"Here." I motion for her to put her hand on the gun.
She does.
I place mine over hers. Press my palm into the back of her hand, modeling the pressure she needs.
Slowly, her grip softens. Her lips part with a sigh.
She leans backward, sinking into my touch.
Melting into me.
Fuck, it feels too good touching her like this.
I want more of it.
All of it.
Her eyelids press together. Her head tilts to one side. Her teeth sink into her lip.
Desire spreads over her expression.
I force myself to pull away. "Keep practicing. You'll get it."
She nods.
"Take this home." I motion to the gun. "Do a hundred by next Monday."
"A hundred stars?"
"Yeah. On bananas. Send me a pic of each one."
"Won't that be—"
"Boring as all hell? Yeah. If you're dying, you can switch to hearts or spades."
"Okay." She wraps her fingers around the gun then holds it flat against her palm. "This is really mine?"
"Yeah. You gotta swear something to me, sunshine."
Her voice is dead serious. "Of course."
"Fruit only."
She nods.
I stand. Offer her my hand. When she takes it, I pull her closer.
I pull her too close.
She's right there.
My hand goes to her hip. Rests there for a split second, until common sense gets the better of me.
Honestly, I'm not sure where this reserve of logic and will power is coming from. I was this close to calling her and demanding she come for my listening pleasure Saturday night.
Fuck. I can't think about this shit when she's this close.
I take a step backward. "You can head home early today. Get started practicing this."
"Sure." Her ass brushes my crotch as she moves past me. She stops at the doorframe. Turns to me. "Thanks, Dean."
Her voice is soft. Sweet.
This is about work, but, fuck, it doesn't feel like that.
It feels like I'm the only thing she wants.
My phone buzzes with a new picture message from Chloe. A banana inked with a lopsided star. It's less lopsided than the one she sent five minutes ago. It's a hell of a lot better than the one she sent an hour and a half ago.
But it's still not there.
For the last two hours, she's been sending pictures like clockwork. Every five minutes. Without fail. The girl is a machine.
You'd think, at picture twenty-something, I'd realize I'm not getting a shot of her panties, but every time my phone buzzes, anticipation floods my body.
I tell my cock to calm down.
Chloe and I aren't happening.
No matter how badly I want her.
Walker finishes his last chest press. Sets the barbell in its stand. "You spotting me or flirting?"
"That a real question?"
He chuckles.
"You should see this. Kinky shit. Every fantasy she has about my—"
"Uh-huh." He stands. Motions to the bench. "You're up."
That I am. I slide my cell into my pocket. Load the barbell with an extra twenty pounds on each side.
Walker shakes his head. He knows me too well. Knows I'm going heavier to prove a point.
But I don't admit that. I drop to my back. Wrap my hands around the weight. Grunt through my first rep.
"Too heavy for you?" He looks down at me, half spotting, half taunting.
Fuck, I'm going to be sore tomorrow. But I can do this. Even if I have to cut it a rep short.
"You can load that thing with an extra hundred pounds. You aren't gonna fool me."
I grunt through my next set. Pause at the top. Fucking chest presses. "Why would I do something like that?"
"How long have I known you?"
"Easy to forget. Your life was empty before."
"How long have we been doing this?" He motions to the gym.
"Ditto." We've been working out together… forever, really. It's always been a competition to see who can lift heavier, run faster, go longer.
"You gonna tell me what the deal is with you and Chloe?"
"There's no deal."
"You do realize we went to the same high school."
"And?"
"You look at her the way you used to."
"Like I want to fuck her." I grunt through my next set. "Of course I want to fuck her. Look at her."
"You volunteered to help her."
"Time to give back."
"Bullshit."
All right, my motives aren't exactly pure. But I do want to help. Used to be I could do a lot of shit to help my friends. But now that they're all paired up, it's harder. They never went to me for assistance—most of them dread my assistance—but I always found a way.
Now, their problems are further away. They're off in their own orbits. Ones that only fit two.
"You want to get in her pants," he says.
"Think we covered this." There. That's four. Halfway through this set.
He looks down at me. "You're gonna drop that thing."
"Which is where you come in."
"Call it at six."
"I have eight in me."
"That's what she said."
"Fuck, I missed that." This weight is too heavy. And my head is too tuned to Chloe. The fire in her eyes. The earnest smile. The sigh of pleasure. I need more of it. All of it.
"You like her."
"She's my apprentice."
"You like her like her. High school like her."
I grunt through my fifth rep. Then the sixth. My arms shake. My chest burns. I don't have two more in me. But one?
I've got that.
"You gonna admit it?" he asks.
"You've been watching too many chick flicks."
"Iris hates chick flicks."
"Then all that fucking has scrambled your brain."
"You admit I get laid more than you do?"
"Who calls fucking their girlfriend getting laid?"
He chuckles fair enough. "You know what Leigh would say?"
All right, on three. One. Two. Three. There. I push the weight up.
