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I close her office door behind me and find Barrett standing in front of my desk.
“Going somewhere?” He lifts the strap of my bag.
“Working from home,” I reply. Calmly, since I’ve slowed my roll. “Mia insists we take a taxi or an Uber to the beer tasting. She wants us to be drunk enough to do something questionable, but not so drunk that we blackout. Our next column is due Monday.”
“Fuck.” His expression is a touch of anguish with a dash of dread. Good. He deserves it.
“Better brush up on your technique, Fox,” I tell him, still sore over his accusation that I boinked my ex. “You don’t have time to tinker.”
I turn on my ballet flat and leave the office.
He doesn’t follow.
Chapter 14
Barrett
Tickets were a hundred bucks each, meaning the beer tasting is a high-end affair. Assuming you’re allowed to call wealthy people getting shit-faced “high-end.”
I ponder my brother’s choice of drink as I sip a tart IPA brewed with goji berries. He’s more often than not drinking from a can of Natural Light or Milwaukee’s Best. Whatever’s cheap and available.
Catarina’s all business today, reminding me of the way she was when I first met her. She’s wearing a brightly colored sundress which I referred to as “pink” and she corrected me with “It’s coral, caveman.” Underneath that “coral” frock, she’s as cold as ice.
At least where I’m concerned.
“Catarina Everhart!” exclaims an older woman who walks up to us. “I was hoping I’d run into you this year.” She peruses me briefly but doesn’t recognize me, which is rare in this town. “Your friend?”
“This is Barrett Fox. He’s an OSU alum and used to play for the Miami Dolphins. We’re on assignment together.”
“Oh.” The woman extends a hand, her smile painfully polite. Either she doesn’t know about the referee incident, or she knows and has chosen not to stab me in the eyeball with her cross necklace. “Paula Partridge. Pleased.”
I give her hand a brief shake. “Same to you, Paula.”
Paula loops her arm with Catarina’s and whispers in her ear. I don’t know what she’s saying, but I heard “North” which is enough to make me guzzle the rest of my goji berry beer. While they chatter about Kitty Cat’s obtuse ex, I believe I’ll order a refill.
I meander over to the booth and hand them my punch card. Up to thirty samples are included with the admission price of the ticket, which is insane. Even with four-ounce pours, I wouldn’t know my own name if I filled that card. There are plenty of people here rapidly approaching that state.
“I’ll try the coconut porter.”
The barmaid is dressed festively in a German-styled off the shoulder dress with a frilly skirt. Her red-mouthed smile widens along with her green eyes. “Hey. Aren’t you—”
“My boyfriend, Barrett Fox.” Catarina finishes for her, stepping up next to me and wrapping her arm around mine. “Isn’t he dreamy?”
Sarcasm drips off the word dreamy.
“I need a refill, please,” she tells the barmaid. Then to me: “Schnookums, what’d you order?” If she thinks I’m not playing along, she’s in for a surprise.
“Coconut porter.” I unhook my arm from hers and take her hands, weaving our fingers together. “Same for you, honey?”
“Same,” she breathes, her smile wobbling. By the time the barmaid begins pouring our beers, my Kitty Cat is squirming. I don’t let her go, tightening my fingers in hers and gently wrapping our linked hands behind her back. I step close enough that her breasts brush my chest.
I lower my face to hers and whisper one word. “Trapped.”
Caramel-brown irises wander over my face and like that, I’m smitten. I don’t know what it is about this woman, but whenever she locks eyes with me I go as gooey as the candy her eyes resemble. Being this close to her reminds me of the explosive kiss we shared in the abandoned office yesterday, right before she stomped out.
“Why are you mad at me?” I forgo the opportunity to kiss her, taking advantage of her nearness to squeeze the truth from her instead.
“PMS.” She wiggles in my hold, but I don’t let go.
