"Unbelievable, huh?"

"Shocking."

Our laughter mixes together, light and perfect, uncomplicated. "I really like you too, Caleb."

"Good." He chuckles, looking almost embarrassed. "So..."

I bite my lip teasingly. "So?"

His laugh is breathy, amused yet exasperated. "You're not gonna make this easy for me, are you?"

My mouth, full and soft on his, confirms it.

"Tell me."

"Make me."

I raise a challenging eyebrow, letting my hand travel smoothly down his chest.

He snatches it away before it can reach its destination, laughing. "Okay, fine. You got me."

I giggle. "That was too easy." I bring my lips to his ear, whispering. "You would've enjoyed that, you know." My voice is low, taunting, and I feel him twitch beneath me.

He groans. "My god, Rosalyn." He closes his eyes, stretching his arms out in defeat. "You are going to be the death of me, I promise you."

A part of my mind freezes at that, guilt making his words hold a halting double meaning. If only you knew, Caleb.

The startling intensity of his eyes on mine snatches me from my reverie, bringing me back to him. "Rosalyn."

"Caleb."

Whatever he sees in my hazel eyes, there's enough to make him say it. "After all of a week..."

"One whole week."

"One long week..." His grin matches mine. "I'm asking if you want..." he looks me in the eye and it's so incredibly, wonderfully honest, "to be my girlfriend."

His lips pull upward, his eyes soft and sincere and vulnerable, unwavering.

I press my mouth to his, clutching his face to mine with tired fingers, running my tongue across his, across his lips, giving him an answer without saying a thing.

I slide my face away from his and whisper, "Yes," into his parted lips, and I guess I can't be that tired because this time I take him inside of me, I'm on top.

•§•

o'clock when we pull ourselves away from each other, and I groan because I forgot to finish putting away the leftovers from dinner. I slip on a pair of panties beneath Caleb's black t-shirt, and he just wears his briefs as he follows me back into the kitchen, insisting on helping me clean up.

"Did you guess that the only reason I want to date you is because of your cooking?"

I whack him playfully with a wooden spoon, and he responds by pushing my hips swiftly against the counter, capturing my lips with his. "Mm, Caleb..." I moan as his mouth presses against my neck, tilting my head back. "My kitchen is a mess and I..." My protests die in my throat when his hands grab the bottom of my thighs and hoist me up onto the counter, the space between my legs becoming hot. I let out a strangled gasp as his fingers find me there, teasing me through the lace. I clutch his shoulders, burying my face into his neck. "C—Caleb..." I sigh his name, pleading. "You do not understand the anxiety that accompanies a messy kitchen..."

His pulls his fingers away, chuckling as he threads them gently through my hair. "Okay, baby." He acquiesces, stepping away from me compliantly, mischief written all over his face. "If you say so." He arches a brow and even as I hop down from the cool granite I'm already craving his touch again.

I give him a small, pouty shove with an open palm, and all I get is an infuriating wink. Letting out a dramatic huff, I turn my back to him as I spoon leftovers into Tupperware, and I hear his laughter behind me.

We work to put the food away, momentarily putting jokes aside. Even in small silences like this my mind is quick to start worrying, reverting back to its now common state of panic and unease. Contemplating problems, searching for solutions. If only forgetting about it could be so easy. Except it always has to come up.

"Hey, so, are you going to somehow eat this giant mountain of leftovers by yourself?"

I raise a fork at him accusingly. "You calling me fat?"

He holds his hands in the air, quickly surrendering. "No, no. Just wondering." He shrugs, closing the lid for the chicken. "I just hate wasting food, so I feel kinda bad."

I nod, sobering. "You're right. Take some of it, okay?" I pull out an extra container for him, filling it.

I look at the mountain of plastic containers littering my counter, the full cake standing there, the food that I will not finish. I give him a sheepish shrug. "I shouldn't have cooked so much. Any ideas?"

He bites his lip, and we both stare at the island, at the veggies and meat and bread and dessert. "Oh, hey," he begins, "You could send some next door." He nods his head towards Nero's apartment. "Your neighbor, what's-his-name, with the Ferarri. I'm sure he'd take some."

Swallowing the alarm that builds at the mere idea of Nero, I do everything in my power to put my drama minor to excellent use. I chuckle believably, raising a teasing brow. "Bribery, huh?" I wink at him, slipping into a playful falsetto. "Oh, hey, Nero. Here's some really delicious food, you know, not because Caleb wants to ride in your Ferarri or anything like that."

I squeal as he reaches out his long arms, wrestling me playfully against his chest as revenge. I smack him away, laughing.

"Oh, come on, Ros." He tilts his head to the side, giving me those big, puppy-dog eyes. "Be a nice neighbor."

Internally, my mind is almost short-circuiting because of how overwhelming Caleb's innocent, ignorant, clueless head is. He's too nice for his own good.

I change tactics, raising a challenging eyebrow. "Okay, Caleb." There's a mischievous edge to my voice.

I wink, grabbing a plate from the cupboard. He watches, suspicious, as I load it up generously, laying out all the food nicely, with care. I give him a plotting look as I place it in the microwave to warm, and he continues looking, closely, to see what I'm planning. I slice a nice, big piece of my beautiful cake, sliding it gently onto a plate.

