Bro Code(9)

“Well, we might as well head out now,” Barrett says, downing his coffee and placing both of our empty plates into the dishwasher. “Do you want to grab a coffee to go?”

His concern for my caffeine intake is sweet. Either that or I'm totally losing my mind. “Good plan,” I murmur, helping myself to one of my dad's stainless steel mugs.

I grab the keys to Dad’s truck off the hook and toss them in Barrett’s direction. “I’ll navigate if you drive,” I offer.

Somehow, putting me behind the wheel with Barrett riding shotgun sounds like a recipe for disaster. Add the snow and ice on the roads and I’m practically guaranteed to fishtail. How could I keep my eyes on the road when six inches to my right is the star of my teenage sex dreams? Who am I kidding, he was the star of last night’s sex dreams, too.

Barrett grabs his trim, black coat off the back of a kitchen chair and I can hardly believe how handsome he looks in it. Suddenly, I completely regret packing my classic wool winter coat. It’s two boxes over from my freaking vibrator. My puffy jacket may be practical for Indiana winters, but it’s not doing me any favors in the sex appeal department. I skip the hat to keep from looking like a complete snowman and we’re out the door.

The first half of the drive to the party store is relatively quiet aside from me providing the directions. But my thoughts run wild and it’s hard to concentrate when I can almost feel his body heat radiating next to me.

I haven’t run errands in my hometown since I’d moved back from my apartment a few towns over, but I still have my bearings for the place. It seems like Barrett, on the other hand, has completely wiped his memory of rural Indiana and replaced it with Chicago train schedules. At every red light, he rubs his hands together to give himself a little extra heat. Half of me is tempted to reach over and offer to help warm him up, but the smarter half of me forces my hands into the pockets of my coat. Hands to yourself, Ava.

“Sorry you’re getting roped into all this party planning business,” I finally say, my best attempt at small talk to pull me out of my fantasy.

“No worries, I’m happy to help.”

Silence again.

Why am I totally coming up blank? There are plenty of questions I could ask. How is life in the city? How are things going at work? I’m frozen solid, and not just because of the cold. I’m afraid that if I open my mouth, I’ll ask the only real question on my mind. Will you show me what you can do with that glorious cock? Please.

“How is it taking over your dad’s business?”

Barrett with the save. I’m so grateful that he’s broken the silence that I hardly mind that it’s a question with an especially tricky answer.

“It’s good, but not exactly stable,” I admit. “The plant is pretty much breaking even at this point. Nick seems to think I’d be better off just selling the place since it’s not making much money, but I care about all the workers so much. Dad has worked with some of them since I was a kid, and I just don’t know what would happen to all of them if I were to sell. Plus, I like a challenge. It's exciting, you know? And having ownership in something—being the one to make the decisions, to call the shots. I love that aspect of it.”

I’m rambling. I didn’t realize how much I needed to talk about this. “What do you think?”

He’s quiet for a second, thinking it over, so I turn my head to look out the window to avoid staring too long. I shouldn’t have said so much. He probably thinks I’m crazy. After what feels like ten minutes but probably wasn’t even one, he answers.

“You’re levelheaded. I’ve always liked that about you. And I think what you're doing is admirable, for the record.”

I hang on to the word “always.” Did he even notice me in high school?

“Thanks,” I say, tucking my hair behind my ears bashfully. “Just trying to do the right thing.”

“Well, I’m a lawyer, not a businessman, so my version of the right thing might be different from yours. But I’m a strong believer in trusting your gut.”

He takes his eyes off the road for just a moment to lock eyes with me, his mouth curving into a soft smile. He is so handsome, that I can’t hold his gaze for more than a moment. “Tell me about your life in Chicago,” I say, hoping my attempt at small talk isn't as awkward as it sounds.

“What would you like to know?” His gaze remains on the road, which is good, because every time he looks at me with that compelling blue stare, my belly does this weird flipping thing.

I drum my fingers on my thighs. “Oh, I don't know. Hotshot lawyer, living it up as a bachelor in the city. Different woman every night of the week. It sounds awfully glamorous.”

He lets out a short laugh. “I don't know about all that. Mostly it's just a lot of work.”

“But you enjoy it?”

At this, he nods once, firm, like he doesn't even have to consider my question. “I enjoy the challenge, yes. But most nights I don't leave the office until nine thirty or ten. Sometimes later. If I’m lucky, I get home and nuke myself a frozen meal, half the time falling asleep on my couch before the damn thing's done cooking.”

I smile at the thought of this. The ultra-handsome, hardworking, young attorney passed out with his tie loosened around his neck, his dinner uneaten in the kitchen. It paints an interesting picture, and one I wasn't expecting. Most men would have tried to impress me, telling tall tales about their conquests—inside the conference room, as well as the bedroom. But not Barrett. He's one-hundred percent genuine, and I like that more than I should.