Chasing Frost

by Isabel Jolie

  “It’s steamy in there. The fan isn’t working. I need to get dressed out here.”

  He closes his eyes, and when he reopens them, it’s a different Chase. He avoids looking at me as he gathers his toiletries.

  “You doing work?” His laptop lies open on the bed.

  “Preparation for the worst.”

  He pulls the door closed, and I block it with my hand.

  “The worst?” I ask.

  “I’m lawyering up. If they plan on scapegoating me, I want to be prepared. Always gotta prepare for the worst.”

  He pulls the door while averting his eyes.

  I smile to myself. This guy, who goes to raunchy voyeur clubs and watches people have sex on stage, felt self-conscious looking at me wrapped in a towel.

  I slip into my sundress, blow out my hair, and dab on some make-up. It doesn’t take me long to get ready. It’s one of the benefits of a shorter hairstyle. I don’t want to be taller than Chase at the wedding, so I pull on the sandals I packed.

  He steps out of the bathroom, freshly shaven, with a towel wrapped around his waist. Shameless, I appreciate his form. His broad shoulders, well-defined pecs, his hard-earned six-pack, and the smattering of dark curls.

  “Like what you see?”

  “Yeah, I do.” I don’t look away. My body responds. Increased heartrate, elevated temperature, it’s more difficult to swallow. Without a doubt, I am physically attracted to him. I squeeze my thighs together and suck air in.

  He breaks the moment by looking away and gathering his clothes. I blink, and guilt rears its ugly head. I’m still on a job.

  As soon as the bathroom door closes, I fumble in my suitcase with the wire, toying with the device. It doesn’t seem to be functioning. I wiggle the wire connecting the transmitter and the battery pack. It’s tiny and should fit inside my bra, but the wire connecting the small battery pack is loose. I need tools to fix it. The shower turns off.

  I text Hopkins to tell him the device is broken. He doesn’t respond, but he won’t care. He already told me he doesn’t think I need to be on the case.

  The door handle jiggles. I toss it under my intimates and close the suitcase as the door opens.

  “The mirrors are too foggy to see. I’ll tie it when it clears out.”

  He’s wearing dress pants, another dress shirt, and a tie hangs loosely around his neck.

  I step forward and straighten the tie beneath his collar. In my flats, the top of my head reaches his nose. I look up at him and loop the silky material into the perfect knot. I rest my fingers along his chest and let them venture along his muscles.

  I raise my gaze from his tie. Dark, chestnut eyes take me in, stealing my breath. His head drops, and his lips press to mine. Timid at first, and then I open up. His tongue strokes mine, and he aligns my body to his.

  Thoughts circle. I shouldn’t be doing this. The room blurs, and I lean into him, lightheaded. He’s not a suspect. But I shouldn’t be doing this.

  He cups my ass, pulling me closer, eliminating any distance. My breasts press painfully against his hard curves. I wrap my arms around him and skim the tips of my fingers through his thick, dark hair. He tastes of mint, and he feels hard, strong.

  Don’t Stop Believing, by Journey, Chase’s ringtone, sounds through the room, and Chase pulls back. We’re both breathing heavily, our skin flushed. In all my life, I’ve never been so turned on by a man’s kiss. It’s probably due to the adrenaline pumping from doing something I know I shouldn’t do. It’s the only reasonable explanation.

  His chest rises and falls. He grasps my hips, holding me close with his hands and his heated gaze. He shakes his head once, then twice, and steps away to answer the call.

  Nineteen

  Chase

  * * *

  Maggie’s folks’ home reminds me of the house from Father of the Bride, a movie I saw ages ago when my mother and sister tag teamed and forced me to watch a classic. It’s a two-story, white clapboard home, with a black asphalt driveway on the side. A basketball goal rests at the end of the driveway. Cars are parked all along the street, and little signs direct us to the back yard.

  I don’t miss our friends’ reaction to me holding Sydney’s hand. Smiles and smirks. Yes, I’ve been telling them there’s nothing between us, but that was when I didn’t think Sydney had any interest in me. I still think she’s way out of my league, but that kiss. It was even better than the one at the club.

