The cop nods, working his jaw back and forth. “Thanks, but maybe next time, just let us take care of things like this. You concentrate on taking care of your family, all right? Take care, buddy.” He pats Jake on the back and climbs into his vehicle.
Jake and I get in the truck and take off toward home. Ice rattles in his cup, the sound clearly indicating his beverage is gone.
“You drink all of that already?” I ask.
He squirms in his seat and furiously nods his head.
“You gonna make it home, or do I need to gun it?” I glance at him and give the accelerator a little extra gas, just in case.
“I’m good,” he answers. But the minute we pull into the driveway, Jake is out of the truck and running for the keypad on the garage door.
I unload the back of the truck, setting the table and planting crap to the side. The bench I hoist out and carry to the far back corner of the yard. I place it under the cherry tree Chloe insisted on and angle it so that, hopefully, at least a small portion of it will sit in the shade.
I turn my head at the sound of a small grunt to find Jake lugging the full bag of potting soil across the yard.
“Didn’t want to grab something a little lighter?” I ask.
“I can do it,” he says, heaving the bag to the ground, narrowly missing a mound of flowers Chloe planted last weekend. He lunges, catching the bag at the last second and flopping it in the other direction.
“Nice save. Let’s go haul the rest of the stuff and let Bronson out while we make this pretty for Mom.”
It doesn’t take all that long to move the side table back or plant the flowers in the pot. The lady at the garden store had me take a picture of what the finished product was supposed to looklike, so when all is said and done, it looks slightly better than a hack job slapped together by an unsupervised bachelor and a kid.
“Hey, that looks kinda nice,” Jake says with authority, his hands propped on his hips. “We make a good team.”
“That we do.” I glance at my watch. Several hours have passed since Chloe left this morning. “Your mom should be home soon. Let’s go swap out cars real quick.”
I gather up the trash from our planting project and head around the front of the house to see Chloe stepping out of the driver’s side of Maggie, her huge tote bag hanging from her shoulder.
“Hey. That took some time. I didn’t realize she was that dirty.”
My gaze wanders over Chloe, noting that, while she looks fresh, her hair damp and face scrubbed clean of any makeup, the car she took for detailing doesn’t look any shinier than it did before she left. The muscle in my jaw pops as I work through how to ask where the hell she’s been all day. I pull my shoulders back and blow out a breath, preparing to ask, when Chloe sighs.
“Shit. I can’t do this.”
My heart stops, dread filling me. With my sunglasses in place, I have the advantage of cataloging her body language, picking apart each shift and movement to try and determine the depth of her deception.
“I don’t want to lie, but I can’t tell you everything. I didn’t get your truck detailed today. I thought I’d have time, but I didn’t. I’m sorry?—”
“No apologies. We’re not starting that shit up again. Where were you, Chloe?” I demand.
“Out,” she says, squaring herself in front of me. Whatever nerves she was toying with a minute ago are replaced with a confidence that I’d find sexy as shit if I wasn’t wondering whatshe had been doing and who she had been with that she needed to shower before coming home. “It’s a surprise, something special I wanted to do for you, but I can’t tell you about it yet. I need a couple weeks.”
“And you needed my truck for this?” I question, brows arched.
She pushes past me, heading for the house. “I did.”
I follow her through the garage and into the house. “Secrets don’t make friends,” I say.
Chloe stops and drops her bag to the floor. The clothes inside it shift to the side, giving me a glimpse of her fuck-hot bright red shoes, the white blouse, a neatly folded dark blue something that could very well be the skirt that perfectly molds to her ass—exactly the outfit I told her I’d jacked off to after dinner at Blake and Erin’s.
I can’t stop the smirk from spreading across my face. I don’t do anything to stop myself as I prowl across the room to her. I cup her face in my hands and kiss her hard and deep, swiping my tongue across the seam of her lips, demanding entrance. Devouring her. I hold her against me, reveling in the feel of her, in the way we’re connected. Her breasts smash against me, and our hips press into each other, my thigh wedged between her legs, tight against her core.
When Chloe is good and breathless, I murmur against her lips, “You’re fucking perfect.”
TWENTY-ONE
Chloe
