Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
BARRETT
Three Days Later
I pull up to Wren’s house early Thursday morning, my palms sweating on the wheel for reasons that have nothing to do with how much Keanu Reeves hates his kennel.
Well, not very much to do with it, anyway.
The high-pitched screams he’s been emitting non-stop since I coaxed him into it with a piece of carrot aren’t pleasant, but he’ll be all right as soon as he’s out. He did a practice run hanging out with Starling and Kyle yesterday and did just fine at Wren’s house, where he’ll be staying while I’m gone.
Me, I’m not so sure about…
Yes, Wren agreed to attend the conference, but she’s…different since she came home. She doesn’t anticipate my personal needs or magically appear when I want to talk about something other than office business. I have to seek her out and ask if she has time for our end-of-day tea—and so far, since that first afternoon, she hasn’t. She’s still kind, but distant, cautious, as if there’s a chasm between us that she fears might swallow her whole if she gets too close.
I have to show her that there is no chasm.
Or that I can build a bridge over it.
Or you could back off and let her find happiness with someone normal, asshole. Someone who doesn’t have to work so hard to make his insides show on the outside. Someone who’s been aware that he has insides for longer than a few months.
Dimly, at the back of my mind, behind the inner critic, I hear my therapist’s voice, encouraging me to question these negative thoughts.
Are they true? Can I absolutely know they’re true? If not, is it really healthy to engage with them? Perhaps it’s time to dismiss them and move on to more positive things.
“As if it’s that easy,” I grumble, wincing as Keanu lets out another high-pitched wail. My inner critic is about as impossible to silence as my stressed-out rat dog.
Reminding myself I don’t have to silence the voice, just deprive it of the attention it needs to get out of hand, I swing out of my truck and circle around to fetch Keanu from the passenger’s seat.
As I open the door, Starling appears beside me, making me jump as she says, “He sounds like a fainting goat, doesn’t he? Or are those Nubian goats that scream? I forget.”
I exhale, “Jesus, you scared me.”
She smiles. “Sorry, Wren says I should wear a bell around my neck. I’m very stealthy. I was probably a famous ballerina in my former life. Or a ninja, though I don’t like to think about how much bad karma I could have racked up in years as a hired assassin.” She reaches for the door to Keanu’s kennel. “Here, let me carry him. He’ll be happier that way.”
She opens the door and Keanu shoots out like a tiny cannonball, latching onto my chest with his claws. Still wailing, he hangs from my dress shirt for a moment, before sliding down, tearing the fabric as he goes.
“Oh no, I’m sorry!” Starling catches him under his front legs and gently gathers him into her arms, detangling his claws from my now ruined shirt. “How did he do that? I’ve never seen a dog with claws like this. Are we sure he isn’t a cat? Or…part cat, maybe?”
“He’s also part kangaroo and has no trouble jumping up on the kitchen counter,” I say, reaching into the back seat for my garment bag. “So, you’ll want to make sure you keep any food you usually leave on the counter locked in the cabinets.”
“Already taken care of,” she coos, cuddling the still panting and gargling Keanu to her chest. “Kyle likes to jump on counters, too, Keanu. And over fences. He nearly made a break for it this morning when he heard the lady turkeys in the back field.” She looks up, adding. “Any advice on how to manage a horny gobbler?”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“I mean, you’re a doctor of reproductive medicine,” she says as we start toward the front door. “I know you’re more into humans than birds, but I thought you might have some advice to help keep Kyle calm during mating season.”
“No, sorry. A veterinarian or a turkey breeder would probably be your best bet.” I open the door for her, holding it as she and Keanu pass inside. As soon as the door closes behind us, he stops complaining and wiggles to be put down.
Starling obliges him and he immediately races into the living room to jump into the dog bed beside the fireplace with Kyle.
The turkey spreads its wings with a gargle very similar to Keanu’s and gathers the dog closer to his side. They’re strange bedfellows, no doubt—the turkey currently wearing a glittery red bow tie and the rat dog with roughly ten thousand teeth—but I’m glad they’ve hit it off.
If they hadn’t, I have no idea what I would have done with Keanu. My mother met him on Tuesday and promptly declared him “too ugly to be taken seriously,” Drew isn’t due back from his trip until tonight, and the dog’s face made my sister Melissa’s son cry.