  Damn. If we didn’t have a prior commitment, we would still be in that room.

  And after? I felt like I scored a home run and the stands erupted in applause. Like I scored the winning goal in the last two minutes of a soccer game. Like I made the shot from the three-point line. That kiss showed me I have a chance with Sydney Frost. From here on out, I’m putting on my A-game, and I’m going for it.

  We follow Sam and Olivia into the back yard. White foldable rental chairs are lined up on each side of the aisle. There’s a wedding arch set up at the end of the chair-created aisle, wrapped in sheer white fabric with a green and white flower arrangement looped through the curve of the arch. Buckets of daisies mark the end of each row of chairs.

  Sam leads us to the groom’s side, and our crew fills up an entire row of chairs. Sam disappears to find the rest of the wedding party, as he and his brother Ollie are both groomsmen. Even though they’re groomsmen, their matching ties are the only indication. I told Sam he’s a lucky bastard. When I think back on some of the weddings I’ve participated in, where I had to wear the penguin suit and be in attendance hours before the ceremony, I just shake my head. Maggie is one low maintenance bride.

  The afternoon sun is setting lower, beginning to duck beneath the canopy of trees, but it’s still strong enough to make me wish I wasn’t wearing a suit jacket and tie. There are times when the ladies don’t know how good they have it. But when I look at the bombshell seated next to me, I don’t mind the suit so much. A-game, after all.

  I sit back, relaxing my arm possessively around the back of Sydney’s chair. She leans into me as she and the ladies chat about the flowers and how beautiful they think the back yard looks. I keep my cool, but I want to reach over to Jackson and tap him and say, Do you see this? She digs me!

  The acoustic guitar is joined by additional musicians, the music transitions, and the groomsmen walk down the aisle. They’re followed by Yara, Maggie’s old roommate, a pretty cool chick I’ve hung out with several times, and Zoe, Maggie’s sister. Zoe holds her daughter's hand but drops it midway down the aisle when the toddler insists on scattering some daisies along the way.

  The music transitions into a tune I recognize from my childhood. It’s Somewhere Over the Rainbow. I’ve heard this played at a wedding or two before. Sydney holds her fingers over her lips when Maggie exits the back door. She’s wearing a simple white dress and has flowers in her hair. I lean down and press a kiss to the back of Sydney’s head. I do it without thinking and freeze when I realize what I did and how it might come off. But she burrows against me and reaches for my hand, as if it’s the most natural thing. We’ve gone from a kiss to touching each other, leaning against each other, and linking hands.

  Sam’s father, Mr. Duke, is serving as the officiant. He speaks of love and what love means. I’ve never put a lot of stock into the concept of love. I’ve never been one to really listen during wedding ceremonies. But today, I listen. I even chuckle when Jason dips in for a kiss before it’s time and he’s reprimanded by Mr. Duke.

  Jason and Maggie have been through so much. I know most of their story. Best friends turned lovers. Her first love was his best friend. He died. They moved from college to New York together. In some ways, grew up together, if you consider you’re still growing up in your twenties. There’s a lot there that’s evident in all the emotion going on in their words. As I watch them, for the first time during a wedding, I find myself thinking, I want that. I want what they have. I want someone to look at me the way Maggie looks at Jason. The single life I’ve
clung to feels hollow.

  After the service, we all stand and slowly disperse farther into the back yard. They’ve set up a small bar to the side, but there’s also a table with pre-filled iced tea and iced water in mason jars. The bridal party has gathered at the end of the yard, and a photographer is snapping photos and shouting orders. The DJ takes over the music, and the photographer’s direction intermixes with the hum of conversation and the acoustic numbers I’d guess Maggie hand-selected.

  I leave Sydney to discuss the wedding with the ladies and head over to get us both some iced water. When I return with her glass, the others comment they want one too and drift away from us to the beverages.

  “What did you think?” I ask her, stepping close.

  “It was beautiful. Touching.”

  “Are you glad you came?”

