That was one way to put it.
"Look, mama! Pretty!" A little girl with soft blonde curls bent down to get a small one, and her mom tried to stop her, but she cradled it closer to her chest, like it was a treasure.
"It's okay," I offered with a small smile. "I wouldn't know what to do with all these."
He was sneaky. If he sent me my favorites, perhaps I would've told him no. But this way, he managed to get under my skin.
It was infuriating.
It was sweet.
God. I was so screwed.
* * *
My phone rang in my pocket, and I had a feeling I knew who it was.
"You like them?" Chase’s voice boomed when I picked up.
I was right.
There was vulnerability in his voice I hadn't realized was there before, and it only lowered my defenses against him.
The only thing I could think to ask was, "Would you believe me if I said yes?"
"Liar." I imagined him on the other hand, wearing a smile.
And because I couldn't help it, I asked, "Why? Did you just wake up and decide, 'hey, I'll send hate-flowers'?"
"Last night, in not so many words, you told me you didn't think you were worth it."
I couldn't find anything to say. He'd noticed. Did he notice everything?
Then he went on, “Would you have accepted them if they were roses?"
I went for honesty. "Probably not. Does that make me weird?"
"Not at all."
Haley cleared her throat, nudging me. "You can't pretend, Sherr. You were smiling, I think everyone saw that."
In nearly three weeks, Chase came over and slept with me, he kissed me, and he sent me a crazy amount of flowers.
That did not follow a logical order. It went backwards.
But regardless of sense or order, if he continued to follow the same pattern, I was afraid of what would happen to my heart.
Chapter Twelve
Holding on
“Why are we stopping over?"
We were on the way to dinner, closer to his house, when Chase stopped over at a donuts shop.
"I want donuts,” he declared.
Donuts? Why would he stop now for donuts?
When he came back, he was carrying a small box, and a paper bag stacked on top. He made a show of opening it and ate one, moaning. Oh God help me. I turned the radio on to drown out the sound. I was already hungry, and, well, he was an ass but he was a sexy ass, and he had no right to make those sounds.
The look he gave me said he was onto me.
He dropped a paper bag of something down my lap. I peeked at what was inside, and looked up, baffled.
"What is this?'
"A hotdog roll."
I rolled my eyes. "Why thank you, Captain Obvious. Why is said hotdog roll on my lap?"
"You're welcome, and you looked hungry. You know what dinner usually is, it’s never something heavy.” His grin was devastating. My pulse sped up.
Dinner with them usually involved soups, some toasted bread, and maybe some pizza.
"Ha ha." I bit one. It was so good. "Thanks," I replied. It was still pretty warm too. His gaze moved to my lips. I looked away, suddenly feeling conscious of it.
He cared about me. It was sweet and infuriating, but he could be really thoughtful and make you feel like you were special. And once, a while ago, I had been.
Except he wouldn’t talk about it.
My heart sank. I needed to prepare myself for what was coming.
* * *
Celine greeted me with a hug. “So glad to see you again, Sherr.”
“Are you crying?” I gasped.
What do I do? Why was she crying?
She shook her head, but rubbed her eyes. “Just really happy to see you. You’ve been missed,” she said warmly. Then she led me inside. “Come in, come in.”
Their house was a little different than it had been a while ago, but not overly so. The kitchen got an overhaul, and it looked more modern now, the counter granite. The floor was newly tiled, and a previous empty space that held racks of shoes now made into a smaller room.
By the time we had dinner, I was feeling more relaxed with Chase next to me. I didn't think those were two things I could associate with each other again until recently.
After a while, it was becoming apparent that Patrick Davis was the most vocal person at the table. He’d been ignoring me at first. When I got a piece of bread, I caught his attention, and it got ugly.
“So you came back,” he stated in a no-nonsense tone, his voice sharper. “After all this time.”
It was no secret that his dad wasn’t fond of me, mostly after the break-up. Patrick was kind, but he was a proud man, and he very much loved his son.
We got along fine in the past, but since the break-up, we mostly just stayed out of each other’s hair.
I said nothing.
I didn’t have illusions of what people thought of me. I didn’t expect some people would jump for joy with what I’d done. They saw what had happened, or they heard about it, but they didn’t really understand. But knowing it and having it happen to your face were two different things.
"So selfish, you never even thought of giving us a call to let us know you're okay. City girl likes the big lights and the chase. Don't care much for settling down, easily forgetting her roots. Don't think we don't know why you came back.”
At my confusion, he added, “Expecting to get that piece of inheritance you were left with.”
It flashed back in my mind, that single moment in his proposal, and the words that were about to spill out died. I didn't know what to say to him without making it all worse. The truth was I deserved it, every single thing he said. So I said nothing.
I felt Chase's eyes on me. I couldn't look at him. That was probably how he felt too.
Suddenly, there was no air. I stood up immediately, and all eyes went to me. I excused myself politely, cheeks flushing, before heading with the guise of wanting to get more cheese in the kitchen.
