by Lisa Suzanne
I don’t miss how he says the word first there, like this is all leading to some destination that we’ve already both agreed upon.
Now that Gavin decided to run away and ignore me completely for the last few days, my choices this weekend suddenly seem much clearer.
I used to love surprises until the morning I found out my dad had been cheating the system and stealing from his clients which ended up taking away the entire future I’d planned for myself. I suppose something like that would make anyone a little skittish. But I lie anyway. “I love surprises!”
He smiles. “Good. And I hope you’re hungry, because we’re starting with...” He trails off and walks into the kitchen. He opens the oven and pulls out two plates before setting them on the kitchen table. He grabs two plates from the refrigerator, too.
“Have a seat,” he says, and I do.
I look at the spread in front of me: a classic Caesar salad, champagne chicken, green beans almondine, and fingerling potatoes.
My jaw hangs open a little as my eyes meet his, which twinkle at me. “Oh! Almost forgot.”
He grabs a pitcher from the refrigerator and pours out two glasses. He hands me one, and I take a sip.
“Holy shit, Chase. An exact replica of our prom meal, down to the peach punch.”
“I wanted to recreate one of the best nights of my entire life,” he says softly, those crystal-clear blue eyes focused on mine.
I think I actually melt a little at his sentiment. “It was one of my best nights ever, too,” I say softly. Memories of our prom night got me through the darkest nights. I remember my mom telling me once that prom is never what you dream it will be, and she was right. Mine was so much more.
It was one of the first nights I physically felt the love between Chase and me. We’d experimented with sex for nearly two years, but that night he made love to me. He cherished me. He made me feel like whatever distance came between us wouldn’t matter because he and I would face it together and make it through stronger.
And that’s why it was such a shock when only two months later, he ended things.
It’s why our ending has always felt so wrong to me.
And here he is today, trying to right those wrongs in the way he knows how.
We eat our dinner and we talk about that night—who we rode in the limo with, where everyone went afterward, our favorite songs from ten years ago. Somewhere in the middle of our meal, my phone buzzes in my pocket again with another text, but I don’t bother to check it. It’ll be there later.
He brings out the same turtle cheesecake we ate that night. While I indulge, he excuses himself to make a quick phone call, and I take the opportunity to check my own phone.
I have two missed texts.
The first one—the one I felt at the airport—is from Rose.
Rose: Did you make it to Denver okay?
The second one, naturally, because of course he needs to throw a wrench into my night, is from Gavin. My heart races as I open the message, and by the time I’m done reading it, I’m trying to hold back the emotion threatening to fall from my eyes.
Gavin: I’m trying to give you space to figure out what you want, and since you’re in Denver again, that leads me to believe you want him, not me.
He’s been quiet because he’s trying to give me space...and I’m here with Chase, thinking about getting into bed with him when my feelings for Gavin are still unclear.
I start to type out a reply to placate Gavin—to let him know that I’m still not sure, that I haven’t made any firm decisions—but Chase comes back into the room. I slide my phone back into my pocket even though I know that leaving Gavin hanging is the exact wrong thing to do here. He’ll assume he’s right if I don’t get back to him. Even worse, he might assume I’m too busy in bed with Chase to text him back. But surely I’ll get the chance to send a text a little later.
When I glance up, I notice the cloud surrounding him and the expression in his eyes.
Sadness.
“Chase, what is it?” I ask.
“My mom. She’s having some side effects from the radiation and she’s back in the hospital. It’s sort of like pneumonia, I guess.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say. I stand and walk over to hug him. “Where is she?”
“Beverly Hills.” He doesn’t move to hug me back, and I back away from him to give him some space.
“Do you want to go see her?” I ask.
“Of course. Dad says she’ll be okay and not to come, but I hate that she’s dealing with this and I can’t be there. Besides, I need to be at camp tomorrow.” He sighs, and I grab his hand and walk him over to the couch. We both sit, and I hug his arm between both of mine.
“Tell me about camp,” I say, going for distraction.
He launches into the finer details about what his camp actually does for kids in Denver, and it’s easy to see the passion he has for not just the sport, but for training kids. I could picture a future where he’s coaching our kids’ little league teams or later their high school teams.
It’s a great distraction from his sadness and his worry even though I know it’s still there, and I can’t possibly add to his emotional distress by talking more about my feelings for another man even though we haven’t really gotten a chance to talk it over.
Besides, this time together feels...familiar. It feels like our past, but it’s not—it’s our present. It feels right, like this is how things are supposed to be as we sit side by side, his hand on my thigh or linked with mine or tossed around my shoulders as we sit for hours talking about our respective experiences teaching kids. It’s interesting how many similarities there are from teaching to coaching. Eventually I start yawning, and he chuckles. “Am I that boring?”
I shake my head. “Fascinating, but I did get up early this morning for school.”
He smiles. “Then let’s go to bed. I just need to make a quick call in my office.”
I think we both assumed the night would end much differently than it does...and maybe that’s something I can still control.
He heads down to make his phone call, and I strip down to my panties and wait for him to come back to me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: CHASE
I blow out a breath as I collapse in my desk chair.