“Okay, I’ll start researching turkey breeders,” Starling says. “I have extra time now that I’ve been laid off from the bank.” She cuts off my apology with a raised hand. “Don’t worry, I’m relieved. I was hoping they’d realize they were overstaffed and let me go before I had to quit. Now I can collect unemployment until I find another full-time gig. And this time, I’ll be sure to pick something that doesn’t suck my life force. I’m just not a money girl, you know? Oh, speaking of money, Wren ran to the bank to get some cash for the trip. She’ll be back in a few. Feel free to use the hall bathroom to change and sorry again about your shirt.”
“No apologies needed,” I assure her. “It’s my fault for putting off his grooming and nail clipping appointment until after my trip.”
I move into the bathroom and hang my garment bag on the hook on the back of the door. Glancing in the mirror I see the damage is worse than I thought. Keanu’s nails went through my dress shirt and the undershirt beneath, leaving dots of red behind. I unbutton the shirt and strip off the undershirt, silently cursing myself for not bringing my suitcase inside, as well.
Now, I’ll need to go out to the truck to fetch it.
I’m reaching for the door, when it opens inward, and a surprised Wren, yips, “Oh my God, I’m sorry, I thought you were in the kitchen with Starling, but she must have been talking to Kyle.”
“It’s fine, I was just changing,” I explain. “Keanu was a little shaken up by the trip over and had a go at my shirt.”
“And your skin,” she says, her gaze travelling down to the scratches just below my sternum. She gulps and stares a little longer, making the air in the bathroom feel warmer. “Let me help you with that. I have Band-Aids and alcohol under the sink.”
“It’s fine,” I assure her, but she’s already shutting the door behind her and crouching down to open the cabinet.
“It’s not fine. You don’t want to get an infection. We know Keanu had all his shots at the shelter, but puppy claws can still be dirty and full of bacteria.” She stands, brushing her hair from her flushed cheeks with her free hand. “Just give me a few seconds, and I’ll take care of it.”
“All right. Thank you.” I lean against the sink as she wets a cotton ball with rubbing alcohol, very conscious of being partially undressed with Wren for the first time since the night we crossed the line between friends and people who fuck in hallways.
It’s a thinner line than you’d think. At least for the two of us.
I pull in a breath and hold it, willing my thoughts away from that night, how good Wren felt wrapped around me, and the incomparable sweetness of being inside her. But it isn’t easy, not when the scene of the crime is less than ten feet away.
“This may sting a bit,” she warns as she presses the cotton ball lightly to the worst of the scratches.
I don’t feel a thing except a sharp, electric awareness of the woman in front of me and a swelling behind my fly that isn’t good. Not good at all. Wren’s powers of observation are unparalleled, which means I have about two seconds to get her out of here before she notices my lack of control.
“Thanks, I can take it from here.” I stand, gripping her by the upper arms and moving her toward the door.
“What?” She blinks up at me as she shuffles across the mat in front of the sink. “But I haven’t cleaned them all and?—”
“It’s fine, I can finish up alone. I’m sure you have things you need to do to get ready to go. I don’t want to keep you.”
She brushes my hands away, and pushes lightly on my stomach, urging me back against the sink. “Oh, come on, don’t be a baby. I promise, it won’t hurt that…” She trails off, her eyes widening as she notices my now fully mortifying erection. “Oh.”
“Yeah,” I grit out. “Oh.”
“Are you a secret masochist?”
I frown, the question the last thing I was expecting. “What?”
“A masochist. It’s someone who gets…aroused by pain.”
I exhale. “I know what a masochist is.”
“So?”
“So what?”
“Are you a masochist?” she asks. “Did the sting of the alcohol make you feel…a certain kind of way?”
“No, Wren,” I say, frustrated by her insistence on this inane conversation. “I’m not a masochist. I’m half naked and you’re standing in front of me, touching me.”
Her eyes widen. “Really? That’s all it takes?”
“That’s all it takes,” I say, my hands reaching for her before I give them conscious permission. And then, suddenly, Wren’s arms are around my neck and her lips are on mine and we’re kissing like starving people falling upon a plate full of food for the first time in weeks.
But for us, it’s been months. Well, for me, at least. From the moment I slid inside Wren, no other woman has held the slightest appeal.
“There hasn’t been anyone else,” I rumble against her lips as I reverse our positions, lifting her up onto the edge of the sink and moving between her spread legs. “Not since that night. The thought of touching another woman makes my skin crawl.”