When it's all done I take both plates and walk slowly to the door, and Caleb's confusion fades, suddenly realizing. Facing him, I bite my lip, leaning ever so slightly so my hip is angled, subtle yet perfectly seductive. He takes me in, top to bottom, his eyes narrowing knowingly.

My hair is messy, just-fucked, and all I'm wearing is a short black t-shirt and tiny black panties, my long legs tan and bare.

He chuckles, walking slowly towards me, a twinkle in his eye.

"Well-played, Clark." The way his gaze rakes over me makes my skin desperate for his touch. "Very clever."

I feign innocence. "What ever do you mean, Caleb?" I tilt my head to the side, my eyes wide. "I'm just trying to be a good neighbor."

We stare at each other, and it's playful and hot and already I want him again, and it's more than enough to calm my uneasy mind. I let him guide me gently into the kitchen and I put the plates onto the counter, and he tugs me close and whispers, "Just do it and then come back and let me take you to bed again." I let out a soft breath, and, tingling, I hurry to slip on a pair of old leggings, inhaling deeply, trying not to think about how the hell I got roped into visiting Nero in my pajamas bearing gifts and feeling very, very horny.

Damn it, Caleb. The boy is oblivious. Why shouldn't he trust you, Ros? My mind screams at me to grow up, to sever any messed-up romantic attachment to the dangerous criminal next door so that I can sail into the sunset with my Prince Charming. Why isn't it as simple as that?

I awkwardly use my elbow to rap on Nero's door, praying for this to be quick and painless.

When he opens it I'm reminded that I have yet to solve the Mystery of the Early Weekend Nights—just like that Saturday months ago, I know I've woken him, though it's hardly ten o'clock.

He arches a dark brow, and even sleepy, the very sight of him sends shivers down my spine, my mouth going dry. I think we spend a good minute in silence, studying each other.

I take in his messy hair, full lips, the sprinkle of rough stubble across his perfect face. My eyes float down his lean, tanned, unclothed chest, deliciously bare, his grey sweats low on his hips.

In return his gaze is heavy as it sweeps across me, and I feel it, hot and dark on my flushed cheeks, red lips, wild, disheveled hair. Caleb's shirt is loose but he knows I'm not actually wearing a bra, and my leggings cling to my thighs and I suddenly feel so exposed and when our eyes meet holy shit there are actually flames. There are flames and my skin burns, and my entire body is alight.

Letting out a tired sigh, Nero shuts his eyes, his breaths causing his chest to rise and fall, the hard planes and ridges of muscle so perfect that I feel weak just standing there. His expression isn't exactly annoyed it's... frustrated. Restrained. Not pissed but, I guess, bothered. It's everything I feel reflected—confused, irritated, hot, very, very tired—and on him, it's sexy as hell. The plates feel unbearably heavy in my hands because my traitorous fingers itch to reach out and touch him, his face, his chest.

Stop it, Rosalyn.

"Rosalina." When he finally speaks it's low and rough, deep and strong and it makes me let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding. His eyes flutter open, settling once again on my warm face.

I wait for him to say something more, but he doesn't. My lips are parted slightly, and I'm sure that those dark, dangerous eyes of his settle on them for the quickest moment, thinking about who knows what.

It takes an inhuman amount of focus to hold out the plates, silently offering them to him. Without a word he reaches out to take them, placing them softly onto the table just inside his open door before focusing all his attention back on me. He leans an arm against the doorframe, and neither of us moves a muscle. Not a word, for a very long time. There's something in our silence, something heavy and undeniable, and it's something neither of us is willing to confront. Not yet, anyway.

Finally, we both breathe, at the same time. It's like a spell is broken, and when we look at each other this time, we've finished studying. We're pros.

"Nero."

"Dolcezza."

Suddenly, his gaze makes me feel a little too warm. I want to say something but I don't know what, so I let him speak first.

"Nice shirt."

"You too."

His stony features twitch ever so slightly. Running his fingers through his thick hair, his eyes soften, his expression no longer so intense but now tired, wry.

"Your boyfriend is probably waiting for you, gioia." He tilts his head a little towards my apartment, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah." My mind tells me to get going but my feet stay planted, my eyes stay fixated on his perfect, chiseled, infuriating face. I want to punch him and kiss him at the same time.

What?

Shut up, Rosalyn.

I watch as a subtle kind of amusement spreads from his lips to rest of his features, his eyes sparkling knowingly. He arches a brow, a silent challenge passing between us. He looks tired but now he's definitely more awake.

Whatever sorrow, whatever crushing, crippling guilt he expressed Monday morning has morphed into this smugness, this shameful, sinful, completely omniscient kind of irritating, annoying, attractive arrogance that conveys everything and nothing all at once. Suddenly I'm frustrated to no end. I'm mad at him again, and for good reason.

And yet somehow I know that despite all the legitimate, justifiable, understandable reasons to be angry with him, the truth right now is it's because I know that, in this moment, I want him and he wants me and there isn't a damn doubt in my mind, and it's so wrong that I hate him.

With this lucid confession foremost in my scattered mind, I walk away, back through my door and into Caleb's arms. And yes, I quickly forget about the boy next door.

But for how long?

Your guess is as good as mine.

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