Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ETHAN
“We’re just glad you’re okay,” Mom says as I down my second cup of strong coffee. Even though it’s instant, I need this shit on an IV today. Between the howling winds, the worries about my truck, and everything that happened with Chloe last night, I might’ve managed three minutes of sleep.
“I haven’t checked outside yet for damage, but hopefully, the house is all right,” I tell Mom. “It wasn’t a hurricane, but it sure sounded like one.”
“We’re not too worried about the house. Just do what you can, sweetheart, and look after yourself. Don’t work yourself into the ground.”
She sounds like Leo did when I spoke to him the other day. It’s like no one gets it—I’m only trying to keep everyone safe. Which is why I am worried about this house and making sure it’s in shape.
After we end the call, I set down my mug and wander into the living room. Everywhere I look, something needs to be done, starting with unscrewing all the boards off the windows.
Right now, though, I feel about as motivated to pick up a drill as I am to slip on a tutu and pirouette down the boardwalk.
Something has stolen my mojo.
Something or someone.
I rest my back against the wall and close my eyes.
All I can see are Chloe’s legs falling open in front of me, her eyes turning heavy, her breaths becoming shallow. All I can feel is my rock-hard dick, pushing against her warm softness.
I give my head a flick. When was the last time I was this distracted by a woman?
Chloe hasn’t left my mind since I got up early this morning to meet the tow truck driver.
Nah, that’s not even right—she was already setting up house inside my head days before that.
The doorbell chimes, and I go still for a second. I’m not expecting anyone, and my truck’s already at the auto body shop.
There’s only one person it’s likely to be.
I drag my fingers through my hair on the way to the door.
Chloe stands on the doorstep, looking like a straight-up summer dream in a white sundress. Half her hair is held back by a pair of sunglasses on her head, and a canvas bag dangles from her fingers.
“Good to see you survived the storm,” she says, smiling.
I push my tongue into my cheek. “It was touch and go, but I made it. As did you, I see.”
“Oh, I had excellent protection. I found a lovely shelter. It was a little rough around the edges at first, but when I went in a little deeper, it felt so big and warm.”
Am I fucking blushing? My cheeks feel like the surface of the sun.
“Do you want to come inside?” I ask, immediately thinking better of it. Last night blurred a line that we shouldn’t even be near.
“Thanks, but I’ve gotta go to work. We’re always super busy the day after a storm. People like getting out after being cooped up, and they all want to share storm stories. You know how it is.”
I really don’t. If this was Philly, everyone would already be getting back to their normal lives like the storm never happened. Racing to their next meeting or trying to beat rush hour traffic.
“I’m so sorry again about your truck.” Chloe pouts.
So am I.
“Isn’t it kind of funny that I got lectured on tree safety in storms, yet your car’s the one that had its ass handed to it?” she adds.
Yeah, yeah. Probably not the time to point out that her tree is the one that fell. “Everything go okay with your dad when you got back?” I ask instead.
She glances down. “Yeah.”
That’s all she gives me—one word, which I don’t believe in the slightest. Her face is telling me a different story.
“Oh! I almost forgot. I’ve come bearing gifts,” she says before I can push for more. “This one’s first.” She hands me the bag.
I peer inside it to find the T-shirt and sweatpants I loaned her yesterday, both neatly folded and smelling like a basket of coconuts. There’s something else in the bag. A canvas painting of a… crab?
I glance up, my brows lifting as I wait for an explanation.
“When I first saw it, it made me think of you. Now, it’s yours. Something to remember us by when you leave.”
A chuckle slips out. “Thank you.” That’s so sweet. This woman really is something else.
“You’re welcome. Now, open your hand.”
I hold out my upturned palm. She presses a car key into it.
“That’s the key to Wilma. You can use her until your truck gets fixed.”
“Chloe—no.”
She holds up a hand. “You took me in last night when you didn’t have to, and now I want to do something for you.”
I tilt my head, my eyes fused to hers. “Taking you in last night wasn’t exactly a hardship.”
“No?” Her gaze drops south to my sweatpants, clinging there before rising back to my eyes. “It seemed pretty hard to me.”
She flips her sunglasses down over her eyes, grins, and heads back to where a little hybrid is parked beside her yellow Cabriolet.
“Are you sure about the car?” I call out, but Chloe just gives me a big “bon voyage” sort of wave, then slips into the waiting vehicle.
I stare after her for way too long.
I think about the last words she said for even longer.
Chloe’s sweatshirt and jeans from yesterday are still in my dryer. I fish them out, and a scrap of lace slips into my hand. My fingers freeze against Chloe’s panties, then curl into the silky fabric.
Ignoring the burn in my sweatpants, I snatch the rest of her clothes out of the dryer and stuff everything inside the canvas bag she gave me.
After I eat a second round of toast, I head outside to check the house properly for storm damage. Some of the siding came off, but other than that, it thankfully held up all right.
Chloe’s shack, on the other hand, is missing more shingles off the roof, debris is scattered everywhere, and one of her water pipes is bent.
I’m not licensed to do any major work on her house, but surely I can help a friend out with some small repairs.
