Chapter 18
Zeke: You fucked Chloe’s sister??
Logan: A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.
Zeke: You’re not a gentleman, that’s the problem.
Logan: Are you seriously trying to police my dick?
Zeke: Bit late for that by the sound of it.
Logan: Lighten up dude. It was a one-time thing. She’s a wild card, that one.
ZEKE
After everyone has been formally introduced, I make a big show of slinging a casual arm around Chloe’s shoulders and pulling her stiff little body into the side of mine as we follow her family back into the house.
She’s practically vibrating with annoyance, and I get a kick out of stoking that fire.
“Don’t forget we’re supposed to be madly in love,” I tease with my lips at her ear.
A little feminine growl hisses from her lips as she turns her head to glare up at me. “I’m going to cut off your balls and wear them as earrings, Guerra.”
Yowch. That sounds painful, so why am I grinning?
“Later,” I promise with a wink that does nothing but cause the muscle in her cheek to twitch.
Truthfully, I’m glad for the excuse to focus on something that isn’t the way she melted into me back in the car.
I had only intended to kiss her briefly, but the little firecracker had other ideas, and I fucking loved it.
I’ll admit, the lines between my resolve and what I want from this woman are so blurred they could have been drawn blindfolded on an Etch A Sketch and I’m more than a little intrigued to spend a night in the same bed.
It’s like all logic and reason fly out the window when she’s close.
And that wouldn’t be concerning if I wasn’t a man governed by both of those things.
I don’t make decisions on a whim. Every move is calculated, weighed, and logical.
Yet one little whimper from the back of her throat and I wanted to drag her across the console and impale her on my aching dick.
I’m self-aware enough to see this for what it is.
An inevitable game of cat and mouse that’s bound to land us in hot water.
But I’m just intoxicated enough by her to be considering leaping into the deep end anyway.
Who am I kidding? The moment she taunted me on the plane, I decided that I wouldn’t give up until she was on her knees begging for my cock.
Consequences be damned. Jealousy from a woman usually irritates me.
The pouting, the passive aggressive sulking.
But there is something about that flash of fire in her crystalline eyes as she watched me interact with the hostess that made me want to beat my chest in victory.
“Chloe, take your nice young man up and show him your room,” her mom says, offering me a sly wink over her shoulder.
I smile back and it’s not forced. Her mom is like looking into a window of what Chloe might look like in thirty years—flaming auburn hair speckled with silver at the temples, those same ocean blue eyes lined from years of laughter.
She’s undeniably beautiful, and I suspect a little fiery when she wants to be from the way she kept her husband in check back there—just like her daughter.
“That’s not necessary, I’ll show him,” her dad—Pete, but I’ll call him Mr. Devlin if that makes him feel better about me being here—cuts in.
“Son, they’re engaged. Do you really think they’re not already bumping uglies?” Her Grandmother tuts, rolling her eyes at her greying son, who is glowering.
Chloe’s sister Tilly slaps a hand over her mouth and hides behind her brother's shoulders, which are shaking with silent laughter. She’s slimmer than Chloe, taller and more athletic, and her hair isn’t quite as fiery as my girl’s.
She’s pretty, but as far as I’m concerned, she doesn’t hold a candle to her fire and ice sister.
“Not that there is anything ugly about you, Sugar,” her Grandma adds, winking my way.
I decide here and now that I like the old broad even more than I first suspected.
I know I need to play this right to avoid all-out war with her father, so I force my features to remain an indifferent mask as I readjust my grip on our bags.
“Oh good. So glad we could cover that base,” Chloe says in a slightly hysterical voice. “Dad, stop acting like I’m sixteen. Grandma, behave yourself. Guerra, up those stairs.” She points one slim manicured finger at the white wooden stairs that scale the east wall of the sitting room.
“Yes ma’am.” I grin, turning on my heel and doing as I’m told like a good little fiancé.
The wood underfoot creaks as we walk up the stairs, the central runner worn from years of footsteps.
This home is the complete opposite of the houses I grew up in.
Manicured, polished, pretentious. No, this house is colorful, loved, and visibly lived in.
Pictures line the hall and I stop to peer down at the snapshots of happy family moments.
My eyes catch on the flame red hair of a little freckled girl scowling off into the distance on the porch step while the rest of her family grin for a photo.
