Reluctantly Yours(60)

I watch Chloe slather a cracker with goat cheese then top it with prosciutto. It's another realization that makes me feel worse about the situation with Chloe. I try to push it out of my mind.

“You like to talk,” I say.

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s an observation. I have them as well.”

“What is your observation?”

“That the ping pong table is open and we should play.”

“Ping pong.” Chloe rolls her eyes. “What is with you and racquet sports?”

“I have excellent hand-eye coordination, agility and endurance.”

“You’re humble, too.” Chloe laughs.

I lead us to the ping pong table on the lawn, across from the seating area. There are other lawn games, bean bags, horseshoes, bocce ball, and a large chess board with two-foot-high chess pieces.

I lift the wine glass in my hand. “This will be my handicap.”

“If that’s the case, it’s mine, too.” She takes a sip of her wine.

“No, I’ll hold the glass with one hand. You can put yours down.”

“Oh,” she says, setting her wine glass on a nearby table. “All right, I’m ready.”

I serve. The ball bounces on the opposite side and right past Chloe.

“Maybe they have a puzzle we could do instead? I’m great at puzzles.”

“You can do it. You need to keep your eye on the ball,” I say.

“Eyes on balls. I should be good at that.” Chloe laughs.

I move to her side of the table.

“What are you doing?”

“Helping you with your stroke.”

I move behind her, placing my hand over hers on the ping pong paddle. My chest presses into her back. She smells so good. Fuck. This was a bad idea.

“What were you saying about stroking?” she asks, the wine clearly making Chloe more relaxed. My brain immediately returning to this morning when she walked in on me in the shower.

“Get your mind out of the gutter and focus,” I growl in her ear, because my mind has been filled with all the filthy things I want to do to her all fucking day. “Okay, slow and steady,” I say as I guide her arm back and release the ball. We follow through and it gets over the net.

“I did it!” She jumps up and down.

“Hardly.” I hide a smile. She looks so cute celebrating. Come on, Barrett, get it together.

“I’m still going to celebrate.” She sticks her tongue out at me.

“Let’s see if you can return from an actual serve.” I leave her and head to my side of the table—hoping the semi-erection she’s given me isn’t noticeable.

I serve across the table and Chloe’s return hits the corner of the table before bouncing out of my reach and onto the ground.

Chloe celebrates like she’s won Wimbledon.

“Beginner’s luck.”

“I don’t think the girl that got smacked in the head with the ball the first time she played tennis has beginner’s luck.”

I toss the ball over for her serve.

Chloe serves it and I return it, then she barely gets it over the net and it double bounces before I can scoop it up.

The game continues like that.

And that’s how with wild, erratic movements and zero grace, Chloe beats me at ping pong.

“Are you sure you were trying?” Chloe asks, laying down her paddle on the table.

“Of course, I was trying. You know how much I like to win,” I say, setting my paddle down, too.

Chloe’s elated smile lights up the entire vineyard. When she directs it at me, heat radiates through my chest. It suddenly feels like there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to keep that smile on her face.





CHAPTER 18





Chloe





I’m having the best time with Barrett. I didn’t think it was possible. I didn’t think Barrett was capable of a good time, let alone having one with me by his side. Wine equals fun with Barrett.

“Let’s play a game,” I say.

“We’ve played every lawn game they have here.” He motions to the open lawn.

“No, I want to play a game that doesn’t involve that giant hand-impenetrable-eye coordination thing you’ve got going on.” I circle my finger in his direction, then lift myself up onto the wooden ledge that surrounds the winery’s yard. I’m just tipsy enough to not have a single care about the white pants I’ve got on or what my ass might look like when I get down from said ledge. “Something I might be good at.”

“You won ping pong. And you almost won bocce ball, until that last ball went rogue and decapitated one of the knights on the chess board.”

I want to pretend I’m offended, deny Barrett’s alleged claims that I am not the world’s most underrated bocce ball player, but Barrett is full on smiling now and my argument evaporates.

I like smiling Barrett a lot. So much so, that when he takes a step back, I grab a fistful of his shirt and pull him closer. A moment later he’s standing between my spread legs.

“Let’s play truth or dare,” I announce within inches of Barrett’s face.

“That’s what you want to play?” His lips twitch.