I swing around, jaw dropped. “Did you just call me a bitch?”
“No.”
“You kind of did.”
“Cut the shit, Catarina. What the fuck is the problem?” He holds out his arms in question.
“Don’t yell at me.”
“I’m not. I’m just... Are we okay?” A worry line bisects his eyebrows.
Are we okay? There’s a question. I didn’t know we were a “we.” His cologne—a combo of mountain pine and fresh mint—tickles my nostrils. God, he smells good.
“The more time we spend together, the more rules I break.” It’s been bugging me all week. When I met Barrett, he frustrated me, perturbed me, and refused to conform. Now I’m behaving just like him. Not returning my boss’s texts, for example.
The issue with Mia was Barrett’s fault directly, but it was mine indirectly. I never should’ve gone to lunch with him when he had a deadline to meet. Then when Mia came out of her office incensed, I would’ve been at my desk and not with him. Not to mention, but let’s, that during our lunch, I stood up and raised my voice in a public place. I’ve never done that in my life.
“So?”
“So?” I stop rummaging through my closet. “I don’t want to be fired for going off the rails with the bad boy of the NFL.”
“Catarina Everhart,” he says around a chuckle. “You are not going to be fired. You’re too damn valuable.”
“You’re a bad influence.”
“Let me help you out of that dress.”
“You’re proving my point!”
He unzips my dress slowly, raking a knuckle down my spine as he does. Then he slides his hands along my bare back and around my ribcage where he gives me a tender squeeze. Temptation is a snarling beast—he feels nice, smells better, and now I’m tempted to shed my entire wardrobe and have sex with him in my closet.
I feel cool air on my skin when he backs away. “I’ll give you a minute to change. Unless you want me to help you remove more of your clothes.”
“I don’t want to be late,” I sort of protest, knowing I’m not making much sense to either of us.
“It’s a yard party, honey. We can’t be late unless we show up first thing tomorrow morning. Even then it might be raging.” He lays a kiss on my cheek. “Tell you what. Rain check on taking your clothes off. I’ll wait in the living room.”
Before he goes, I turn and call his name. He leans back into the bedroom, hands braced on either side of the doorframe.
“Are we a ‘we?’” I ask.
“Meaning?”
I debate whether I want to ask the question of the hour, and then come out with it. “Are we dating for real? Not only for the column?”
“You want to?”
I blink. Open my mouth. Shut it again.
“I haven’t been seeing anyone but you since we met.” With that bomb dropped, he pats the doorframe and leaves me alone in my room.
I was seeing North, but since Barrett kissed me I haven’t kissed anyone else. I haven’t wanted to kiss anyone else. After not hearing from him since Monday, I nearly threw confetti when he stepped into the office this morning. He waved, then went to his cubicle and sat down and...nothing. Then I decided I could ignore him, too.
Enough. We’re grown-ups and we’re dating. If it’s up to me, we may as well make this official.
I change into fuchsia shorts and a white T-shirt before slipping my feet into a pair of canvas sneakers. When I step into the kitchen, Barrett lowers the beer bottle he helped himself to without taking a drink.
“Wow.” He sounds awestruck. “Those legs.”
Pleased by his reaction, I check my matching fuchsia wristlet for the essentials: lip balm, cellphone, and mints.
“I don’t have to be your girlfriend.” I take the beer bottle from his hand and set it on the countertop. “But I expect a proper greeting whenever I see you. Since we’re dating. Since we’re a ‘we’—at least for now. Can you do that for me?”
“Hell yeah.” His smile breaks free and so does mine. He kisses it off my face a moment later, his hands sliding around to squeeze my ass, his tongue taking the long way around. By the time we part, we’re both a little breathless, and his eyes are clouded with lust.
“After the party—” I start.
“Yes.”
“You don’t know what I was going to ask.”
“Doesn’t matter. Still a yes if it involves you and me and more of that.”
“It does.”
“Good.”
We grin at each other for the count of three and then share one more lip-lock before we leave.
Jackson Burke’s backyard party is in full swing when Barrett and I arrive. There are about twenty people packed into a small, tidy yard, and a privacy fence makes the space feel even smaller. Barrett had to park about a block away on the car-lined street.
Several partygoers are packed into Jackson’s modern-on-the-inside, traditional-on-the-outside brick home. The remainder are scattered in the yard, either tossing bags at cornhole boards or standing around the bonfire, beers in hand.
Burke recognizes me from the museum last week. I’m given quick introductions to a slew of people. Random names are still bouncing through my head. I’m mentally matching them with faces as I stand off to the side of the backyard.
“Try this.” Barrett hands me a bottle of beer—not a light beer but a hoppy, bitter IPA.
I take a sip and try my hardest not to make a face. I fail miserably. I even cough. “That’s a serious beer.”
“Right? Jackson’s cousin brewed it. Here.” He hands over a different bottle. “This one’s not as harsh.”
“You tasted it for me, I presume?” I tip the bottle to my lips. Citrusy and delicious. Much better.
“Now that we’re dating that’s included in the package. Along with my package,” he adds with a wink.
“Barrett Fox,” calls a warm female voice. A second later, she is standing next to him. Straight, brown shoulder-length hair, large chest, legs poking out of denim shorts so short, the pockets are hanging past the frayed hem.
“Stacie. How are you?” He bends to accommodate her petite frame and hugs her. I make the catty but no less accurate observation that she looks like a girl who should be draped over a motorcycle on a poster hanging in a mechanic’s garage. When he raises to his full height, he introduces me. “Catarina Everhart. Stacie Bates.”
“Brown,” she corrects, waving at me rather than offering a hand. “I’m divorced.”
“Sorry to hear that. Bo and I don’t keep in touch,” he tells her.
They chat a minute longer about old times while I stand and awkwardly hold my beer. I’m trying to be gracious—after all, Barrett had to face North not so long ago—but it’s not easy.
“See you around.” Stacie waves and backs away from us. “Bye, Catrina.”
“Catarina,” I say between clenched teeth after she’s gone.
“Stacie used to date the team,” Barrett tells me.
“All of them?” I ask flatly.
“Pretty much. She and Bo were married after college.”