“Me too.”
* **
But messes need to be cleaned up, so I loop my hair into a bun and hop into the shower a few minutes later. Sawyer joins me, yanking the shower curtain—covered in illustrations of penguins wearing top hats—closed.
“Will you sing?”
He rolls his eyes. “In your dreams.”
“Um, yes,” I say.
He grabs the bodywash instead and cleans my back first. Then my breasts, stomach, and legs. It’s intimate in a whole new way, and questions start to form in my throat. What are we doing? What’s next? Is this thing with us going to happen again?
But the memories of my ex-husband and the fallout at work are too raw. The memories of Sawyer and me, both of us hot and cold, are too. If this thing doesn’t work out—and why would it?—I’ll be stuck working with my ex. Workplace romances don’t lead anyplace good, and I have the receipts to prove that.
I rinse the bodywash off, focusing on that task when the shower curtain rustles, and a black-and-tan snout pokes into the shower.
Sawyer laughs. “Hey, buddy.”
Captain sticks his face in more, angling for the shower spray. He’s so shameless. “He loves water,” I explain. “Rain, puddles, hoses, pools. And especially the shower. I had to teach him to shake offinthe shower, instead of in the bathroom.”
“Show me,” Sawyer says.
But Captain’s already heading to the bathroom door. I shoulddeal with him now. “Another time,” I say, then get out while Sawyer’s still in the shower.
As I dry off and throw on some clothes, a kernel of worry digs into my chest. Or maybe it’s dread? Possibly hope? Ugh. I don’t even know. I don’t want this night to end no matter how risky it is, and I hate feeling this uncertain.
Since there’s no place for me wanting Sawyer so badly as I try to finally,finally, thrive like Darling Springs itself.
I let Captain out for a quick pee break. When I return, he retreats to his favorite cool spot on the living room floor, and I pad quietly into my room, still a little out of sorts. I’m not sure what I want to happen next. Actually, that’s not true. I know what I want. I just don’t know if it’s a good idea to have it.
In my room, Sawyer’s yanking on his boxer briefs and pants, and that kernel of doubt wedges itself deeper. He’ll probably go. Payback and all, since last time I kicked him out.
Why can’t après-sex moments go as well as the sex? Why does theafterneed to be infused with so much worry and want? Everything was easier the night we escaped to a hotel room in San Francisco. But our real life brings real concerns.
We’re both building businesses, and those businesses are inextricably linked. I don’t want to harm mine or his. I wish I could just jettison all this desire. But it’s set up camp inside me.
“So,” I say, standing awkwardly at the edge of the bed as he buttons his pants.
He doesn’t reach for his shirt though. He flops down on the mattress, stretches an arm out, and tugs me back down with him.
And my heart does an annoying jig as I move next to him, where I want to be.
“Banks thinks I should get a dog,” he says.
“I said it first!”
He laughs, then kisses my shoulder again. “I know, Chloe. I know. I wasn’t saying you didn’t. Just like I wasn’t saying I didn’t want you at my house.”
“Oh,” I say, a little chagrined. “Are you going to get one?”
He waits for me to turn to look at him. When I do, his brown eyes are hopeful. “Maybe? I think so?”
I laugh. “I hear question marks.”
“I want to,” he says, like it costs him something, this admission. He swings his gaze from me to Captain, who must have been summoned by the conversation since my boy is standing in the doorway, tail wagging, eyes hopeful.
“It’s Captain, right? Who convinced you. He’s like the poster boy for adopting a dog.”