It’s not like her dad is out here cleaning things up.
Still, I don’t want to overstep.
I’ll check with her when she gets home.
There’s plenty of work I need to do at Mom and Dad’s, but my head’s just not in it right now.
It keeps circling back to the same thing.
Things got outta hand with Chloe last night.
She may have started it, but I could’ve—should’ve—stopped it.
Chloe and I… we don’t work, no matter how much I’m starting to wish that weren’t the case.
I pad down the sand to the beach, stepping around branches and scattered leaves.
Fierce waves crash against the shore and then pull back, the salty air filling my lungs and clearing my head.
An iridescent shell catches my eye, and I bend to pick it up, brushing my thumb over its perfect, scalloped shape.
Still clutching the shell, I continue walking, keeping an eye out for more, when my phone alarm goes off from my pocket. Shit, I need to get to the grocery store or I won’t have anything for dinner.
With a final gaze toward the churned-up sea, I turn and head back up to the house.
After I’ve grabbed some groceries, I get to work finishing the outdoor staircase, but I’m slow as hell.
Even now, all I can think about is my neighbor, and the sexy moan that slipped out of her when I rocked against her last night.
My palm catches my forehead. I promised myself I wouldn’t get distracted on the job again, yet here I am, fucking distracted.
From the side of the deck, I see her arriving home after work. I give her some time to settle in before grabbing my toolbox and the canvas bag. My heart thumps in my chest as I head over and tap on the front door.
“It’s open!” she calls from somewhere inside.
I suppress a little growl at that and push through her aqua-blue door.
Inside her living room, I find a white sofa with blue seashells printed all over the cushions.
The painting hanging above it looks like someone took a can of yellow paint and threw it at the canvas.
As I set my toolbox on the floor beside a bookshelf, my gaze catches a bunch of photos of her with two other girls and a whole stack of paperback romances with blue men on the covers.
I straighten as Chloe comes out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a lemon-printed dishcloth.
“Hey, long time no see,” she jokes.
Man, her sexy smile does it for me every time, especially when she rubs the tip of her tongue against the little gap in her teeth.
I clear my throat. “I brought back your clothes. And this.” From my pocket, I pull out the shell I found on the beach. “It’s for your treasure bowl at the coffee shop.”
“Aww. Thanks. It’s pretty.” She turns the shell over in her hand. “Too pretty for the bowl. I’m going to keep this one if that’s okay with you?”
I stand there with my hands stuffed inside my pockets, trying not to smile like a goof. “Yeah. Sure. Do whatever you want with it.”
For fuck’s sake, Ethan, it’s a shell. Congratulations, you found one of the thousands littering the beach.
“Your dad’s not home?” I ask, glancing around.
“He’s at the harbor, visiting an old friend he used to work with.”
I can’t say I’m not thrilled that Daddy-O isn’t here.
“I see you brought your tools,” She eyes the metal box near my feet.
“I was hoping you’d let me fix your bent pipe.”
She folds her arms over her chest, drawing my attention exactly where it shouldn’t go. “That sounds like a pickup line from a bad porno.”
Shit. It really did, didn’t it? “I didn’t mean—”
“I’m joking,” she says with a laugh, knocking my shoulder playfully. “Show me the pipe.”
“Now that sounds like a bad pickup line.”
Chloe and I stand outside facing the damaged pipe.
I throw open my toolbox and grab my hammer but before I can do anything, she stops me with a hand on my elbow. “Can I try?”
“Be my guest.” I hand over the hammer, waiting for a smart remark about how big or hard it is.
Truth be told, when she doesn’t say anything, I’m kinda disappointed.
“That bent part of the pipe is the spot we need to hit, right?” She clutches the hammer at the neck with both hands, giving it a wild swing like a baseball bat, missing the pipe entirely.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I catch her wrist before she knocks herself out with the damn thing, and step closely behind her.
I slide my arms around her waist, taking hold of the hammer with one hand.
“You’re holding it too high. Move your hands down here.
” Covering her fingers with mine, I drag her hand slowly and firmly down the handle, stopping near the base.
“That way you get more leverage and it won’t slip out of your hand. ”
“Really?” She swallows roughly. I swear I can feel her heart thumping through her back. “So, I don’t hold it here?” She slides our two fists higher to about the halfway mark before gliding them back down again, tight and firm.
I shake my head, wondering if she can feel my dick thickening against her backside. I imagine kicking her legs apart with my knees and tugging up that dress of hers, right over her waist.
What the hell am I doing? I’m meant to be putting out these flames, not stoking them. “I should go.” I drop my hand and take a step back, putting some much-needed distance between us. “Just hit the pipe right there a few times, and that should straighten it out.”
Her lips curve up into a smile, but it’s hollow, and it twists something inside me. “I think I can handle that. Go on. I know you have more important things to do. Thanks for your help.”
“Anytime,” I say before gathering my toolbox and heading back to my place.
I keep telling myself: My to-do list is a mile long, and I do have more important things to do.
I just don't know why I’m having such a hard time believing it.