CHAPTER 11
CHLOE DIPPED HER roller into the blue-gray paint and rolled a trial stripe of it onto the wall, excited at how well everything was coming together.
It hadn’t started out that way.
Ben had already left for work by the time Chloe got up. After last night, it felt odd being alone in his place. She wasn’t sure if it was the residual effect of their sorta-fight or just the inherent emptiness of the condo, but it had to change. Fast. They were only days away from the business dinner that could make or break Ben’s career.
And right now it looked like they were faking their entire relationship. Well, except for the sex. No faking required there. But orgasms weren’t the kind of proof they needed. As things stood, no one would walk into this empty bachelor pad and believe a happy couple lived here. Hell, she barely believed Ben lived here.
Ben didn’t think redecorating was important. He thought saying he had a wife was enough to convey stability, but Chloe knew better.
She might have rebelled against that life, but she was intimately familiar with the world of business dinners. It was all about appearances, about projecting a certain lifestyle. Every detail said something about what was happening inside a house.
Ben didn’t understand that yet, but he was going to when he saw the magic she’d worked today.
It had started with the modest hope of finding somewhere in the condo a throw for the couch or a photo for the wall—anything that would loan his place a little hominess. Instead, she’d found a trunk full of amazing stuff just sitting out in the open in Ben’s makeshift office.
It had contained a few fishing trophies that she’d displayed beside the TV, a homemade quilt in shades of blue that she’d draped over the back of his couch, and her favorite find—a bunch of incredible pictures from Ben’s youth.
She couldn’t decide which one of the photos she loved best. The one of a young Ben and his dad fishing at a beautiful lake with an amazing log cabin in the background, the picture of the two of them making faces at the camera from the box of a beat-up red pickup truck, or another of a teenaged Ben in his cap and gown with his father’s arm around him and pride shining in the man’s eyes.
That’s when she’d decided to go all out, because these beautiful memories deserved a room that suited them. She’d picked up some paint for a feature wall in the living room and an inexpensive bookcase that she’d assembled herself. She’d even swung by her place for a couple of throw pillows, some books, a box of candles, and a few framed pictures of her and her friends to add to the mix and help sell the illusion.
She set the roller back in the tray and took in the rest of the room while she waited for her test patch to dry.
She was proud of how much personality she’d imbued in the room for a mere sixty-seven dollars and a couple of hours of her time.
And once she finished painting this feature wall, she could hang a few more photos and they would have a hope in hell of convincing his bosses that this relationship wasn’t a sham.
Ben might be the ultimate ad exec, but if being raised by Fiona Masterson had taught her anything, it was how to be the woman behind the man.
And everyone knew that was the important part.
* * *
“CHLOE? I’M HOME, and I’ve got pizza!”
Ben’s meeting had gone really well and he’d managed to tie up things at the office more quickly than he’d anticipated. It was only seven o’clock and he was already done for the day.
The door had barely shut behind him before he was struck by two things: the distinct chill in the apartment and the unmistakable smell of paint.
Chloe glanced over her shoulder, and pulled the bud from her ear. “Sorry. Music.” She removed the other earbud. “Didn’t hear you come in. Surprise!”
Ben walked right into the middle of the room, the pizza forgotten in his hands. “That is…blue. Like, blue-blue. I’m talking really blue.”
“You’ve got a real way with words, Masterson. You should write poetry in your spare time. Flight attendants the world over will swoon. More than they already do, that is.”
“Why are you painting my wall blue?”
“It’s not blue, it’s arctic mist.”
“Why are you painting my wall arctic mist?”
“Because it’s going to look great.” Chloe set her roller in the paint tray and turned to face him. “This is an intervention. I’m trying to save you. I mean, I consider it a miracle that you haven’t shriveled up and died of beige yet!”
His eyes flitted through the room, barely able to track all the changes. “Where did you get my grandmother’s quilt? And my dad’s fishing trophies?”
Then he caught sight of his graduation photo. On a bookshelf he’d never seen before. “What have you done?”
Chloe looked taken aback. “I redecorated.”
“What the hell for?”
She frowned. “This is what I wanted to talk to you about over breakfast yesterday. Your bosses are never going to believe we’re married.”
“Sure they will. A lot of people already do.”
“Right, but we were out. Maybe they’d believe us if we were having the dinner at a restaurant. But they’re coming here,” she said in a tone that suggested he’d just been checkmated in the argument.
“So?”
“So? This is not the house of a happy couple, Ben. It’s the house of a robot. You have a couch, a TV and a gaming console. Even frat boys put up some pictures of naked ladies making out!”
“That still doesn’t give you the right to go snooping in my personal stuff. These pictures? The trophies? This quilt? Did you ever consider that they were in that trunk for a reason? You had no right to do this. Any of this.”
“Ben, I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”
“No. You didn’t think. You just did. You never make a plan, you just act.” Ben raked a frustrated hand through his hair. “I can’t deal with this right now.”
He dropped the pizza on the counter as he walked back out the door.
