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“Why not?”
“I’m in yesterday’s clothes.”
“That is a problem. I prefer you in no clothes.”
“Ha-ha.”
“Stop worrying, Catarina.” Whenever he uses my actual name, I soften. I’m not sure why. Everyone calls me Catarina, yet when I hear my name in Fox’s rough, gruff tone, I absolutely melt. “I’ll be in charge of taking care of you for the next twenty-four hours.”
“Twenty-four hours!”
“You said I could make you breakfast tomorrow morning. I’m holding you to it.”
Chapter 24
Catarina
Two cups of coffee and a slice of toast with raspberry jam has me feeling more human than when I first awoke in Barrett’s bed. More memories from last night surface throughout the day.
Me rolling over and colliding with a firm leg. Rough fingertips gliding down my arm. The soft reassurance of, “You’re okay, Kitty Cat.”
I’m coming to the bizarre conclusion that Barrett Fox is a lot better boyfriend material than North. I can tell you this: North never would’ve carried me into his apartment and held my hair while I retched.
I’m not a big drinker, but once North and I attended a fundraiser where I drank too much champagne. On the drive home, he sternly reminded me that I wasn’t a teenager and that I was a lady and that if I had to throw up, he’d pull over so I could puke on the road rather than ruin the interior of his new car.
Gosh. I’d forgotten about that.
“Why the face?” Barrett asks. He’s on the sofa next to me, elbows on his knees, eyes on mine instead of his computer screen. I’ve been flipping idly through my phone. Okay, not idly. I was reading comments on our article from last weekend.
Rather than share my conclusion about Northrop (what could Barrett tell me that I didn’t already know?), I scroll through the comments and start reading out loud. After I read five of them, I notice Barrett is making the same sour face I was earlier.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. “You don’t find several comments from women saying they’d like to do...well, lots of interesting things to you...flattering?”
“No.”
“I guess that makes sense. If these comments were from men saying they wanted me, I wouldn’t be flattered, either.”
“Haven’t you heard not to read the comments?”
“I read all the comments.”
“Poor form.” He shakes his head. “Don’t you want to keep your edge?”
“I like being informed.”
“Informed is one thing. Inundated is another.” He closes his laptop lid and then leans over to take my phone away. Now that he’s abandoned his article, he’s prowling to me on his fists, knees on the couch, wicked intent flashing in his blue eyes.
“I have another hangover remedy you can try.”
“What’s that?” I’m grinning already.
“Me.” He kisses me, and I close my eyes and kiss him back.
“You’re right,” I say when he comes up for air. “This seems to be helping.”
“I know my stuff,” he opens the button on my shorts. “Shimmy out of those and underwear, too. Want to do it on the couch or the bed?”
“Be still my heart.” I pat my chest for effect. “So romantic.”