“You make my skin crawl, but in a good way,” she says, moaning softly as I cup her breast through her thin spring sweater. “How do you do that? Make me want to rip off my clothes with just a kiss?”
“You should do that,” I say, squeezing her ass, relishing the way her strong, curvy backside fits perfectly in my hands. “Take your sweater off. I want your nipples in my mouth.”
“My sister is in the kitchen,” she hisses, but she doesn’t put up a hint of resistance as I reach for the bottom of the light green sweater and pull it over her head. “We can’t have sex in the bathroom.”
“We won’t have sex,” I assure her as I pop the close on her bra, biting back a groan as the fabric falls forward, baring her breasts. “I’ll just show you how much I’ve missed you. My pants will stay on the entire time.”
“But I—” She sucks in a breath, her head falling back as I bend to drag my tongue across one taut nipple. “But what if I want your pants to come off?”
“Sorry,” I murmur as I get my hands involved, cupping and squeezing her softness as I worship her nipples with my mouth. “A wise woman told me her sister was in the kitchen and we can’t have sex.”
“I think I hate you,” she says, her breath coming faster as her fingers dig into my shoulders.
“Will you still hate me if I rip off your panties and eat your pussy like it’s my sole purpose on earth?” I ask, my cock jerking in my pants as she slides off the sink and lifts her skirt.
I reach for the top of her satin panties—pale green, just like her bra—and drag them to the floor. Staying on my knees, I urge Wren’s right leg up and over my shoulder. I cradle her ass in my hands and bend my head to her sweetness. It was too dark the night in the hallway to see every inch of the pussy I was devouring. This is the first time I’ve seen her this way, and she’s even more perfect than I imagined.
“So beautiful,” I say, pressing a reverent kiss to her slick pink skin, relishing the taste of her salt on my tongue as I tease between her folds. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
“You don’t get sick of them?” she breathes, her hips shifting forward as she seeks more friction.
“Sick of what?” I ask, so mesmerized by the way her clit feels under my tongue—like a pearl I intend to shine until it gleams—I forget myself for a second.
I forget who I am, and what I do for a living. All I can think about is how she tastes and smells and how much I want to take her home with me, lock her in my bedroom, and keep her there for at least a week.
“Lady parts,” she says, her fingers in my hair now, clinging to me as I grind my face into her hot flesh. “Damn, Barrett, you’re so good at that. So crazy good.”
I groan against her, the vibration making her gasp and rock faster against my mouth. I slide two fingers inside her, nearly losing control in my pants as I feel how drenched she is. She may have been keeping her distance lately, but Wren clearly still wants me as much as I want her.
And she’s desperate for release. I can feel it in the way her thighs tremble beside my face and the plaintive whimper at the back of her throat as she begs, “Please, please never stop. Please. Oh God, Barrett. Oh my God.”
“Come for me,” I rumble against her skin, kissing her harder, deeper. “Come on my mouth, Wren. I want your taste all over me.”
Her spine arches, and she shudders against me as she comes. I stay where I am, riding out her orgasm with her, relishing the salty heat of her release on my tongue. Only when she’s limp and panting against the sink, do I gently guide her panties back on, rise to my feet, and say, “Your parts aren’t lady parts. They’re Wren parts, and therefore, one of a kind. I doubt I’d ever get tired of them.”
She blinks, clearly confused for a second, before her gaze softens. “That’s sweet.”
“It’s true, which is even better.”
Her brow furrows as she pulls on her bra, hooking it behind her back. “It is. And I know you’re a big fan of honesty. So, tell me the truth, Barrett. Why did you run away that night? After we were together?”
“I didn’t run,” I hedge, not mentally prepared for this discussion. I’m still so hard, the front of my pants are an embarrassment and the taste of Wren on my tongue makes it impossible to think about anything but being inside her.
“I was in the bathroom for two minutes,” she counters as she tugs her sweater on and runs a quick hand through her hair. “Maybe less. You had to have sprinted out of here like a track star.”
“I played basketball in college,” I say, earning a completely justified “are you kidding me” brow arch from Wren. I exhale, “I don’t know. I guess I thought it was best to leave before you got angry with me again. You were being so…unreasonable.”
She frowns, sharply and suddenly. “What? In what way was I being unreasonable?”
“It felt like I couldn’t say anything right.” Kind of like right now. “And then we got here, and things clearly went very right, so…I thought it would be smart to leave while we were in a good place.”