Ben pulled out his phone, dialing as he took the elevator down to the lobby. “Hey, you busy?…Yeah, great. I’ll meet you there in about ten minutes.”
The air was frosty as he stepped out of his building and followed the sidewalk north. Ben jammed his phone and his hands, in the pockets of his jacket and tried to concentrate on the traffic rumbling along beside him, because if he didn’t keep his mind occupied he found himself ruminating on what an ass he’d just been.
She’d just caught him by surprise. He hadn’t seen a lot of that stuff for years, had kept it out of sight in that trunk because he didn’t want to think about the people he’d lost. He felt enough pressure to perform, to achieve, without constant reminders of them everywhere.
Ben pulled open the door to O’Malley’s Pub & Grill and stepped into the cozy restaurant with all the enthusiasm of a prisoner headed for the gallows. Calling Oz had been instinctual. Just what he always did. In the moment, it hadn’t felt weird. Now, with the meeting imminent, he was acutely aware that he hadn’t seen his best friend face-to-face in over a year. A couple of texts and the odd phone call. That was what twenty-five-odd years of friendship had deteriorated into.
The bar was dim, your typical brass-rails and dark-wood dive, with stained-glass dividers, beer ads lining the walls, and the requisite pool table and dartboard. There were four large-screen TVs mounted strategically throughout the room, and each and every one of them was tuned to a different sports channel.
Oz was at their usual table in the back corner. Well, it had been their usual table when they used to get together to watch Seahawks games regularly. Ben returned his wave of welcome and headed over. The waitress made eye contact with him as he was pulling off his coat, and Ben motioned toward Oz’s beer. She nodded.
“How’ve you been, man?”
Oz stood and shook Ben’s hand, punctuating it with a slap on the arm. “I was surprised you called. I thought you’d forgotten about me now that you’re Mr. Hot-Shot Business Man.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. Work has been crazy. I’m up for this big promotion and the hours are insane.”
“Oh, yeah? Good for you.”
“Haven’t got it yet but it comes with a raise and a nice bonus. I was going to use it to put a down payment on the cabin.”
“Are you serious?” Oz grinned. “Man, I used to love it when your dad took us to the lake to fish!”
Ben had, too. Of course, they hadn’t been on the ritzy side of the lake, the one with the big rustic cabins. They’d been on the public side, casting into the water and hoping for trout. From their secret spot, they had the perfect view of this gorgeous cabin—the biggest one—across the way, and Ben’s father would spin tales about how great it would be if they lived there. He spoke of silly things, like fishing from the balcony, and encouraged Ben, and Oz when he joined them, to add their own fantastical details, as well. Those were definitely some of Ben’s happiest childhood memories. They’d kept up the tradition until he’d started college and been too busy to join his father.
Too busy doing things he couldn’t even remember anymore. That’s how unimportant they were. And now Ben would have traded almost anything to go back and make better use of the time that had run out too soon.
The waitress appeared with his Heineken, and Ben took a long swig.
“The girls miss you.”
Oz’s reference to his daughters brought a sad smile to Ben’s face. “I miss them, too.”
“Also, Jill made me promise to invite you to Amy’s birthday dinner tomorrow.”
“Oh, my God. She’s what, five now?”
“Yeah. And a real handful.”
“And? How’s the team doing this year?” The flash of hurt in his friend’s eyes made Ben realize he should know. A real friend would know.
“I like our odds for making the playoffs. I’ve got a good bunch of kids this round.” In addition to teaching chemistry, Oz was the junior varsity men’s basketball coach. “But you didn’t invite me here to talk high school basketball.”
“Yeah, it’s… I just didn’t know who else to talk to. I did something intensely stupid on that business trip in Buffalo…”
Ben hit the high points of the past week and a half, and by the time he got to Saturday night’s looming dinner party, Oz was laughing at him, as he always used to do. It felt good. Like the relief of finding something you didn’t even realize you were missing.
“Are you messing with me? Your bosses actually think you’re married?”
“What can I say? Go big or go home, that’s my motto.”
“Well, as far as fuck-ups go, this one’s pretty major.” Oz scratched his chest. “But it’s pretty cool that this girl had your back during such an epic caper, despite barely knowing you.”
Ben couldn’t help his smile. “Yeah. It kind of is.”
“So apologize, man! Who cares if she moved some stuff. I’ll bet that fancy high-rise condo of yours still looks exactly the same as it did the day I helped you unpack your couch and flat screen.”
Ben scratched his eyebrow. “Not anymore. Now the wall is ‘arctic mist.’”
“So you’re pissed that she painted your wall?”
Ben realized how feeble that sounded. “And she opened the trunk.”
“Can I be honest?”
“Sure.”
“Ever since that thing with Mel, you’ve been different. No—” Oz cut Ben’s protest off before he could make a sound. “Hear me out. Before Mel, you were easygoing, you laughed, and you never missed our weekly one-on-one game. Then she shut down your proposal and it fucked with your head. Of course it did! But you’ve been a different guy since then. And I’m not saying that’s all bad. You’re making good coin, you’ve got nice things, that’s cool. But it sounds like this Chloe is helping to put some color back in your life, and that’s great. You need that. I mean, your dad, your grandma, what good are their memories if you lock them up in a box?”
