Love, Chloe
Page 38

It wasn’t my place to ask him to take it down. I knew that. Especially not at this stage of whatever we were. Still, the thought of it being the first and last thing he saw every day irked me. “Have you ever thought about selling these?” I waved a hand in the general direction of the masterpiece above the bed.
Carter chuckled, pulling open a dresser drawer and taking out a white T-shirt, tossing it my way. “No.”
Short. Concise. I started to follow up the answer with a follow up question, but right then, at 10:49 PM, his doorbell rang. And any questions I had stalled.
58. Late Night Booty Call
I stayed in place on his bed, still naked, the sheet clutched to my chest, and listened. The one good thing about a New York apartment’s tiny size: ease in eavesdropping. I heard clearly the moment when he opened the door, and I heard the surprise in his voice when he said her name.
“Presa?”
I didn’t know why he was surprised. I saw the way she looked at him. More importantly, I saw the way she looked at me. Like I was an annoyance, something to squash just for the fun of it. I stood up and quietly walked to the door, my hand on the doorknob. I peeked through the crack and saw Carter, his boxer briefs and nothing else on. All I could see of Presa was the elaborate skirt of her dress.
“It’s not a good time,” Carter spoke quietly. “Which I’m sure you know.”
“Don’t be silly. I came by for a drink. It was so nice to see you tonight.”
“Chloe is here. My girlfriend? You met her tonight.”
The girlfriend reference again.
“Oh. The little blonde.”
That irritated me. Even more than the middle-of-the-night booty call. I looked for my dress but it was on the other side of the bedroom, hanging off a chair.
“You should go. It’s inappropriate, you being here.” He moved a little, as if to usher her out.
“I thought you liked a party.” Her voice sounded as if she hadn’t moved an inch. “She doesn’t like to share?”
“I don’t want to share. Or be shared. I’m not going back into that world with you, Presa.” He sounded tired. Poor guy. Discussing threesomes was probably exhausting. “Please leave.”
Yes Presa, I thought. Please leave before I run out of this room, completely naked, and smack that entitled smirk off your face. They were into threesomes? Any sexual confidence from our shower faded.
“Stop,” Carter spoke, and the word was muffled. I stuck my head out of the door to try and see what was happening, could hear the sounds of feet scuffling across the floor, and as I craned my neck, I could see Carter trying to push her through the door. With a yelp of indignation, Presa finally reached the hall, his hand shutting the door quickly, the latch flapped shut, and when he turned to me, I stared in shock at her lipstick, bright red on his mouth.
As a woman, I didn’t always act rationally, especially when it was a week before my period, my brain was still strung out from orgasms, and I was looking at another woman’s lipstick on my man.
And yes, Carter was my man. That was the first order of business that I was determined, right there in the middle of the night, to set straight.
“You told her I was your girlfriend.” The words came out like an accusation, and I could see the wariness in his eyes when he responded.
“Yes.”
“Am I?”
“Do you want to be?”
“Yes!” I snarled the words and he looked confused. I didn’t really blame the man. Most discussions of commitment came after champagne and roses and hot sex. And usually the person asking about the commitment didn’t sound like she was ready to join the WWE. “Do you want to be my boyfriend?” I stepped forward, my hands clenched at my side and his eyes dropped, for a minute, from my face. It hadn’t been my plan to have this fight while naked; in fact, it hadn’t been my plan to have a fight at all, but I didn’t bother to cover up. “Do you want to be my boyfriend?” I repeated, my words all but a threat.
“Yes?” The answer was a question, a healthy amount of fear in his eyes.
“Good.” I turned and stalked back to the bedroom, and it was around the time that I slammed the door, my bare feet stomping over to the bed, that I realized how mental I was acting. Had I really just gained a relationship? Or had I just beaten a distracted man into submission?
I crawled into his bed and heard the sink come on in the bathroom, some splashing. He was probably washing off her lipstick. I heard the sound of teeth brushing, and I felt relieved and irritated, all at the same time.
I realized, staring up at the ceiling, that my feelings were a little irrational. I couldn’t be pissed at him for Presa Little showing up at midnight. Not when Vic would have done the exact same thing. In fact, Vic had done the same thing, in Joey Plazen’s trailer, and I’d let him take it so much further. Granted, Carter couldn’t have had sex with her, not with me watching. I guess the real question was—if he’d been alone, would he have still pushed her out of his door?
I didn’t know the man well enough to know the answer to that question. Hell, I didn’t know myself well enough to answer that question. If I opened my door in the middle of the night and Vic was standing there, could I say with one hundred percent certainty that I wouldn’t kiss him? Or worse? Falling for one man didn’t safeguard us from the feelings we might have for another. If anything, the forbidden could just make temptation stronger.
I didn’t want to talk when Carter came back from the bathroom. There was just too much going on in my head. I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep. Did some mumbly groan thing when he gently touched my shoulder.
It was weak. I should have sat up in bed and had a conversation like an adult. Discussed whether he really wanted to be in a relationship or whether we should keep it casual a little longer.
Instead, I kept my eyes closed and my breathing regular and then, I really was asleep.
It was so different being with Carter. The only real relationship I could compare it to was with Vic, and it was so different from that. Now, I wasn’t even sure that I ever loved Vic. The man who’d broken my heart, who I’d struggled against for over a year, and it might not have even been true love. It was a scary thought. Because of this—if what Carter and I had was stronger, then that meant the fall would be harder. And right now, I felt so brittle. So exposed. So afraid.
In this state, I understood why I always ran back to Vic. His world was safe and easy. This new one was terrifying. Beautiful. Liberating. I swallowed my fears and moved toward it.
Too bad for pesky loose ends. They tangled up my steps.
The sun was actually shining. After days of rain, it was worthy of a celebration. Or a free breakfast, courtesy of my favorite actor in the world. I walked into Joey’s trailer, all sunshine and happiness and encountered a face that, very clearly, communicated his lack of love toward me.
“What? No love?” I dropped my arms, which had been outstretched in prep for a hug.
“I heard you’re dating Carter.” He all but bared his teeth at me.
News traveled fast. “Yes.” I stole a croissant from a box on his counter. Seriously, I could live in his trailer. Meals and snacks delivered four times a day, a masseuse on call, a giant bed for naps … I’d be set and happy.
“I thought you were getting back with Vic Worth.”
My mouth never made it to the pastry. “What? Who said that?”