I heard the door open as I took a block of cheese out the fridge. I thought it was Celine who came in, but it surprised the hell out of me when I turned around.
"Why the hell didn't you say anything?" Chase pushed his hair back in frustration. "I know you didn't mean any of it."
I dumped the block of cheese on the counter. "What makes you think I didn't?" I blurted out, flustered.
His eyes blazed, and I couldn't read it. "I know you."
No, you don’t.
I shrugged and sliced a piece. Then another. I didn't realize how close he was until he slid a lock of my hair behind my ear. I shivered, and it wasn't from the cold.
He pulled the knife down. "Say something, Sherr."
I couldn't.
"Maybe I don't have anything to say."
"You're a liar," he accused. "You don't have anything to say Sherr? Then why do your eyes say what you won't with words?"
I closed my eyes, he nudged me with a shoulder as he took the block and pushed it away."Is there a point, Chase? Why try to change what people think of me? Do you know what I hear every time I shop? Or buy a drink?"
"There is a point. Because they're wrong."
How to explain? That it was that overwhelming guilt that stopped me from saying anything? That it was pointless, because they thrived on gossip and rumors, and I didn't want to fuel it. That maybe, just maybe, they were right.
"What if they're right?" my voice trembled.
He stopped and looked at me, astonished. "You believe that drivel?"
When I closed my eyes, it was easy to pretend that we were okay. But the past was there, like a wedge that wouldn't let the door shut. And we were both painfully aware of it.
"Maybe," I answered softly.
"Baby, you're worth more than that."
Then why did you not fight for me?
"Sure." Just words. They were just nothing but words.
I heard a curse before he demanded, "Why do you do t
hat?"
"Do what?" I asked, frowning.
"Why don't you believe a little in yourself?"
"I believe in myself."
He raised a brow. "You're being defensive."
"I'm not," I snapped. That's it. I was done. I set the knife down and wiped my hand on a towel. I was about to leave, when a grip on my hand stopped me.
"Do you remember what you said when I told you about Gem wanting to visit?"
I frowned and shook my head.
"You said you should've visited. Why do you blame yourself so fucking much?"
Every word stung. Because he was right, and I didn’t know how to respond to that.
I heard the door open, and his dad stood at the doorway, arms folded against his chest.
"Dad,” he warned. “She loved her. You saw her grieve.”
“I saw a woman who’s had a heart so hard, she didn’t cry.”
The callous statement left me frozen in shock.
“Patrick!” Celine cried, outraged.
“You’ve crossed the line,” Chase growled, his jaw set.
I felt so cold.
I had to get out. I needed air.
I needed space.
Because he was wrong. That I even cared what he thought made me mad at myself.
I was kicked down when I was already low, insulted, blamed, and I was so damn tired of it. I didn’t have it in me to fight and deny their accusations.
* * *
He followed behind me in his car. I slammed my door, and watched as he did the same. He followed me as I walked all the way to my door.
“Sherr…” He looked lost, like he wasn’t quite sure what to say. Then, “I’m sorry about what he said.”
He didn’t need to do that.
“You don’t need to apologize for him.”
“I’m sorry anyway.”
I fumbled with my keys. It slipped from my shaking hands.
Stupid hands. Why were they shaking? I wasn’t scared, exactly. Just… Shocked. That someone who shouldn’t have mattered could say something so cold, and still hurt me.
He bent down, passing them to me. His gaze swept over me. My skin tingled, my senses seemed on high-alert.
By the time I opened the door, he shot me with a look that said, ‘aren’t you going to invite me in?’.
Because I was an idiot, I let him in. And proving I was said idiot, I couldn’t help the next words that rolled off my tongue. I needed to know what he thought, how he felt. Because I hated that I hurt him, and some twisted part of me wanted to know if he hated me back. I took a deep breath.
“If you feel the same way as he does, you don’t have to hide it.”
A frown creased his forehead, and he clenched his fists. “How can you think I could stand here and not respect you?”
“You should go back, Chase. I’m tired of hearing what people think of me.”
“You don’t know what I think of you,” he challenged. He walked closer.
“I know enough.”
“I think you’re amazing. Passionate at what you do. You feel so much, baby,” he tilted my chin up until I met his eyes. “But you never let anyone see.”
My lips parted at his admission. It stirred something in me, something that recognized there was a truth in his words.
Damn him, he was right.
“No one can ever see.”
He lifted my chin up, his eyes met mine.
He saw. He saw a lot. Too much.
All of a sudden, his lips crashed against mine. Seeking. Inviting. A hunger rose inside me.
We moved until my back hit the wall.
He licked my bottom lip and sucked.
I moaned.
My hands gripped his shirt, and I didn’t know whether I was pushing him away or pulling him towards me.
My t-shirt landed somewhere. He swept a thumb over my nipple, and I moaned. My shorts slid down, his fingers grazing the skin of my hip.
He wasn’t gentle. His hands were everywhere. Hot. Sweeping through every inch of my skin.
His lips traced my throat, my shoulder.
“You still on the pill?”
“Yes,” I said, desperate, needing him like I’d never wanted anything in so log.