A profound question. But one that maybe Chloe could help him answer.
* * *
SHE COULDN’T SLEEP. Chloe was sitting on the couch in her pajamas, wrapped in a throw blanket, staring blankly at the TV.
She’d been in the shower when he’d come home. She’d known because his shoes were by the front door and his bedroom door was closed, even though she’d left it open earlier.
Fighting with Ben had caused a jumble of emotions to bounce around in her chest Pong-style, and she was currently veering between frustrated, anxious and sad.
She’d admitted that she’d gotten carried away. The trunk hadn’t been hidden, so she hadn’t thought twice about checking inside it, but she could see how Ben had found it intrusive.
She started to sigh and stopped herself, remembering the moment on the plane when Ben had noticed how often she—how had he put it?—sighed maniacally.
Grabbing the remote from the coffee table, Chloe flicked off the annoying infomercial for a blender. She’d made it this long without juicing anything, so why start now? Besides, she needed something stronger than juice. This situation called for the hard stuff.
She padded barefoot into the kitchen, pulled the ice cream from the freezer, and tugged off the lid, before rummaging through the drawer for a spoon. She wasn’t sure if it was movement or a noise that drew her attention, but when she turned, Ben was standing in the doorway. He wore nothing but white boxer briefs, and his hair was mussed in a way that suggested some one-on-one time with his pillow. Chloe couldn’t remember being more attracted to anyone in her whole life.
A warm heat throbbed to life low in her belly. Ben stepped closer, then closer still, and her hands fell limply to her sides. She didn’t hear the clatter of the spoon over the thudding of her heart.
It happened in a fraction of a second, the counter suddenly boring unyieldingly into her back and Ben’s mouth ravaging hers without a hint of the sweetness she’d come to expect from him. This kiss was raw, hungry, and she found herself panting in her attempts to keep up.
Chloe clawed at his shoulders, climbing his body so she could feel him between her legs. His hands left her breasts just long enough to grab her by the backs of her thighs and hoist her onto the edge of the counter. They both groaned as their bodies aligned, his cock pressing against the damp crotch of her panties, and she rocked her hips, wanting more.
He tore his mouth from hers to divest her of her Vote Nixon T-shirt, then invaded her mouth again. Chloe whimpered. God, the man could kiss.
Then he lifted her from the counter, one arm clamped around her waist, the other raking up her spine until it was buried in her hair. Chloe ran her hands across his back, reveling in the flex of his muscles as he carried her out of the kitchen.
She kissed him with all the lust coursing through her veins, attacking his mouth with a desperation that made him stumble. With a growl, he shoved her up against the wall in the living room, and Chloe moaned as their bodies slammed together with the force that she craved. She tightened her legs around his hips and fisted her hands in his hair as he trailed his tongue behind her ear and down her neck.
Somehow they lurched their way down the hallway and into the bedroom. When they reached the bed, he set her on the mattress on her knees before joining her. Their eyes met.
Gently, he reached out and brushed the pad of his thumb across her lips. She stopped its progress with a flick of her tongue, and when Ben’s eyes darkened she sucked his finger into her mouth.
With a curse Ben grabbed her, pushing her back toward the pillows. Suddenly he was on top of her, his weight a welcome burden because she craved the pressure of his erection between her thighs and his chest against her breasts.
She pushed his boxer briefs down as far as she could manage, watching unashamedly when he stood to divest himself of them. He leaned over her to kiss her stomach, yanking her panties down her thighs. Chloe thought she might orgasm from the sheer anticipation of his hot, wet kisses on her clit as they slid closer, closer…
When he pressed his mouth to her, she moaned, digging her fingers into the bed and lifting her hips, giving herself over to him. She writhed, desperate to prolong the sensation yet aching to hit the peak. The sweet pressure building in her body finally crested and broke over her in a warm rush of pleasure that stole her breath.
* * *
BEN KISSED HIS way up her body, loving the little sounds she made in the back of her throat. He nuzzled her breast, sucking her nipple into his mouth. She was so responsive, twisting with need all over again as he ran a palm over her ribs, the dip of her waist, her hip.
“Ben, I want you inside of me.” Her voice was low and throaty, and he couldn’t resist the pleasure of giving her what she asked for.
Her breath caught as he pushed all the way in, and she moaned, her hand on his neck, the arch of her foot stroking up and down his calf. He rocked against her, and the sweet, sliding friction of their bodies turned sharp. He drove his hips harder, spurred on by the hitch in her breath and her nails biting into his shoulders.
“Ben, please,” she begged, nipping his earlobe and sending lust crashing through his body. Her hands were everywhere, his arms, his back, lower still.
She pulled him in tighter, trying to force him deeper. He knew she was close, so close, and he poured all his focus into making it good for her, into sending her over the edge.
Only after he felt her release did he let himself go, joining her in a blindingly pure orgasm.