I’m exhausted from keeping up this act.
Tonight was a breakthrough, though. I almost had her in my bed when I saw the text from my dad. I called him back immediately, and that’s when I found out my mom was back in the hospital. I couldn’t go forward with bedding her when I had my parents on my mind.
Despite that, though, I had a nice time with her tonight. But I’m not looking for a nice time. The Chase of a decade ago might’ve settled for that, but the Chase of today wants action and excitement. I’m not the guy I was when I was with her, and pretending like I haven’t improved over the years as I try to be the dork she fell in love with in high school has been nothing short of grueling.
I grab my phone and reread Drew’s text.
Drew: Call me. I have news and I need an update.
I dial Drew’s number as I stare at the closed door of my office. She’s asleep upstairs, so it’s not like she’ll overhear this conversation.
“Camden, tell me you’ve sealed the deal,” he answers. It’s loud wherever he is, like he’s out at a club or at a party...somewhere I should be tonight rather than calling it an early night after just talking with the girl I’m dating.
“Working on it.” I stare at the photo on my desk, the one Drew dug up and placed there for me should Delaney come into my office. It’s from the night I recreated tonight, our senior prom. It’s not our official prom photo—it came much later in the night, a candid shot I took of the two of us. It’s just our faces, but we were naked in bed together, and our expressions say that we were both freshly fucked and satisfied. Those days were good, and even tonight I felt a snippet of it coming back, but I can’t lose sight of why I’m doing this.
“I need you to work fa
ster. This idiot from Snaps is insinuating she’s with Brooks, so I need you to step up your game before it hits the major gossip rags.”
I let out a hiss of a laugh. “I didn’t think it would require this much effort.”
“Neither did I,” he admits. “When I dug shit up on her, everything pointed to the fact that she was still hung up on you after all these years. Come on, man. Turn up your charm or fuck her until she can’t see straight or do whatever it is you do to get women to drop their panties for you.”
“I tried ramping it up tonight and then I got a call from my dad,” I admit.
“Your mom okay?” he asks. He knows everything about my life...in fact, he might be the only friend I have anymore aside from my teammates. And sometimes I wonder how genuine his friendship really is given the fact that my success pays his salary.
“She’s back in the hospital. Dad said she’ll be fine but I’d still rather be with them.”
“I’m sorry, man. Camp tomorrow?” he asks, suggesting that’s the reason I can’t go.
“Yeah. The only reason I’m still here.”
“Hope she’s out fast,” he says.
“She will be.”
“Good. And I have one more thing to tell you.” The background gets a little quieter, like he’s moved away from the crowd to tell me whatever it is he’s about to say. That must mean it’s confidential. “I got some insider information today that another scandal is breaking tomorrow. Some player in Seattle was apparently caught on video assaulting his date on an elevator.”
“Jesus,” I mutter. What the hell is with these guys? How fucking hard is it to respect women?
I realize even as I think it that I’m manipulating a woman, which isn’t exactly respectful...but it’s a far cry from assault.
“That just means it’s even more important for you to keep your image squeaky clean, Chase. No more skirt chasing the sexy blondes, you hear me?”
“I haven’t,” I protest. “Not since Savannah the night of the reunion. And one other chick, but it’s a friends with benefits situation and I trust her.”
“You don’t trust anybody but me. You got it? Keep it in your pants unless it’s for the girl from high school.”
“Delaney,” I say automatically, a streak of guilt rushing through me as the single word falls from my tongue.
I brush off the guilt.
I get why we’re doing this—because we have to.
Scandal after scandal has rocked the league, and Drew can get me a shitload of endorsement money if I come out looking like the golden boy. What better way to do that than, in Drew’s words, with a wholesome girl from the past who’s a dirt-poor teacher now?
I’ll look like I’m saving the world one teacher at a time. All the big sports companies will be fighting over me, which means my fees will go up, which means both Drew and I will get paid more. It’s a win-win for us.
Not so much for the wholesome girl from my past.
I’ve only got two problems now.
I don’t know how much longer I can keep up the act, and I don’t know how I’m supposed to convince her that I’m the right one for her when I have to battle against Gavin Brooks for her heart.
But I’ll figure it out, and I’ll win.
I always do.
To be continued in INTERMISSION: LOVE TRIANGLE BOOK 2
Coming September 12, 2019
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Thank you for reading Interception!
If you enjoyed this book, check out Take My Heart, the #1 bestselling rock star rom com from Lisa Suzanne. Click here to read it free on Kindle Unlimited.
TAKE MY HEART: A PREVIEW
©2018 LISA SUZANNE
1
“It’s not even a contest.” Brody looks over at me, and I laugh and shake my head.
“There’s no way your tolerance is higher than mine.” Rascal is badgering him into some new pissing match, but we all know how this is going to end...likely with Rascal tossing his cookies into some bushes behind the bar.
Brody just gives him a look of sarcasm that basically says yeah, okay, but Rascal won’t back down. He never does, which is one of the things I both love and hate about the guy.