“Okay, that’s enough.” She chivvies me on from behind, digging a firm poke into the base of my back.
“Cute,” I tease over my shoulder as we head for the indicated room at the end of the corridor.
I crack the door open and soak in a garish clash of colors and patterns, so busy it hurts my eyes.
A red shag rug, dark wooden flooring, blue wallpaper with splashes of yellow and pink and orange in the form of pinned ribbons and posters.
I step inside, noting that more than one magazine page of a half-naked man is tacked to the wall above an old wooden desk.
It looks like a teenage bedroom right out of a '90s sitcom.
“Did a funfair throw up in here?” I raise my eyebrows and turn to see her watching me cautiously from the threshold.
“My parents never changed it when I went to college,” she says evenly, her eyes narrowing. She seems to be grappling with something, her fingers curling around the doorframe as she loiters.
“What?”
“You look very…out of place,” she offers with the smallest flash of a tip at one corner of her plush lips.
“Oh, you mean butterfly clips and Missy magazine don’t look good on me?” I ask in mock surprise as I dump our bags on the bed and snatch up a copy of some teeny bopper magazine from the bedside table. She laughs, finally walking in and snatching it from my hand.
“I haven’t stayed here since high school, else I would have dumped some of this stuff.” She ditches the magazine in a trash bin and rounds on me with her fists on her hips.
“What now?” I laugh, matching her stance with crossed arms. Her eyes flicker down to my biceps and then away swiftly before that delicious blush pulls back into her cheeks. Oh yes, she’s definitely in the same boat as me.
“You should have backed me up out there, we could be happily on our way to separate bedrooms right now,” she grumbles, throwing herself down onto the pink and white check bedspread to stare at the ceiling.
“Maybe I didn’t want separate bedrooms.” I shrug, watching her scoff and roll her eyes.
My eyes fall to the bedside table on the other side of the bed and my feet carry me there in a flash, my hand swiping out to grab what can’t be…
a ceramic dish stuffed full of condoms. “Busy teenage years?” I ask, incredulous.
She frowns and sits, twisting to look at me.
Her eyes go wide and her lips pop open before she’s up off the bed and snatching it out of my hand.
“I’m going to fucking kill her,” she mutters and she’s off out of the door before I can stop her.
Seconds later, after her footsteps have softened to the other end of the hall, I hear a tinkling smash of ceramic and a high-pitched squeal, followed by laughter.
“Not funny, Matilda!” Chloe snaps, but it’s slightly muffled, followed by scuffling sounds and dull thumps.
I can’t help my grin as I follow the noise.
Why do I feel like I’m getting a snapshot into what life was like in this house fifteen years ago?
“What the hell is going on up there?” It sounds like her dad is yelling up the stairs as I round the corner to see two fully grown women wrestling each other on the floor of another teenage bedroom—albeit this one more classically decorated.
What makes it even more laughable is that Chloe's still wearing her smart little dress from work, but she’s lost a heel somewhere along the way.
“Yield!” Chloe screeches, pinning her sister to the floor that’s littered with condoms, her arm wrapped around her throat in a headlock. Heavy footsteps approach up the stairs and their dad comes into view, his grey brow furrowed.
“Your daughters appear to be in the middle of some sort of MMA fight,” I explain calmly, leaning against the doorframe as he peeks around to look.
“Never!” Tilly gasps, half laughing, half grappling with Chloe’s hold.
“You always were a stubborn little cow,” Chloe growls but I can see she’s smiling. Her eyes are alight, and she looks more alive than I’ve ever seen her, her flame red hair splayed around her face like a sun-kissed halo.
“For Christ’s sake, girls,” Mr. Devlin says weakly, scrubbing a hand over his face. Neither of us make a move to intervene. “Why are there…” His jaw hangs as he notices the neatly packaged contraceptives they’re rolling in. “Actually.” He pauses, holding both hands up. “I don’t want to know.”
“Wise choice.” I nod, fighting back laughter.
He levels me a sideways look and I feel like he’s weighing something. His shoulders deflate, and he slaps me on the back. “She’s your problem now, Zeke.” I chuckle as he turns on his heel and walks back toward the staircase, shaking his head all the while.