“You don’t?” I laugh. “I don’t think anything can be further from the truth.”
He narrows his eyes at me, and I motion for him to continue.
“You’re not using your requests very wisely.”
“Oh really?”
“With the addition of me smiling more, you only have one request left and still four weeks before your time is up.”
“So, I’m maximizing the time I have with the requests I’ve made.”
He hums thoughtfully.
“I’ll be curious to see what you come up with for your final request.”
“And what would you suggest I add to the list?”
Barrett leans forward to place his tiles on the board. He uses the S from SQUEEZE to spell the word SHOWER. When my eyes lift to find him staring at me, my mouth goes dry. That single word sets off a highlight reel of what I walked in on this morning. The heat in Barrett’s eyes is unmistakable. It’s a perfect match to the lust-filled stare he pinned me with this morning.
Barrett earns a measly twelve points, his strategy is mediocre at best, yet he looks like he’s having the best time. He sits back against the sofa, those graceful fingers of his drumming against the table.
It occurs to me that Barrett isn’t actually trying to win this game. He’s playing a different game altogether. I think it’s called Make Chloe Squirm and the objective is to make me squirm. It’s an easy game really, and Barrett excels at it.
This is confirmed when he uses his next turn to play MOIST.
My mind returns to the car that first morning after I moved into his place and the WordIt that day was MOIST. So were my panties after he bent down to give me a simple goodbye kiss, which he thought I wanted when in fact I was only trying to give him his coffee.
“Your turn,” he says simply, like I’m not fighting every cell in my body to not fling myself over this table and into his capable hands. The seam of my jean shorts is pressing in just the right spot that I can feel the pulse of my clit against the rigid fabric.
I stare at the Scrabble tiles, unable to form anything in front of me into a word.
“I’m sorry to interrupt.” Lucy appears in the doorway and I have the urge to run over and hug her.
“Nothing to be sorry about. Come on in. How’s it going? Want to play Scrabble?” Should I invite her to sleep over, too? We’ll have movie night and share popcorn. Lucy will sit in the middle to chaperone. Sounds like a fun time.
I can feel Barrett’s eyes on me. I may have the higher point total but he’s the real winner here. Make Chloe Squirm was a success.
“No, thank you.” She has the decency to respond to my gibberish. “The rain has stopped and I’ve arranged a wine tasting at a vineyard nearby.”
Lucy’s right. A glance out the windows confirms the rain has stopped and the sun is peeking out from behind the clouds. Again, the activities inside the house have distracted me from paying attention to anything else.
“They’ll have antipasto and charcuterie, and an assortment of snacks. You’ll be able to watch the fireworks there as well.”
“Sounds great,” I say enthusiastically. Surely Make Chloe Squirm can’t be a public game. I wonder if there are any concerts or largely populated festivals we could attend.
“The driver will pick you up in thirty minutes,” Lucy tells us.
“Go ahead and change. I’ll put the game away.” Barrett doesn’t have to tell me twice. I practically run for the stairs, enjoying the cool breeze that my quick pace generates. Holy hell it was hot in that room.
I grab some clothes and use the bathroom to change and freshen up my face. Ten minutes later, I exit the bathroom to find Barrett shirtless and mid-zip on a pair of snug fitting white pants.
“Sorry. I didn’t realize you were changing in here.”
Barrett smirks. “I’m in a far less compromising position than this morning, aren’t I?”
“Right,” I reply, while suppressing the urge to fan myself. I don’t want to talk about this morning. I’d prefer to bury that conversation with Jimmy Hoffa’s body.
I try to avert my eyes, but let’s be honest, why should I?
I already discovered Barrett has those Vs of muscle on his sides this morning in the shower. Somehow, they look even more lickable with a pair of pants on. And those pants? Lord have mercy.
They’re the gray sweatpants equivalent of Hamptons attire, hugging Barrett’s muscular thighs and perfectly highlighting the bulge between his legs without being indecent. I already know what he’s packing. I’ve seen it in action and yet I’m shocked to see it pressed up against the fabric of his pants.