For now, though, he’s definitely not going anywhere.
Which is why I’m armed with a tiny bottle of baby oil. Here’s hoping a little goes a long way.
“Now or never,” he says.
“Right,” I agree as I pop up the top and squirt the slick liquid into my palm. Then, I reach over and start rubbing it into Barrett’s shoulder. His warm, smooth, hard shoulder covered in ink.
And like magic, his entire shoulder slips through the window.
“It worked!”
“Well, it’s a start, I guess,” he replies. “Let me try to shake off my cut and shirt.” He shimmies as much as he can until finally, he says, “There. It’s off. Rub some oil on my chest.”
Rub some oil on my chest. Those words do something to me. I’m not sure what or why, but I’m all in.
I have to squat down a little in front of Barrett’s lower body to get a good angle for his chest. I squirt more oil into my hand and then start rubbing while his face is right in front of mine. It’s awkward as shit, but I keep going until he tries to pull himself up and slips in a few more inches.
“A little bit more and I think I can turn sideways.”
“Right.”
I lean out to squirt oil right onto his upper arm, letting it run down between his body and the windowsill.
Barrett shifts around and is finally able to pull the rest of his upper body through the window. After that, it’s a dive to the floor so his hips and legs can follow.
“You’re in!” I remark as he lands with a loud thump on the bathroom floor in front of me.
“I’m in,” he agrees as he maneuvers until he’s kneeling, sitting back on his heels.
It’s the first time seeing him in good lighting without his shirt, and wow, he’s brawny. Why did I ever think he would be an easy fit through such a small window? He’s as wide in the shoulders as most door frames and ripped. His tattooed arms, his chest, his stomach in all their six-pack glory. The baby oil dripping down them only adds to their appeal.
The man came to my rescue after I fell down and then squeezed himself through a window for me. No one’s ever done anything that selfless for me before.
“Thank you.” I’m still kneeling in front of him when I thank him for earlier and for staying with me. I really didn’t want to be alone. I still can’t shake the fear or nervousness of being followed, even if it was my imagination.
“You’re welcome,” Barrett replies, his eyes locked on mine as if…as if he really sees me. “I’m hoping I can leave out the bedroom window, though.”
Smiling, I tell him, “If you can’t get them up, then you have my permission to smash one. I’ll just tell my dad someone tried to break in.”
“I’ll get it open.” His smile is confident and sexy as hell. “Do you have a first aid kit so I can clean up your scrapes?” he asks.
“Ah, I think we may have one in the cabinet.”
I can reach the cabinet door from my kneeling position. It only takes a minute to rummage around inside before I find the kit under some towels.
“Got it,” I say as I sit back on my heels. I really should kick my uncomfortable, neck-breaking shoes off, but they make me feel taller and sexier than being barefoot.
Barrett takes the red plastic container from me and pops it open. He sets out several antiseptic wipes and a bandage before closing it back up again and setting it down beside him.
Watching him rip the wipe’s wrapper open with his teeth reminds me of a condom for some reason. Not that I’ve ever seen a man do it in real life, only in movies or shows. But I can totally see Barrett getting in such a hurry to handle his business that he tears the condom wrapper open with his teeth.
While I’m thinking those dirty thoughts, he cups the uninjured side of my face in one of his big, warm hands and then begins swiping at the scrapes on my forehead with the other. His face is so close to mine that I can see a single, jagged golden circle around his blue-green eyes, which are focused on the task at hand.
The longest part is waiting for him to open the bandage and peel the backs off before sticking it to my face.
“I guess I’ll have to figure out a lie to tell my dad and grandma about how I scraped my face.”
“Why can’t you tell them the truth, that you fell in the parking lot. Dress shoes with heels are awful on rocks,” he says.
“Right. Sure.” I just won’t tell them that I was running from an imaginary boogieman.
“Let me see your hands.”
I hold them out, and Barrett flips them over, finding the bloody scratches on my palms.
“We need to clean those too.”
“Yeah, okay,” I agree as he gets out another wipe.
“I’m not sure if the baby oil you put on them helped or hurt your palms. Do you have any other injuries?”
“My dress is trashed. It’ll have to go in the garbage.” I lean back to stretch out my legs and lift the hem. “My knees have a few tiny scrapes.”
Barrett doesn’t comment. He just swipes the wipe over my right palm, then the left, with his brows furrowed in thought. Trying not to flinch at the sting, I try to come up with something to talk about. Maybe I should tell Barrett about the man I thought was following me…
Instead, different words come out of my mouth. “Have you heard anything from your friend about their nonprofit?”
His eyes lift to mine for less than a half second. “Ah, no. Sorry.”
My shoulders slump in disappointment. Bringing up the nonprofit reminds me of something else Barrett said the other day. It’s none of my business, but I can’t seem to help myself. “So, are you still not seeing someone?”
Grinning, he lifts his eyes to mine again, this time for longer. “I showed up at my ex-wife’s wedding. If I was seeing someone, she would’ve thrown my ass to the curb for that.”
“Unless she didn’t find out.”
He shakes his head. “I wouldn’t ever keep something like that a secret. Honesty in a relationship is the most important thing to me.”
“Me too,” I agree.
“I’ll never understand why people cheat. If they’re not happy, they should just be honest and get out of the relationship.”
“Exactly,” I agree.
“I don’t want to go through that shit again in a relationship. And I’m not the hookup type, even if I do ever get horny again, which I’m starting to doubt will ever happen.” He winces and says, “Sorry. You didn’t need to know all of that.”
Wow. Barrett could have any woman he wants, and yet he basically said he doesn’t have any interest in sex. I can’t believe my sister messed him up so badly.
“I’m sorry she hurt you.”
“My brothers were right – we shouldn’t have gotten married so fast.”
“I think shotgun weddings are sort of romantic – you know, when the bride isn’t knocked up and they’re not doing it because they think it’s the right thing for the kid.”
Barrett smiles as he switches to cleaning my knees. “It was stupid. We barely knew each other after only a few months. I didn’t know about half of the things you told me about her the other day.”