You’d think after seeing him masturbate in the shower, a simple zipping of his pants wouldn’t feel so intimate. But those fingers pressing the button through the hole at the top of his pants is practically porn.
He reaches for the shirt on the bed, a button-down with a striped green and blue pattern that makes his eyes that much more intense. I busy myself with placing items in my clutch but out of the corner of my eye, I watch every single motion as he buttons his shirt.
I’m attempting to put on the delicate chain necklace my parents gave me but my shaky hands make the precision I need to hold the tiny clasp open impossible. Barrett moves in behind me, wordlessly taking the chain’s ends from my fumbling fingers and connecting it. He lays it gently against my skin, his fingertips grazing the base of my neck, sending a shiver down my spine.
“Thank you.” I smile at him in the mirror.
He nods, those intense hazel eyes boring into mine, telling me everything and nothing at once, before turning toward the door.
I’m not much of a wine drinker but it’s clear from the tension between Barrett and me, I’m going to start today.
CHAPTER 17
Barrett
Chloe’s wearing tight white jeans and a flirty little tank top that opens in the back. It makes the silk camisole she wore to dinner last week look like a parka. It hugs her breasts in front, giving me an ample view of her cleavage and causing the crotch of my pants to tighten—again.
We’re seated at the winery with a tasting flight, but Chloe doesn’t appear to be tasting her wine as much as slinging it back.
The hostess brings us a charcuterie board and I’m happy to see Chloe inhaling that as well. At least she’s not drinking on an empty stomach.
“What do you think of the Chardonnay?”
“Which one was the Chardonnay?” she asks.
“The one in your glass.”
“Oh. It’s nice.” She bites her lip. “I’m not much of a wine drinker.”
“Really? I think you’ve got it down.” I informed her that she doesn’t have to finish every tasting, that’s what the buckets are for, to pour out anything you don’t want to finish, but Chloe thought that was wasteful and has been drinking every drop that is put in front of her.
“I’m not much of a drinker at all. Didn’t party much in high school or college. I read a lot of books, though.”
“I’ve noticed. Tell me about Books 4 Kids,” I say, taking a sip of my wine.
“Is this an inquisition on where your donation is going? I thought we covered that when I picked up the check.”
“I can tell you’re passionate about it and I want to know more about it.”
“I volunteered in my hometown library when I was a teen, tutoring kids with reading disabilities and leading story times for the younger kids. I even learned to play the ukulele to do sing-alongs and make it fun.”
“The ukulele?”
“I wanted to play the guitar, but my hands were too small,” she waves them in front of her, “they still are. The chords were hard to reach on the guitar, so ukulele was a good instrument to learn. You’d have no problem with that, your hands are huge.”
“You’re going to give me a complex.”
“Because of your huge hands?” She laughs. “They’re huge compared to mine but they’re proportionate to your body.”
She doesn’t have to say what she means, it’s implied. It’s convenient I have these large hands to fit around other large parts of my body. Looking up to find Chloe watching me in the shower this morning has been at the forefront of my mind all day.
“I’ve always loved books and reading. When I found out there was an actual career where I could read books for a living, I majored in English literature and set my sights on New York.”
“And you enjoy working at St. Clair Press? With my mother?”
“Your mother, of course. She’s amazing. I’ve learned so much from her.” Chloe stares at her glass of wine before returning my gaze. “I wouldn’t be doing this if it didn’t matter that much to me. It’s not just a job. I love reading stories that the author has poured their heart and soul into with the hopes that it will connect with someone. And when I connect with it and pass it along to JoAnna or an assistant editor, then I feel like I get to share in that effort of putting their story out in the world.”
I expected Chloe to be passionate about her career, but hearing her talk about it like that makes something inside of me crack open. Yes, Chloe made an error in judgment by hosting that party at my mother’s apartment, but I’m the guy who’s been holding her feet to the fire. Making her believe that her career aspirations, of being an editor and helping bring amazing stories into the world, could disappear in an instant.