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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.
