Leaning on the granite countertop next to Bowen, she holds her phone out so he can see, “I’ve tried resetting everything, but it still looks like it’s not even connected.”
Bowen stares at Barrett’s screen and then shoots her a sideways glance.
“What?” she exclaims.
Bowen presses his mouth together and motions for her to come closer. When she does, he drapes his arm around her shoulders and leans into her ear, “Are the robots beating you?”
“Shut up!” Barrett shrieks, whipping around and smacking him in the arm. Bowen flinches, snickering as she groans in exasperation, “Can you help me or not?”
Bowen motions for her to hand over the phone. She immediately drops it in his hand with a huff and then shoots him her own suspicious glance, “When did you start smoking, Bowen?” she asks in an accusatory tone.
Bowen glances up with a smirk, “I like to smoke a whole pack once a year to celebrate quitting,” he winks at her and lowers his eyes again.
“As long as you’re not starting again,” she shoots him a warning look as she turns to head back to the living room, “if you die from lung cancer, who’s going to fix my technology issues?”
Bowen leans back against the range and starts tapping away at Barrett’s screen, “In that case, I promise I won’t.”
“Oh!” she cries, drawing Bowen’s attention again, “speaking of issues, do you know anything about wall outlets?”
“Like what?”
“Like I plugged in my coffee maker, a flame shot out of it, and now it doesn’t work,” Barrett stares at Bowen expectantly.
After a few moments he shakes his head disapprovingly, “The robots are winning, Barrett.”
“I know, OK? It’s like everything’s happening at once. If my fridge stops working tomorrow, I’m just going to bed for the rest of the summer.”
Bowen lets out a chuckle, “You probably just need a new outlet. When will you be home?”
“I get up at 6:30, leave for work by 7:30,” Barrett runs through her schedule, “I don’t get home ‘til around five…” then she shakes her head dismissively, “I can just tell you where my key is if you’re free before I get home.”
“Here,” Bowen hands her the phone, “text me your address.”
Barrett takes her phone and shoots off a quick text before handing it back to him to finish trouble-shooting her doorbell camera. I’m still not paying attention to the show, I keep staring out the window at the sky, the pink clouds set on fire by the sunset. And clearly Barrett isn’t either, because as soon as she sits down, she begins telling me the story of her outlet sparking and scaring the hell out of her.
And I’m glad she does, because it’s a welcome distraction and she’s so tuned up about it that she doesn’t notice what a basket case I’m being. I can’t imagine what she’d say if she knew what was really on my mind.
A few minutes later, Bowen walks behind the sofa and drops Barrett’s phone into her lap, “It works now. You didn’t turn on your location permissions, so your geofencing wasn’t working. It thought you were still home.”
“Yesss…” Barrett hisses with relief, “Great, now if you come by tomorrow, I can have coffee and security,” she flashes a smile, “Thanks, Bowen.”
“Anytime,” he chuckles as she busies herself with checking her app again.
He continues around the back of the sofa, stopping to lean over my shoulder. He reaches around and curls his hand over the front of my throat, tilting my head back to look at him, “Can I kiss you,” he murmurs, hovering over my face, “or do I have to shower and brush my teeth first?”
I grab the back of Bowen’s head and press his lips into mine. He eagerly opens his mouth the second that he feels my tongue slide between his lips. And I love kissing him so much, I don’t even mind the bitter, acidic taste on his tongue. It’ll be gone soon, anyway.
Bowen moves his head to the side and leans into my ear, “I’m going to fuck you so hard tonight, baby girl,” he whispers with a grin, “I told Jay what you’re like. Now he wants to see it.”
My jaw drops and my eyes dart over my shoulder to Bowen. Before I can say anything, he stands up and saunters backward toward the hallway. Then he waggles his eyebrows before turning around and disappearing into the darkness. I turn back to the TV with an eyeroll. For once, I hope Bowen’s messing with me. Because, if that’s true, I can never look Jay in the eyes again. I cringe and laugh to myself. That can’t be real—for so many reasons.
What you’re like…
Maybe next time Bowen can leave his gun where it belongs and Colson can stop threatening to step straight into my relationship with Bowen. As if he hasn’t already…I can’t even think about it without my muscles tensing and starting to shiver as the adrenaline starts pumping through them. It feels like planets threatening to collide.
But one thing is for sure, I have to stop this. I have to end it.
Now.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Brett
One Year Ago
It doesn’t matter how many times I refresh my email, there still aren’t any messages from literary agents. It still hasn’t been that long—I know that. But I also don’t have any idea how this really works. Is it like college applications where you at least get a rejection letter, or is it like job applications where employers ghost you and you descend into HR hell? Maybe if I can keep fixating on my inbox and ignore everything else, I’ll be able to stay sane a little while longer.
There haven’t been any more smoothies appearing in places they don’t belong. Or creepy texts. Granted, every time my phone vibrates, I’m still terrified it’ll be a text from an unknown number. Colson hasn’t texted me in a while, either. Then again, he doesn’t text much, anyway—at least from his number. If he does, it’s usually random questions or Dallas asking him to tell me something. But, now, he’s contented to just see me at work, almost as if he prefers to speak to me in person.
But I don’t see him today, because I make a point to avoid him. Not necessarily because I want to, but because the more I see him, the more likely something incredibly inappropriate will happen. So, I bounce from office to office for half the day, spending most of my time in Abby’s office, until I finish my on-site tasks and flee back to my house.
I spend an inordinate amount of time trying to avoid things, whether they’re people or situations.
My mood improves significantly when I walk through the front door and lock the deadbolt behind me. Aside from the one morning I found the smoothie in the fridge, nothing too strange has happened here lately. If I can keep all the weirdness on the other side of the property line, I consider that a success.
When the front door opens unexpectedly, I glance at the clock in the corner of my screen and tilt my head back on the sofa cushion. It’s Bowen, and he’s home way earlier than usual. My mouth stretches into a broad grin as he drops his backpack next to the door and saunters into the living room.
“I still can’t get used to that,” he says as he collapses onto the cushion next to me.
