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“So?” I stop rummaging through my closet. “I don’t want to be fired for going off the rails with the bad boy of the NFL.”
“Catarina Everhart,” he says around a chuckle. “You are not going to be fired. You’re too damn valuable.”
“You’re a bad influence.”
“Let me help you out of that dress.”
“You’re proving my point!”
He unzips my dress slowly, raking a knuckle down my spine as he does. Then he slides his hands along my bare back and around my ribcage where he gives me a tender squeeze. Temptation is a snarling beast—he feels nice, smells better, and now I’m tempted to shed my entire wardrobe and have sex with him in my closet.
I feel cool air on my skin when he backs away. “I’ll give you a minute to change. Unless you want me to help you remove more of your clothes.”
“I don’t want to be late,” I sort of protest, knowing I’m not making much sense to either of us.
“It’s a yard party, honey. We can’t be late unless we show up first thing tomorrow morning. Even then it might be raging.” He lays a kiss on my cheek. “Tell you what. Rain check on taking your clothes off. I’ll wait in the living room.”
Before he goes, I turn and call his name. He leans back into the bedroom, hands braced on either side of the doorframe.
“Are we a ‘we?’” I ask.
“Meaning?”
I debate whether I want to ask the question of the hour, and then come out with it. “Are we dating for real? Not only for the column?”
“You want to?”
I blink. Open my mouth. Shut it again.
“I haven’t been seeing anyone but you since we met.” With that bomb dropped, he pats the doorframe and leaves me alone in my room.
I was seeing North, but since Barrett kissed me I haven’t kissed anyone else. I haven’t wanted to kiss anyone else. After not hearing from him since Monday, I nearly threw confetti when he stepped into the office this morning. He waved, then went to his cubicle and sat down and...nothing. Then I decided I could ignore him, too.
Enough. We’re grown-ups and we’re dating. If it’s up to me, we may as well make this official.
I change into fuchsia shorts and a white T-shirt before slipping my feet into a pair of canvas sneakers. When I step into the kitchen, Barrett lowers the beer bottle he helped himself to without taking a drink.
“Wow.” He sounds awestruck. “Those legs.”
Pleased by his reaction, I check my matching fuchsia wristlet for the essentials: lip balm, cellphone, and mints.
“I don’t have to be your girlfriend.” I take the beer bottle from his hand and set it on the countertop. “But I expect a proper greeting whenever I see you. Since we’re dating. Since we’re a ‘we’—at least for now. Can you do that for me?”
“Hell yeah.” His smile breaks free and so does mine. He kisses it off my face a moment later, his hands sliding around to squeeze my ass, his tongue taking the long way around. By the time we part, we’re both a little breathless, and his eyes are clouded with lust.
“After the party—” I start.
“Yes.”
“You don’t know what I was going to ask.”
“Doesn’t matter. Still a yes if it involves you and me and more of that.”
“It does.”
“Good.”
We grin at each other for the count of three and then share one more lip-lock before we leave.
