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She puts her palms on my chest and shoves. I stand over her, refusing to move. I use every pound on my frame to plant myself squarely in her personal space.
“I like you angry. I like you passionate. I like you, period,” I let her know. “But I don’t like this aloof thing you have going on.”
“Big word for you.” She lifts one eyebrow.
“I also don’t like you mean.” I tip her chin and she lets me, her expression softening with her tempting parted lips.
“Can we do this later?” she asks. Her eyes are downright hypnotizing when magnified behind those lenses. “Please?”
“I’ll pick you up at eight.”
She sighs. I take it as a yes.
I cancel the emergency stop and we bump to a start again. Catarina loses her balance. When she lashes out a hand to steady herself, she reaches for me. Before she can move her hand off my arm, I cover it with my other hand and place a kiss on her knuckles.
She doesn’t smile. She doesn’t blush. She doesn’t look angry, but cautious. Maybe nervous. I’m going to find out why.
When I arrive at her place at eight o’clock.
Chapter 22
Catarina
I’m swiping lip gloss over my bottom lip when there’s a knock at my apartment door. That’s Barrett, who promised he’d arrive at eight.
I pull the door open and let him in, floored by how good he looks. His dark gray T-shirt is made to look worn but is new, his jeans fit snugly at the thighs, with a couple of stylish tears slashing the legs. I continue down to his gray sneakers and back up to his striking face. Scruff, pursed lips, and styled coppery hair. Just freaking gorgeous.
“You’re too dressed up,” he tells me.
“Thanks a lot. You look nice, too,” I grumble, before turning and stomping away from him. It’s my favored pastime of late.
“It’s a lawn party, Kitty Cat. Beer pong. Cornhole. Bonfire.”
“Bonfire!” He’s right. I’m overdressed. The navy-and-white floral summer dress is casual, but not right for lounging in front of a bonfire. “I’ll change.”
In my bedroom, I pull open my closet door and inspect the contents, indecisive. I’m aware of a presence behind me a moment later. “I don’t need your help.”
“You promised me an explanation.” He’s right. I did. “What’s with the bitchy attitude?”
I swing around, jaw dropped. “Did you just call me a bitch?”
“No.”
“You kind of did.”
“Cut the shit, Catarina. What the fuck is the problem?” He holds out his arms in question.
“Don’t yell at me.”
“I’m not. I’m just... Are we okay?” A worry line bisects his eyebrows.
Are we okay? There’s a question. I didn’t know we were a “we.” His cologne—a combo of mountain pine and fresh mint—tickles my nostrils. God, he smells good.
“The more time we spend together, the more rules I break.” It’s been bugging me all week. When I met Barrett, he frustrated me, perturbed me, and refused to conform. Now I’m behaving just like him. Not returning my boss’s texts, for example.
The issue with Mia was Barrett’s fault directly, but it was mine indirectly. I never should’ve gone to lunch with him when he had a deadline to meet. Then when Mia came out of her office incensed, I would’ve been at my desk and not with him. Not to mention, but let’s, that during our lunch, I stood up and raised my voice in a public place. I’ve never done that in my life.
“So?”
