I don’t want to treat her like some meaningless hookup, even though there’s a voice in my head screamingto hell with it.
The fact that I haven’t gone there already with her makes me a damn saint.Someone canonize me already: Saint Ethan.
So, because I’m having all these intense, unhelpfulfeelingsabout Chloe, instead of following her into her shower like I wanted to, I dragged my saintly ass up to my back deck.
Now I’m in my own shower, needing some relief from the fierce ache down south.
Once I’ve expelled hours, days,weeksof tension, and the waves of pleasure spasming through me begin to subside, everything turns cold.
Time to reset and refocus.
After I’ve toweled off, I fully intend to get some work done on the house, but I can’t even dredge up the will to start.What the hell’s wrong with me?Usually, tight deadlines light a fire under my ass.
Yawning, I grab my Mandela book and read a few chapters while the cottony clouds roll lazily across the blue sky.
The entire time, my mind keeps drifting back to you-know-who.And the regret that keeps gnawing at my gut over being so stuck in my own head and not just getting into that damn shower with her.
The things we could be doing right now…
I snap the book shut and give Mom and Dad a ring to distract myself, then wander back inside and fling open the fridge, taking stock of the dinner options.Nothing but sad leftovers.
Does the Mexican place in town deliver?Although, I’ve still got the car Chloe lent me.
Who does that?Just hands over their keys to a virtual stranger.
Chloe, that’s who.
Deciding I can’t be bothered driving, I call the Mexican place and order some smoky chipotle wings and jalapeno croquettes, doing my level best not to wonder what my neighbor’s doing right now.I don’t think she’s home—a quick glance from the deck earlier told me her windows are dark.
What if she’s out with some other guy?Like that five-year-old who couldn’t change her tire?
No, that’s ridiculous.
But no matter what, a woman like her won’t be single forever.At least I won’t be around to see her with whichever guy she ends up with.
Unless I run into them when I come down to visit my parents.
The thought leaves me clenching my jaw.
Once the food arrives, I eat, throw on a renovation show on my laptop and try to ignore the mental image of future Chloe sunbathing on her back deck with some jacked-up jackass named Bodhi, while I’m back at Mom and Dad’s, fixing all the shit that would’ve broken down since my last visit.
Somehow, I manage to sleep and wake up with a clearer head and enough energy to get some actual shit done.The windows and shutters arrive first thing, so I start on those, slowly making my way around the house.
I’m soaking in the spectacular view through the new kitchen window when a flurry of orange flashes across the corner of the deck.
Dumping my glass in the sink, I peek out the balcony doors and freeze.
Whatisthat?
Hold on.Is that a kitten beneath all that fluff?
A small pair of ice-blue eyes blink back at me.
I take a cautious step out onto the deck.Instead of darting away, the kitten tilts its head back as I reach down and give it a few light pets.Then it leaps forward, swiping at the hem of my T-shirt like a tiny tiger attacking its prey.
I smile, catching its little paw and unhooking its claw from the fabric.Who owns this thing?There’s no collar, so it could be feral.
Maybe Chloe knows.