“Prove it.” Rascal’s red curls are flying all over the place, and it’s actually fairly symbolic of who he is: fiery and out of control. I’m just glad he’s challenging Brody to this particular dick waving contest and not myself since I’ll be singing in front of the crowd gathering at this very bar in less than an hour.
“After the show,” Brody says.
“No, man. If you’re such hot shit, prove it to me now.” Rascal signals to Dinah, Emerson’s bar manager.
“I don’t owe you jack shit,” Brody says, narrowing his eyes at Rascal. I know him well enough to know for damn sure that as soon as his manhood is called into question, he’ll take the bet hands down. “But bring it the fuck on. You in, Dax?”
I shake my head. “You two fuckers enjoy. I’m out.”
“Pussy,” Rascal mutters under his breath.
I don’t get drunk before I take the stage anymore. I vividly remember the last time I did, and it was just after Kylie, our manager, started working for us a little over eight months ago. In my horribly hungover state the next morning, I clearly remember her throwing open my bedroom door, eyeing the woman in bed beside me with disdain in her eyes, and snarling at me about how unprofessional I’d been. She’d slammed my door, and when I finally got up the nerve to slink down to the kitchen, she was there, ready to lay into me.
She’d also brought me pancakes that morning, so I couldn’t be too upset...but as the coffee and syrup worked to cure my hangover, Kylie worked to build a fount of guilt inside me. She wasn’t doing it on purpose, but the things she said resonated with me: “You had a job to do last night, and instead of taking it seriously, you got wasted and you sounded like shit. Is that how you expect me to get MFB to the next level? You’re the leader, Dax, and I need you to act like it. You let the guys and me down.”
Those words replay in my mind every single time I think about having more than a few drinks before a performance. She’s right—the guys in MFB look up to me as a leader, and in a lot of ways, I am the leader. The other instruments are equally important, but if someone fucks a riff or misses a beat, it’s easily covered. If I miss my lyrics, apart from acting like it’s because I want the crowd to sing along, it’s pretty obvious.
But I’m not going to tell them what they can or can’t do. I tend to be more of a lead by example type of guy, so after my second Miller Lite, I tell Dinah to switch me to water and I watch as the two douchenozzles across from me order shots of tequila—the single quickest route to Drunksville.
Before their shots arrive, I casually ask, “How will you determine the winner?”
Rascal looks at Brody for a second and then back at me. “Whoever pukes first loses.”
I shrug and hold up both hands in surrender. “Your bet, dude.”
Just as Dinah brings over a tray with two tequila shots plus my water, Kylie slides into the booth beside me. The smell of coconuts immediately wafts to my nose, and I fight the urge to breathe it in more deeply.
“What the hell is that?” she asks, looking at the two shot glasses on Dinah’s tray.
“Tequila!” Dinah shouts gleefully in tune with the old song by the Champs as she sets the tray on the edge of our table.
Kylie glares over at me, and I hold my hands up defensively before I reach past her and grab my water. “This is my order.”
Kylie sighs and turns to me. “Some stupid pissing match, I assume?”
I shrug and lift my water in a toast. “It’s between them.”
She leans in a little closer to me, and my body immediately responds to her proximity. “You have the power to stop it. You know that.” Her voice is a liquid whisper in my ear and I push away the image of her talking to me in that same tone as we both lie naked in my bed.
“I knew you’d be here an
y minute to stop it for me.”
No Bang Oath.
I repeat those words in my head until my dick calms down a little. I hate taking the stage with a boner, hence the skinny black jeans I always wear on stage, those magic pants that do their best to hide what’s going on down below. It’s every rock star’s secret sauce.
Brody and Rascal throw back their shots much to Kylie's utter dismay. She looks over at me again and when our eyes meet, a surge of heat passes between us. She looks away first. “That’ll be the last one until after the show.”
“You’re not my mom,” Racal shoots back at her.
I finally step in. “She’s right. We have to be on our best behavior between now and the tour to prove to Ashmark we’re worthy of a recording contract.” We’re scheduled as the first opening act for the hugely popular band Vail on their next US tour, and if we’re successful, it could mean a possible record deal with the lead singer’s record label.
Brody nods and glances over at Rascal. “It’s so fucking on as soon as we’re off stage.”
I roll my eyes at them, but at least I appeased Kylie...for now. When I glance over at her, I find her staring at me with something akin to appreciation.
“Thank you,” she mouths. I nod and press my lips together before I look away.
She scoots out of the booth because it’s nearly showtime. We head back behind the bar, where we find the other two members of our band, Kane and Adam. Brody’s drums are already set up, as is Rascal’s keyboard. Kane grabs his bass while Adam and I grab our guitars. We run through our playlist and have a quick huddle, and then we take the stage.
I fist the microphone in one hand and stroke the stand with the other just like I always do. I glance around the crowded room as I fill the room with the lyrics I know by heart. I look at people dancing or singing along with me, but I don’t really see a single person. I’ve learned to block out everything except the music. My gaze settles on a blonde who mouths the words along with me. She’s wearing one of my signature t-shirts proclaiming she’ll be having breakfast at my place. She grabs her friend’s arm and squeals something about how I made eye contact with her, and I shift my gaze.