  “Very.” She looks me in the eyes when she says it, and vibrations flow up and down my spine. A part of me resets, like a software program with an update. For all my hype about being the single guy, I’m absolutely okay with putting those days behind me. It’s life altering to come to that realization, to know I’m okay with handing in my single card.

  I strum my fingers along Sydney’s back, and she steps closer, wrapping her arm around my waist. I place a kiss against her silky hair, and this time, it’s right. She feels right. It’s way too early in the game to call it, to say Sydney’s the one. But there’s a possibility. And I’ve always been intrigued by possibilities.

  Maggie’s father steps up to the microphone. He thanks everyone for coming and informs us that Maggie and Jason are about to take the floor for the first dance, and they would appreciate everyone joining in.

  The Luckiest from Ben Folds Five streams through large black speakers, and Maggie and Jason take their place beneath a canopy of twinkling lights.

  Sydney watches with a tender smile.

  “May I have this dance?”

  Her smile widens, and I take her water glass and deposit it on the edge of a nearby cocktail table, then lead her to join others already dancing. I’m not a particularly mushy guy, but all sorts of things are going on in my chest and my brain.

  “I’ll always remember this,” I share.

  “What?”

  We’re almost eye to eye. She’s several inches shorter than I am in her flats, and I hold her close as we sway to the song, her cheek close to mine.

  “I’ll remember our first dance, to a song called The Luckiest. And I’ll remember the feeling I have right now, that I’m the luckiest guy in the world.” I lean down and place my lips on hers. A soft peck to share my emotions. I keep it appropriate to show her respect. And I hold her as close as I dare.

  “You barely know me.”

  “Yes. But I like what I know. You’re intelligent. Independent. A good person.”

  She steps back, not out of my arms, but creates some separation between our bodies, which I suppose is appropriate.

  “I like what I know about you, too.”

  “Tell me some things I don’t know about you, Sydney.”

  She doesn’t say anything, just gazes up at me. I don’t know if she’s lost in the music or debating what to share.

  I prompt her by asking, “What’s something about you that would shock me to learn?”

  “I’m a skilled marksman.”

  “Marksman. You mean like with a gun?”

  She giggles. It’s the first time I’ve ever heard her make that sound, and I dig it.

  “Yeah. With a gun. But I’m not bad with a bow and arrow either.”

  “Not gonna lie. Didn’t see that coming.”

  “You don’t like guns?” My expressions sometimes do give me away.

  “City boy, right here. We tend to frown on guns. Mass shootings, school shootings. We view those as bad things. Thugs have guns. Where did you say you grew up?”

  “My dad likes guns.”

  “Does he hunt?”

  Lines ripple across her forehead then flatten as she answers, “Yes. What about you, what would surprise me to learn about you?”

  I twirl her around to buy me some time to think about what I want to share.

  “I played soccer at the University of Minnesota.”

  “Really?”

  I nod. The ladies love the sports shit. Well, some do. Some want the always successful guy, the leader, the MVP. I don’t stand out as any of those things.

  “When I was younger, like elementary and middle, my goal was basketball. My knees are mangled with scars.”

  “From basketball?”

  “Yeah, it’s a tough sport for the short kid. I can’t even count the times I went sailing across the asphalt, arriving home with bloody knees.”

  She makes a giggly sound again, a light laugh, enough to let me know I’m entertaining her. I inch closer, holding her in my arms as we slowly step back and forth to the music playing in the background. Her hands lightly rest on my back, and I feel every place she touches me, my skin sensitized. The lights overhead grow brighter as the sun sets over the fields that Maggie’s parents’ back yard backs onto, and we’re one of maybe three other couples swaying to the music.

  The music transitions to another acoustic song, and before she can ask, I twirl her around and pull her back to me, careful to keep several inches between us, mindful others might be watching us, and not wanting to embarrass Sydney in any way. After all, the median age of most of the onlookers, sitting in chairs watching the dance floor, I’d guess is sixty-plus.

  “So, you wanted to be a basketball player but ended up a soccer player. And I’d guess you were pretty good if you played college.”