She crosses her arms and lifts her chin. “Okay, we’ll pretend that’s an okay thing to do. It’s not, but we’ll pretend that it’s cool to ghost a woman right after you’ve had sex for the first time, without saying goodbye.”
Well, when she puts it that way, it does sound awful. I start to explain again that I didn’t intend to upset her, when she adds, “Why didn’t you call when you got home? Or at the very least the next morning?”
“I was tired when I got home and busy the next morning.”
“You were in your breakfast nook reading the paper at ten a.m. I saw you,” she says. “Yes, I stalked you a tiny little bit and I’m not sorry about it. Because now I know that you’re a liar. You weren’t busy. You were sipping coffee and relaxing like it was any other Saturday and not the first Saturday after we had unprotected sex against a wall.”
“You said you were on the pill,” I say, concern tightening my chest.
“I am, but I had to go over to Tatum’s place to get them since I was planning to sleep there, originally. So, I was up for hours after you were in Snoozeland, making sure we didn’t accidentally get pregnant. Meanwhile, you couldn’t be bothered to make a phone call before you had twelve cups of coffee and read the entire paper.”
“I was giving you time to cool off. I texted you just before noon, but you’d already blocked my number,” I say. “Which was immature and supremely irritating, by the way.”
“Good,” she shoots back, tipping her chin back to glare up into my face. “I hope you were so supremely irritated you had Resting Grouch Face for a week. And I have kissed other men since I kissed you, by the way. I made it my business to kiss every cute British guy on holiday I could find and some French ones too, even though my French is really rusty.”
Before I can reply, she slams out of the bathroom and storms down the hall.
I stick my head out, calling, “Wren Baxter, come back here and finish this conversation.”
“It’s finished,” she tosses over her shoulder. “And I’ve decided to drive myself to the conference so you can leave whenever you want. Maybe after you’ve had a few cups of coffee and read the paper!”
“I’ve already had two!” I shout, summoning a stream of garbage disposal barking from Keanu. He appears in the hall a second later, jogging along in his crooked rat dog way, his hairless possum tail held high in alarm.
“I’m fine,” I grumble at him as I duck back into the bathroom. He follows me, circling my feet as I finish wiping the scratch marks and pull on a clean shirt without an undershirt underneath.
It feels wrong against my bare skin, making me even crankier than usual. And then Keanu lifts a leg and pees on my shoes, with my feet still in them, and I explode. “No!” I boom at the creature. “Do not pee there! Pee outdoors and outdoors only!”
Keanu goes stock still, staring up at me with bulbous eyes even larger than normal before he emits another goat wail and rolls onto his back, baring his belly in a show of submission. His ears are back, his hairless tail is tucked, and as I reach down to rub his tummy, he whimpers, making me feel like a sad sack of shit all over again.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur to the quivering beast. “Clearly, I don’t know how to behave with dogs or women.”
“You’re doing fine,” Starling says from the doorway. “It’s frustrating when dogs pee where they shouldn’t. I’ll work on that with Keanu while you’re gone.” She glances down at my feet. “And don’t worry about the bathmat. I’ll throw it in to wash.”
“Thank you,” I say. “And sorry for making the morning so…dramatic.”
“You didn’t,” she says, kindly. “But just a word to the wise. Sometimes it doesn’t matter why you did what you did, as long as you understand it was the wrong thing to do and promise not to do it again. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but you guys were pretty loud there at the end.”
I exhale. “Right. Sorry about that, too. I…I honestly don’t know why I left. I mean, what I told Wren was true. But there may have been something else, too. Something underneath that something.”
Starling nods. “There usually is. At least that’s what they said in my Marketing Psychology class in college. People have conscious needs and fears, but they also have unconscious ones. Sometimes those are the most powerful. The less we bring something into the light, the stronger it gets.” She wrinkles her nose. “Wren already left, by the way. I tried to remind her that saving gas and carpooling is important, but she was too mad.”
I sigh. “Understandable. Hopefully, I can make it up to her at the conference.”
“Just be honest, but kind,” Starling says. “I know it sounds trite, but it’s the best advice my mom ever gave me.”
It’s very good advice. I’ve always excelled at being honest. The kind part, however, could probably use some improvement. I’ve mastered kindness in a clinical setting, but in real life things are harder. More complicated.
But maybe they don’t have to be.
As I swap out my shoes and socks beside the truck, I try to imagine what a kinder, gentler Barrett would say to a woman he wishes he hadn’t disappointed so badly.