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“Okay, well we’re staying. I don’t know John very well—or any of that family, really—but it sure beats watching you mope around at home.”
I let out a melodramatic groan, and Jamie tugs me out the door.
When we get back to the table, the “military” guys are standing up, waving us toward the door.
“C’mon ladies. We’re going down the way to Carlyle’s Blues Bar. Our obnoxious friend is there, and he wants to meet you.”
NINETEEN
Gwenna
November 6, 2015
I watch his hand come to his mouth, his fingertips touching his lips as he blinks at the door, then shifts his gaze down to his feet.
He’s wearing a white shirt and what looks, through the distortion of the peep hole, like dark pants. His curls are blowing slightly the breeze. It looks like he’s trimmed his facial hair, so it’s less beard-like and more scruffy again.
I wonder what’s in the pack he’s wearing on his back. I wonder what he’d do if I pulled the door open right now.
He blinks right at me through the peep hole, and I can’t resist the urge to pull the door open.
“Come on in.” I laugh.
His eyes widen on my blue face, then he’s grinning. I forgot how beautiful he is when he lets loose a big, wide, dimpled grin: his clean, white teeth, his luscious lips, the way his sharp eyes squint and his cheeks curve.
He lifts a hand to touch my mask-caked cheek, and chuckles softly. “Who are you, and where’s my Gwenna?”
I blink, then cover my shock—his Gwenna!—with an awkward little laugh. “She’ll be back in oh…about three minutes.” I remember belatedly that my hair is in a towel on my head, so I guess I look doubly weird.
I step back into my living room and motion Barrett through the door.
“If you dare…” I waggle my eyebrows.
With one long stride, he steps inside and closes the distance between us, wrapping me against his big body and pressing his face against the towel on my hair. The motion is quick and casual—like he’s been hugging me forever. By the time my stomach nosedives like a roller coaster, he’s already drawn away and is standing there in front of my door, giving me a charmed smile.
“I like the Smurf look.”
I flip him off. “Fuck you,” I giggle.
His eyes glaze over, pupils dilating slightly, as if he’s thinking of that in literal terms. I watch him swallow, throat working as his eyes stay locked on mine. His hands are hooked around the straps of h
is pack and he’s standing still, but I can feel what I would see if I let my gaze wander south. I can’t help myself: my eyes are drawn like magnets down his long, lean body, lapping hungrily, until they come to the big, delicious bulge between his legs.
My heart pounds. Warmth throbs through me.
“I’ve got groceries. Kitchen?” he asks. His voice is an octave lower than usual, causing hairs to stand up on my arms.
I nod once and watch his back as he disappears around the half-wall. Move, Gwen. Go wash your face!
I can’t, though. Move—that is. I feel hot and breathless. I try to get a handle on my raging hormones as I listen to him open my refrigerator. I hear his bag unzip, hear the sounds of him unloading items onto shelves. The rubbery shhhnik of the refrigerator door closing. A heartbeat later, Barrett reappears in the doorway between den and kitchen. He rests his shoulder on the partial wall and watches me with the stillness of a predator.
“You should wash your face.” His gaze laps me up and down. With his eyes on me like this, his intentions screaming in the silence, I’m too nervous to glance between his legs again. Abstaining makes my cheeks feel even hotter.
I nod, reaching up to push a strand of hair out of my face. “Make yourself at home, okay? I’ll be right back.”
I wash my face, brush my hair, and change into some charcoal leggings, an olive-colored CareBears t-shirt, and a pair of thick, wool socks—as if thick socks will keep me insulated from the lust between us.
I find Barrett in the den, his massive shoulders hunched as he leans down to look at the photos on my bookshelf.
