Get a Life, Chloe Brown (The Brown Sisters #1)(75)
“I get to live in my mother’s house while she sails the world on a piddling little boat with her third husband, Lee. Now, I know what you’re thinking—only three husbands? But my mother was quite young when she had me, so she’s not as mature as you’d assume. Hopefully, by the time she hits her sixties she’ll have found a rhythm and will be on her fifth husband at least.”
“I’m sure,” Chloe agreed. “There is nothing wrong with being a late bloomer.”
“Certainly not. I myself, however, am a lost cause,” Annie said. “Thirty-four years old and not a single husband, divorced, deceased, or otherwise disposed of.”
“Me neither. I blame the modern age for an outrageous gap in my education. Schools simply aren’t providing their girls with the skills needed to acquire and eliminate spouses.”
“Hear, hear. So, since you, like myself, suffer from a lack of life insurance checks and/or alimony, what is it you do to keep yourself in chocolate biscuits and such?”
“I’m a web designer,” Chloe said. “I ought to give you my card. It’s not as good as yours.”
“Flatterer.” But Annie looked pleased. She had a Julia Roberts sort of mouth, so it was impossible to miss the smile she tried to hide.
Chloe found herself smiling wider in return. “And what do you do?” Because really, she’d been dying to know, and she still hadn’t allowed herself to look.
“I’m a lingerie designer,” Annie said.
“Goodness. That’s …”
“Your bra doesn’t fit, by the way.”
Chloe blinked and looked down at her own chest. “It—?”
“Sorry. Auntie always tells me not to say things like that. But you seem the type who likes to know what’s what.”
“I am. How can you tell it doesn’t fit?”
“Oh, please don’t worry, you look lovely. But I can tell.”
Chloe nodded. “So I don’t look as if I have one giant, central boob or anything?”
“Certainly not,” Annie said immediately. “Not at all.”
“Oh, good. Well, I suppose I need to go bra shopping, then.” An idea struck her, the sort she’d usually dismiss out of hand. The sort she’d be too afraid to say out loud, in case she was struck down and embarrassed. But Chloe was being brave, these days, so she pulled herself together and blurted it out: “Perhaps, at some point, you’d, er, be interested in advising me on …”
“I’ll come with you,” Annie said immediately. “Shopping. We’ll make a day of it.”
Chloe beamed. That had been easy. That had been beyond easy. “Wonderful. Yes. Let’s.”
Spending the day without Chloe had felt kind of like shaving off his hair. Or maybe Red’s appointment with Dr. Maddox was to blame for that. After two sessions in relatively quick succession, he wasn’t exactly enjoying therapy, but he was enjoying how much more he understood his own head. And, kind of like Chloe ticking shit off her list, he felt better every time he went.
He could say the same about the phone call he’d had with Vik, even though it had been about as easy as therapy. Telling his best friend he was ready to move on, to leap back into the real world independently and leave this safety net behind? That was one thing. Admitting to his boss that he’d been literally sleeping with a tenant? Not quite the same moment of brotherly love. But at least Vik hadn’t driven over to kick him in the nuts. That would’ve made Red’s plans for the weekend a hell of a lot more difficult to accomplish.
Now it was Saturday afternoon and he was standing on Chloe’s doorstep with two duffle bags, already smiling. He’d knocked, which meant he was five seconds closer to seeing her again. To hearing her voice, instead of imagining it as he read her texts. To touching her …
She opened the door.
The first thing he noticed was her eyes, bright and excited behind her glasses. Maybe because she wanted to see him, too. Or maybe she was unexpectedly buzzed about camping. She certainly looked prepared: her hair was in one of those fancy-looking braids he didn’t know the name of, and she was dressed in color-coordinated walking gear. Usually he’d miss her pretty skirts, but the leggings clinging to her thick thighs suited him fine.
“Stop staring at me, you pervert,” she said.
He looked up just as she launched herself at him. Between the force of Chloe flinging her arms around him, and the weight of the bags on his shoulders, it was a miracle he didn’t collapse. But he managed to stay upright, and his reward was her mouth: she kissed the hell out of him.
Reality shifted, shrinking to a fine point that consisted of nothing but her hands tangling in his hoodie and her tongue easing tentatively over his. She smelled like rain-scattered flowers and warmth and comfort and mindless fucking lust. He couldn’t hold her the way he wanted to, so he let his mouth speak for his occupied hands. He tasted her like sweet nectar, bit her lower lip, swallowed her soft little moans greedily. Then, after the shortest forever on earth, she pulled away. Broke the kiss. Rested her forehead against his and closed her eyes, breathing heavily for a moment. The sound of her panting made him smile.
She opened her eyes and murmured, “Hi.”
“Hi,” he replied, his voice rough. “I take it you’re excited to camp?”