  Here goes. “I only played my freshman year. I wasn’t there on a sports scholarship, so it didn’t matter to my parents if I played or not. And I wanted a normal college experience, you know? When you play college sports, it’s still college. Your team becomes your family, and you get great experiences, don’t get me wrong. But I wanted the experiences of a normal college kid.” The overhead lights reflect on her dark mahogany irises, creating a shimmering effect. She’s gorgeous.

  “Didn’t like getting up at five in the morning?” she teases.

  “Nailed it.” I grin. She did and she didn’t. But if she wants to tease, that works.

  Her fingers graze the back of my neck, and goosebumps spread all across my body. I inch closer, close enough that if I leaned forward, our cheeks might collide.

  “I understand.” Her fingers venture higher, into my hair, forcing me to close my eyes to rein in my body’s reaction. “I wanted a normal experience at university, too.”

  “Did you not have one?” There’s a sadness to her tone that prompts my question, a glimmer of a past experience she’s considering sharing, and then a wall rises. Teasing Sydney returns so quickly I can’t be certain if she ever left.

  “Completely normal. So, what else, Mr. Wannabe Basketball Player? Anything else that would surprise me?”

  “I’m learning Mandarin.” Languages come easily to me. I didn’t go to school on a sports scholarship, but I did go on an academic scholarship. Being fluent in three languages out of high school definitely helps. Fluent if you consider scoring a three, or professional level, to be fluent.

  Her right eyebrow raises, and I know I made an impression. Maybe a bigger impression than when I shared my athletic prowess.

  “Your turn, Ms. Frost. Tell me more about you. What was little girl Frost like?”

  The corners of her full glossy lips lift, maybe in amusement. What I would like to do with those lips.

  “She was pretty determined. Focused.”

  “No. I don’t believe it. You? Serious?”

  She steps forward, closing the distance between us, close enough her curves brush my chest. We are aligned, and her lips are close enough to my ear that when she speaks, our cheeks brush and the warmth of her breath tingles.

  “I always knew what I wanted to be, and I had a singular focus.”

  “And what did you want to be?”
/>
  She takes a step back, and I miss her warmth. She removes her hands from my back and places them lightly on my shoulders, assuming a more distant position.

  “Come on, it can’t be that bad. What did you want to be? A singer? An actress?”

  “I am what I want to be.” There’s an edge to her tone I don’t quite understand.

  “Wait? You’re telling me you wanted to be an accountant when you were a kid?” Now that shit does not add up. I’ve never met anyone who wanted to…unless? “Were your parents accountants?”

  “My dad. I wanted to be like my dad.”

  “Ah. Do you ever thank him?”

  This time she laughs. A full-on belly laugh. The song ends, and Maggie’s cousin announces dinner is now ready. We’re having a buffet dinner outside by candlelight, augmented with white Christmas lights hung almost anywhere they could find. There’s a tree line that backs up along the end of her parents’ property, and then there’s a large field that goes on, almost as far as the eye can see. It’s not her parents’ property, but they know the owners and received permission to use the edge of the field tonight.

  The centerpieces on the tables in the reception mimic the daisies in glass mason jars, wrapped with tiny golden lights. We’ve fallen in line behind pretty much every other person. I’m not in a rush. I have Sydney to myself like this. The people in front of us in line are strangers. I reach for her hand and place a kiss on her knuckle.

  There’s surprise in her expression, and I lift my shoulders and search for something to distract her from my impromptu action.

  “Are you one of those girls who thought about what kind of wedding she wanted when she grew up?”

  “No.” She shakes her head slowly as she draws out the word. “You?”

  “I was never a little girl,” I point out.

  “No, I mean, when you were a little boy, did you think about what kind of wedding you wanted?”

  “Oddly enough, I guess yes, to some degree. My family tends to throw big weddings. Cocktail hour. Menu options. The second round of desserts sometimes late at night. Groom’s cakes. I guess to some degree I’d think about what I liked at a wedding and what I didn’t. I’m a big fan of groom’s cakes.”