“Hold on to me, baby,” he said, sliding into me, and when his eyes met mine, it felt like a bolt of electricity leaped to my body, everywhere he touched. My breast. My legs. Everywhere. My body ached, a clawing need growing, needing to be sated. I yanked at his hair.
He didn’t sound so in control anymore, and that slip of control undid me.
“Fuck,” he growled, when he thrust, deeper this time, and hit an angle that slid him deeper in me.
“Chase,” I moaned.
I came hard, and it was a rush of pleasure so intense, I couldn’t help but let out a cry. My nails scraped just a little bit harder on his back, and he groaned and came along with me.
I said his name. I said I hated that he ended it. And then I said a bunch of other things even I didn’t understand.
His eyes widened. What did I say?
Then he started again, and it didn’t matter anymore.
It was tender. Gentler. Sweeter.
And for some reason, I had an overwhelming urge to cry.
Before I could help it, a tear escaped my eye, but I turned my head so he couldn’t see.
Hold on to me, baby.
Allowing myself to feel what I hadn’t in a long time, I did. And I never wanted to let go.
* * *
And with a realization that left me reeling, I realized one thing: I wanted him. Still.
That wasn’t supposed to happen. I didn’t come here to rekindle our relationship. I came here expecting to leave after a few weeks, and that was it.
It was like my brain just turned to mush whenever I was around him. I didn’t like the loss of control, but I was helpless against the strong pull between us.
I knew almost with a certainty that this wasn’t going to go anywhere good. And yet, still, I couldn’t help but think of last night.
It was fire, pure and simple.
But it was more.
I connected with him on a level I never had with anyone else. Before I knew it, it had turned into something else, something bigger. I didn't know what the hell to do with it.
* * *
Being in the same small space as him after last night, it felt as if it heightened my awareness of him, if that was even possible.
I went to my room we never made it to, as I wanted to grab my slippers.
“You can stay here if you want–” But it turned out it was unnecessary, because he followed me all the way to my room. “Never mind. Welcome to my room of doom.”
His eyes scanned the room cautiously “Should I expect spiders?”
I was unable to stop the grin that crept on my face. “Why won’t you come inside and find out.”
I had pens, notebooks, proof copies of my books strewn all over the foot of my bed. I’d been in the middle of one of my brainstorming moments before Chase rang me about the dinner.
He thumbed through a bound one and looked impressed.
“Character notes? Food they want to eat to clothes they like to wear? All color-coded too.”
“I lose track of details in the space of a couple of months, so I tend to write them down. That one was difficult to write,” I said as I saw him examining the folder. “It had an alcoholic father, so then I had to trace the family history. When they all pile up, I need the color so I can easily find what I’m looking for. I’m sure it’s here somewhere…” I rifled through some loose paper, and felt a rectangular lump somewhere underneath. “Bingo.”
“This is amazing.” There was awe in his tone, and I looked over my shoulder with a smile.
I was proud of my work. Maybe I've gotten too absorbed in it, but it was the only way I knew how to express how I felt without exploding.
"It's all I have."
A pause before he dropped it like a bomb. "You had me."
There it was. I knew it was going to bubble over at some point. It had to, to have been bottled up for so long. The tension was so thick, I think I stopped breathing.
He was going to talk about this now? After telling me to honor our deal?
“You want to talk about this now?” I found myself saying.
"You had me. Or maybe it hadn’t mattered all that much to you.” He kept his expression blank, and I felt as if he pulled the rug from my feet.
What?
It came to me all of a sudden, that time his dad gave him hell and I was running to get the groceries because my mom was working, and there was no more food stocked at home. We both stopped in our tracks, wide-eyed as if we realized at that precise moment what we had in common. It sent a shiver through me, like a moment our souls recognized its match.
Then the time he bought me cakes when I told him I've never had one for my birthday. He didn't laugh at me, or judge me and the type of family I had. And when my birthday came, he didn't just buy a big one from a shop and give it to me; he bought me eighteen cupcakes, all with a purple candle on them as he pressed me to make a wish, the first person who ever really let me dream. And I thought what I had was so precious I wanted to hold on to it tight, as long as I could, because he just wedged himself a little deeper in my heart.
We were good friends before we became anything more. He was everything, and yet he never knew or understood how deep that bond ran. How much it meant to me.
It all came rolling down on me, the weight of his words, and the meaning it implied.
Gem. Patrick. Last night. God, last night. I made a huge mistake.
I didn't care about him? I flung a pillow towel at him, but he put an arm up in time. A hand raised up defensively, blocking it.
"I cannot believe you just said that." I grabbed the other pillow and threw it next. Then I flung the tissue box. He dodged every one. "I held it in, because of your stupid deal. You told me not to talk about it, then you come and rip the wound right open. Congrats, asshole."
"Sherr–"
But I stepped away, like his touch would burn me. Because I suspected he would have, with just a single touch, scorched every inch of it, until all that was left were ashes.
Truce or Dare (Sweet Fortuity Book 1) Page 9