His hands hover over the bar. He's ready to catch it if I drop the thing. Which is really fucking important. Two hundred plus pounds landing on your chest is bad news.
There's a lot of trust in working out together.
Hell, I trust Walker more than I trust anyone. He's been my closest friend forever. But I'm still not sharing this with him.
Nobody needs to know how I feel about Chloe.
I don't even understand how I feel about Chloe.
There. I lower the weight. Leave it in its stand.
"Fuck. It's bad if you can't think up something snappy," he says.
"Leigh would kill you for calling her that."
"Yeah, probably."
"She'd obviously say Dean, you're so hot. Why'd I end up with your broody older brother when I could have nabbed you instead?"
"Yeah, I see her doubting that relationship."
"Gotta figure the moping gets old eventually."
"Not like she pined for his brooding ass for two years or anything."
"You know women. Want to fix the broken guy."
"That why none of them stick with you?"
"I'm just too functional," I say.
He laughs no fucking way. "Are you jealous she's with Ryan?"
Once upon a time, maybe. I wanted Leighton, but it wasn't her I wanted. It was that she played hot and cold. It was the challenge.
Yeah, I'm an asshole. But it gets old having women eating out of the palm of my hand.
"I thought she was into you for a while," Walker says.
"Nah. Ryan is her everything."
"They're disgusting."
"And you and Iris?"
"That's different. We're poetry."
"Poetry, huh?"
He nods.
"So, baby, I want you to come on my face—"
"If you're trying to suggest that isn't poetry, I'm not hearing it."
"Should we ask Kay?"
He laughs. "You're deflecting like a fucking mirror."
"Mirrors reflect."
"Whatever. You know what I mean."
Yeah, I do.
"What is it Leighton says?"
I shrug like I don't know. Leighton likes to pull out the Shakespearean quotes. And there's one that fits this situation.
The lady doth protest too much.
I have a million excuses for my feelings about Chloe.
Keep deflecting attention.
Avoiding the subject.
Even with myself.
My phone buzzes in my shorts. Five minutes. Right on time. Another banana. But this time it's a heart. And it's a mirror selfie. Chloe holding the thing in her bedroom.
Her twin bed behind her.
Plain white sheets. Grey bedspread. Not what I expected. Not what I imagined.
But now…
Fuck.
Walker's gaze shifts to my cell. "Fuck. She likes you too."
"She hates me."
"She wants to fuck you."
"Look at me."
"Ryan will kill you."
"I can take him."
"He'll fire her."
That's a bigger concern. I do like Chloe. I'm not taking this from her.
"But fuck Ryan. We co-own the shop. I vote for her to stay. We can sway Brendon."
"Brendon doesn't give a fuck about us."
"Yeah. But he likes her." Walker runs a hand through his wavy hair. "You're really worried."
"No."
"Yeah." His eyes meet mine. "Shit. You're really into her."
"No idea what you're talking about."
"I can help."
"Horrifying."
"I will."
I shake my head. "You wouldn't know where to start."
"You admit it?"
"That I want to fuck her? Yeah. But that's it."
He smiles that's not it.
I shrug.
It's as close to an admission as I'll get.
But he knows it.
It's as good as saying yeah, I'm fucking crazy about her.
Chapter Seventeen
Dean
All night, my phone buzzes with picture messages from Chloe. They slow, but they don't stop until she wishes me good night.
The next day—now that she's on my schedule, we're both off—it's the same thing.
When she isn't tattooing, she sends an explanation in image form. Tea and breakfast. The lap pool at the gym. A grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup. A takeout iced tea. A sitcom rerun on TV. A pot of pasta. A selfie in her pajamas.
They're tiny things—shorts and a tank top that barely cover her.
The image sticks in my head all day at work. When she sits next to me, wraps her fingers around my forearm, peers over my shoulder to study a mock-up.
When she leans close to watch my technique.
When I send her to the office to do another dozen bananas.
When I watch the way her hips sway as she walks away.
All fucking week, my head is flush with thoughts of Chloe. Every time she's close, my body begs me to break. To touch her. To kiss her. To throw her against the wall and order her to scream my name.
Somehow, I don't.
I push it aside. Tease her about her lopsided hearts. About how seriously she's taking everything. About how much she needs to relax.
Then I go home and I think about exactly how I want to help her relax.
For the indefinite future, Chloe's Saturdays belong to me. I finalize plans for this one. Insist on picking her up.
Five minutes to eleven, I park on a sunny street in the Valley. Chloe's place—her dad's place, I guess—is nice. The taupe two bedroom is classic Southern California suburbs. Wide green lawn. White trim. Rose bushes lining the walkway.
I make my way to the coffee brown door.
The second I knock, Chloe pulls the door open.
She looks up at me with frantic eyes. "Let's go."
She takes my hand as she dashes outside. Yelps as her bare feet hit the hot concrete.
She's halfway to the car when a hearty voice stops her.
"You won't get away that easy, baby girl," an older man calls. He pulls the door open wider. Steps onto the patio. He's on the short side with black hair and dark eyes. He looks just like Chloe. "I'm Brian." He offers his hand.
