Reluctantly Yours(30)
“I’ve added you to my guest list.”
“So, when we break up, am I going to be removed?” I ask.
From the sign on the door that says Pro Shop, I can see our destination ahead.
“I hadn’t thought about it,” he says.
“The racquet club or the breakup?”
“Either.”
“Wait.” My footsteps slow and our joined hands pull taut. Barrett turns back toward me. “How are we going to break up?”
“I don’t know. I hadn’t given it much thought.”
“We are going to break up. Six weeks or as soon as your deal with Fred is done, whichever comes first. It’s what you wrote,” I remind him. I marked the day on my calendar. It’s a week before Lauren’s wedding. I remember the relief I felt when I realized I wouldn’t have to explain any of this to my parents. My fake relationship with Barrett will be in the rearview mirror before I’m back in Colorado.
“I’m going to vote for a conscious uncoupling that leaves me unlimited access to that reading room,” I offer.
Barrett’s lips quirk. He finds my arrangement amusing.
“What do I get?” he asks.
His eyes scan over my face.
“What do you want?” I ask earnestly because apparently negotiating is our thing.
Barrett’s eyes drop lower on my body. I swear I can feel the heat of his gaze all the way down to my toes. It happens so quickly, or maybe not even at all. I probably imagined it. Maybe he’s eyeing a mole on my neck. Yeah, that’s probably it.
His brow furrows in concentration. He’s trying to remember the name of the dermatologist he’s going to refer me to.
But then, there are those long fingers reaching up toward his mouth. I’m not imagining those. Two fingers slide across his bottom lip, tugging the flesh sideways. My eyes follow their path. It’s a slow seduction of my pupils. Is that a thing?
With that one movement, all the air gets sucked out of my lungs. Suddenly the two-thousand-square-foot space around us feels stifling.
Barrett’s lips haven’t touched mine in three days and suddenly that feels like an eternity. If his kiss on the cheek outside affected my lady bits, now they’re fully alert. And wet.
It makes no sense, but that’s what happens when he taunts me with his kissable lips and capable fingers. I’ll give up the reading room right now if he would just bend down and kiss me, press those skilled digits into my hair.
No, that’s not right.
I need to get my priorities straight. Minutes earlier I was telling myself not to be affected by Barrett’s appeal. There’s no heart behind those pouty lips and perfect smile. How have I forgotten so quickly?
The door to the pro shop swings open giving me a much-needed breeze of fresh air. And to remind me why we’re here.
“There you are!” Frankie exclaims when she sees us. “Is this skirt not the cutest thing you’ve ever seen? I just love tennis.”
And by cute, she means tiny.
If I felt overwhelmed by Barrett a moment ago, that’s nothing compared to the sensory overload that Frankie provides. From her perfume to her jewelry and makeup. It doesn’t matter that Frankie is in the requisite white skirt and tennis tank, the rest of her drowns out the boring tennis outfit.
Her fuchsia nails graze my back when she pulls me into a hug.
“Barrett.” She kisses him on the cheek. “Fred is in the men’s locker room getting changed.”
Barrett nods. “Chloe needs to get outfitted.”
“Didn’t realize we were playing today so I left my stuff at home,” I say.
Alana from the front desk appears. “Miss Anderson, sorry to interrupt, here is your guest key card,” she says cheerfully, handing me the plastic card. “Welcome to the NYC Racquet Club.”
Barrett clears his throat. He does that a lot around me. I’ve yet to decipher if he’s annoyed or amused.
“Ha ha, thanks, Alana.” I take the card and Alana floats away. “She’s funny. I forgot my card.” I motion to the card in my hands. “Isn’t she nice?”
Frankie smiles, oblivious to the fact that Alana is treating me like a new guest when I’ve supposedly been here many times.
“I’ll help Chloe pick out clothes and meet you out there.”
Frankie grabs my hand and pulls me into the pro shop. I follow along like a good fake girlfriend would and do my best to forget about Barrett’s lips.
CHAPTER 9
Barrett
A court attendant is feeding balls into the machine for Fred and me to warm up. Fred’s agility is impressive for a middle-aged, overweight man.
“Nice backhand,” I comment as we switch positions and I get ready to receive the next ball.
“I’ve been playing tennis every day,” Fred says. “It’s what keeps me fit. Frankie thinks I’ve recently lost weight.”
He pats his thick mid-section and I struggle to come up with a response that isn’t a bold-faced lie.
I didn’t like the way Chloe looked at me downstairs when she learned I would be lying to Fred and Frankie. Yes, sometimes I manipulate the truth in my business dealings. There is a gray area where the truth is not always necessary. Things that aren’t important, like whether my fake girlfriend is good at tennis or not.