“Do you want the story or not?”
“Oh, I want it.Badly.”
I lean a little closer because with Chloe, I have never been able to resist flirting. I drop my voice and say, “Then be a good girl.”
She looks down coyly, then back up at me with a purse of her lips. “If I must,” she says, petulant and sexy all at once.
She’s such a fascinating mix of contradictions. Every time I get to know her more, I find another curveball—from the way she ran to a neighbor’s house to grab protection, to the fact thatshe juggles rubber ducks to relax. Everything about her is playful, unexpected…and far too tempting for my own good.
“Yes, you must,” I say in my stern voice, the bedroom tone she responds to.
She sits up straight and tall, arranges herself primly in her seat, then folds her hands together like she’s waiting patiently.
“So. It was Rachel’s birthday, and there was a dare—my friend Monroe was there. He said, ‘I don’t believe you have the guts to do it.’”
“Wow, he was calling you out,” she says.
I nod, then take another drink. “He was a relentless fucker. Said he wouldn’t believe I had the guts unless I got onstage and did ‘Livin’ on a Prayer.’”
“That’sthe one,” she says in a hushed breath, her elbow perched on the bar, her eyes fixed on mine.
“Best karaoke song ever.”
“Top three, easily.” She leans in. “And those were fighting words for you?” she asks, sounding enrapt. It’s not a bad sound. And I don’t actually feel like she’s dragging the story out of me. There’s something about Chloe that just makes me want to tell her things. She’s sassy and feisty, and she pokes at me all the time and knocks me down a peg—and yet I still find myself sharing with her.
In spite of those things?
No. Maybe it’sbecauseof them. Because she’s a little fearless. A lot unafraid. Maybe it’s because she’s not by the book at all. I’ve spent so much of the last several years of my adult life coloring inside the lines. Playing by the rules. Building a business, focusing on reputation, making sure everything is pristine.
And then there’s Chloe, who crashes into my life, gets knocked into a lake, and pops out of it looking impossibly sexy, then invites me to her hotel room.
This woman has me stripping out of my shirt to paint her workspace, hunting down tools to secretly fix her car, and bringing treats to work to keep the fuck up with her.
She breaks all my rules. “Yeah, they were fighting words,” I say. “Monroe queued up the song and tossed the mic my way, leaving me no choice. I caught it and launched into the opening notes.”
Her smile is bright and genuine. “And a star was born…”
I wave a hand, dismissing that. “Hardly.”
She taps the wooden bar. “Tell me more.”
“You are a voracious woman,” I say, shaking my head in admiration.
Her eyes lock on mine. “Yes, but you already knew that.”
A hot charge shoots down my spine from the innuendo. “I know. And I like your appetite.”
The corners of her lips twitch. For a second, she’s distracted, but then she seems to blink it off and says, “Story time. Give it to me.”
Those words rattle through me, and I want to hear her say them in other circumstances.Give it to me.But she’s got all the cards right now, so I give her the rest of the story. “And it turned out, yeah—I was pretty good at it. I mean, I always sang along to the playlists. In the car. At home. And yeah, I sing in the shower.”
“Oh my god, stop,” she says, dragging a hand through her waves, her hazel eyes twinkling with some kind of impish delight. “That is borderline cute and borderline sexy at the same time, and I don’t know which one is winning the war.”
“Sexy, Chloe. It’s sexy,” I say, answering for her.
Her eyes travel up and down my frame, and yeah, they tell me she’s picturing me in the shower. “Fine. It’s sexy. Go on.”
“Anyway, the crowd seemed to like it. I did a few more songs, and honestly, I was kind of hooked.”