"Nice to meet you." I shake.
He looks to Chloe. "I see what Gia was talking about."
Chloe turns bright red. She drops my hand. Hugs her combat boots to her chest. "She wasn't…" She clears her throat. "Dad. We have to go." She turns to me. "We're in a rush. Right?" Her eyes plead go along with it.
If I was a merciful guy, I would. But I'm not. "No. We have all the time in the world."
She groans like a teenager.
Which I get. I feel like a teenager around my parents.
"Well, you might have all day. But I have a hundred oranges to tattoo." She takes another step down the walkway. "So…"
"I didn't show you oranges."
"I saw it on YouTube. It's the same, isn't it?"
"Grapefruits are better."
"Oh." She looks back to her dad with a wave. "We do have to go."
He smiles, good humored. "All this rushing just because you don't want me to say Gia thought Dean was cute."
"Oh my God, Dad!" Chloe turns. Surveys the scene. Refuses to accept defeat. She taps her combat boots together. "I'm sure you're teaching me something important today. So, we should get to it."
She's so full of shit.
But then so am I. I tried to think up some way to explain this as a lesson, but it's not. I want to hang out with her. Period.
"Thank you," I respond to her dad's compliment.
Chloe takes my hand. She looks up at me please, for the love of God go along with this.
I shrug, playing coy.
She just barely stifles a groan. "I'll be home late, Dad. Okay?" She waves goodbye.
He nods sure thing.
"What happened to your work?" I ask.
Her cheeks flush. Her brow knits with frustration. "Love you, Dad." She ignores my taunting and drags me to the car.
I open the door for her.
She slides inside then slams it hard.
She's pulling socks from her combat boots when I get into the driver's seat.
She slides a sock on. Slips her foot into the boot. Laces it tightly.
"You do own sandals," I say.
"I like these." She slides the other sock on. Foot in boot. Laces. Done. "Perfect."
"Aren't you hot?"
"Nice of you to finally notice."
"That's bad. Even by my standards."
Her eyes go to the ignition. "Are we ever leaving or are we sitting here?"
"Kinda fun watching you stare at your dad like he's evil for standing on the porch."
She hides behind her hands. "How were you so polite to him?"
I slide my key into the ignition and turn it. "Told you. Parents love me."
She peeks out from behind her hands to look at the house. Her dad is still standing on the porch with a knowing smile. "Can we go?"
"Yeah. Sure." I put the car into drive. Wave goodbye to Mr. Lee.
He waves back.
Chloe drops her hands as I pull onto the street. "I love my dad. But…"
"I already knew you thought I was cute."
She ignores my joke. "I'm twenty-four and my dad is screening my dates."
"Is this a date?"
"Oh. No." She bites her lip. "But he thinks it is."
I turn onto the main road. "And you?"
She looks around curiously, like she's trying to figure out where we're going. "We can't, right? So, what's it matter?"
"Yeah." I stop at a red light.
She taps her black fingernails again
st the dash. "Where are we going?"
"You challenged me the other day."
Her brow scrunches with confusion. "I did?" She sinks into the fabric. Plays with her seat belt. "I figured you'd have a nicer car."
"What's the point?"
"Image? Status? Coolness?"
"I don't need a car to be cool."
"Of course."
"But?" The light turns green. I hit the gas. Focus on the road.
"I'm surprised you know that."
"Teasing me isn't gonna get you any clues."
"Not even one?"
I shake my head.
"I challenge you all the time. You should give me something."
"Sorry. It's against my policy."
"You're the worst."
"That's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me."
"I mean it. You're intolerable."
"Stop." I feign modesty. "You're going to make me blush."
"Do you blush?"
"Yeah." I turn right at the next intersection. There. This street will take us most of the way. "I don't think you need any hints on making that happen."
"Oh." Her cheeks flame red. She gives me a long, slow once over. Her dark eyes fill with desire. Then caution. She considers her options. Settles back into her seat.
I give her a minute to take the bait, but she doesn't.
Better change the subject before my thoughts are too far gone to come back. "How long have you lived at home?"
"Always. It's kinda—"
"It's sweet."
"Really?" Her nose scrunches. "The last time I tried dating, guys seemed to think it was pathetic."
"They were just worried about where you'd fuck."
Her laugh is soft. "God. You're probably right. I never thought about it like that."
"We're all the same."
"You really are."
"Where did you fuck?"
"Alex had his own place."
"After that?"
"Where do you have sex?"
"I usually go to a woman's place."
"Why?"
I stop at a red light. "Easier to leave than to ask someone to leave."
"That's really—"
"Cold?"
"Smart. For you."
"Must have read it in a magazine or something."
"Probably." Her teeth sink into her lip. Her eyes flare with jealousy.
She pries her gaze from me to look out the window. Studies the shop fronts of the strip mall.
This street is rows and rows of strip malls.
"What if they want to go to your place?" she asks.
Hating You, Loving You Page 14
