Cal spun out of Oliverâs reach, his face splitting into an unrestrained grin. The wine in his glass remained perfectly level, less a demonic intervention and more the result of years among wild brothers who had a tendency to lash out at their cooler counterpart. Cal learned early that balance was the trick to staying on your feet. With so much practice under his belt, it was a rare thing that anyone managed to unsteady him. At least he had one thing to thank his antagonistic brothers for: evading the panicky angelâs grasp came like second nature, and nary a drop of wine was spilled.
Of course, Cal had no intention of actually calling the landlord. Cal had no intention of speaking to the landlord at all until the day arrived that they would have to inform him about their imminent departure from his mediocre property. That was the plan, anyway, and everything that came after was already waiting for them, plus or minus a few signed papers. Cal saw the reality of their situation, and for months now he'd been planning accordingly. The 'ill-gotten gains' argument was paper-thin and near to crumbling. Some day, eventually, Oliver would begrudgingly accept the perks of Cal's business, even if he never approved of them. The only thing standing in the way of a more comfortable life with each other, then, was Oliver himself. Oliver, and his allergy to change.
All of this â the pipe, the phone, the threat â was simply a test. A ploy, if you will, to see how far Oliver would be willing to go to keep things as they were, when it was becoming abundantly clear that continuing to live in this apartment was unsustainable. For a moment, Cal had thought he might have overplayed his hand by threatening casual exposure of their celestial being-hood (as if he couldnât have crafted the perfect lie to tell the landlord without blinking an eye), but no. No, Oliver fell for it, just like that.
Which meant Oliver was more desperate to stay here than Cal thought.
Disappointing, he thought as his mouth relaxed back into his more typical lazy smirk, but not insurmountable. Over the course of their three and a half years together, Cal had convinced Oliver to do many things the harried English teacher rejected outright. Patience was a virtue Cal was well practiced in exploiting for vice. Or what counted for vice in the angel's book, anyway.
And speaking of viceâŚ
Cal didnât bother to hide the way his eyes trailed along the outstretched lines of Oliverâs body. âAthleticâ wasnât a word anyone would use to describe Oliver, yet even under those old-fashioned, professorial clothes, there was something very agile about him. A swiftness that only came out when properly motivated, and Cal did so love to motivate him. If Oliver were reaching for anything other than his phone, then Cal wouldnât have been so quick to slither away. Sometimes, though, a chase from a Chase was too irresistible to pass up.
Pivoting away from Oliver, Cal raised his arms in mock surrender, phone in one hand and wine glass in the other. âThatâs my angel, always so considerate,â he said in a tone that could either be very serious or very not. A Cal Price trademark, and only about three people in the whole world were typically able to decipher it. He tilted his head and tossed his phone breezily to the nearest counter, not bothering to see if it landed safely. It did. His eyes were on more important things. âBut arenât you the one whoâs exhausted?â