Chase threw himself back on the bed, lying flat and cursing into the comforter beneath him. This meant, he thought to himself, that he'd have to get past the awkwardness he still felt towards Katy, after that night out when he kissed her.
It wasn't going to be fun - but he couldn't see any other possible answer to keeping her quiet. If he leaned on Benson, the owner, to fire her, Benson would demand an explanation. That could lead to more problems, possibly even to Katy pressing charges.
He had to keep things quiet - and get closer to her.
One pillow remained on the bed. Chase grabbed it and punched at it, over and over, until the pillowcase ripped and feathers flew out, covering the room. He kept on punching until the pillow was little more than fragments in his hands, the entire room covered in a layer of feathers from his destruction.
Breathing heavily, he stood up, turning towards the minibar. Right now, he thought to himself, he needed a drink.
And then, he needed to place a call that was sure to be profoundly awkward.
Chapter eleven
I was sitting at home, staring blankly at my laptop, when I heard my phone buzzing.
I reluctantly tore my eyes away from the animated gif of a kitten meowing over and over that I'd been watching, grabbing my phone off of my desk. I looked at the number, my eyebrows climbing in surprise.
Why in the world was Seth Chase calling me?
A half a dozen scenarios flashed through my head, some of them much more embarrassing and potentially disastrous than others. He couldn't stop thinking of me and wanted to take me out on a date. He'd been arrested, and needed me to bail him out. He'd just killed a hooker, and he needed my help to make sure that none of the paparazzi found out, so that his name would stay out of the papers. A former one night stand had just contacted him, confessing that she was pregnant and demanding obscene levels of child support in exchange for her silence on the kid's father.
I grimaced at the thought of these scenarios. Please, please, let it just be a butt dial, I thought fervently to myself, crossing my fingers, before I swiped across the screen to answer the call.
"Hello?"
"Hi Katy." Definitely not a butt dial. At the sound of Chase's voice, I couldn't stop myself from picturing his face, those bright blue eyes. For a moment, my brain threatened to also recall how his kiss had felt, but I slashed that thought to ribbons.
"Uh, hi." He'd said that already. Shit. "What can I do for you, Chase?"
"What are you offering?" Even over the phone, I swear that I heard his lips curling up into that self-satisfied smirk, like a cat with a mouse trapped under its paw. "I can imagine quite a few things you can do for me."
"I can hang up whenever I want, Chase," I pointed out. Of course, I wasn't about to do so, but I could still drop the threat.
"Right. Listen, I've been rather distant for the last few days - I think that maybe we started off on the wrong foot," Chase said next. He didn't actually apologize, but his voice sounded contrite.
"You mean, how you kissed me in that club?" I asked.
I heard a sound at the other end of the line that could either be a cough or a hastily suppressed laugh. "Yeah, that. Maybe we could get together again, have dinner or something. I really did like talking to you."
I considered this request. To be honest, I actually found that I did want to have dinner with the man again! Of course, a little part of me also wanted to push my tongue down his throat, but I told myself that this wasn't on the table as an option. "I suppose that I could be convinced to have dinner with you," I allowed.
"Great. How about at Burch Steakhouse, downtown?"
I grimaced at the thought of the cost of a steakhouse in downtown. "Any chance that you can pick up the tab there? Remember, I'm not getting paid millions for my job."
"I can pick up the tab," he said. "But in exchange, I get you for the rest of the night."
"Not happening."
"Twenty minutes, steakhouse bathroom."
"Not a chance."
"Ten minutes, back of the cab. You can keep your top on."
"You do know that I'm not going to say yes to any of these, right?" I couldn't help grinning at his determination.
"A guy can try," Chase fired back, not deterred in the slightest. "How about I get to pick the bar we head to after the restaurant?"
I considered this option for a moment. "No strip clubs."
"Dammit!" he pretended to curse, and I laughed out loud before I could stop myself. "But fine. I'll take that deal. See you tonight, let's say at seven."
"Wait!" I called out, before he could hang up. "What's the dress code at this place? Should I wear something fancy?"
"Preferably very low-cut," he replied immediately.
"Just for that, I'm wearing my biggest and puffiest winter coat."
"Ooh, it's like getting to unwrap a present," he said. "Let my hands figure out what sort of treasures are hiding beneath the puffy coat."
"You're terrible," I told him, still smiling. "I'll see you at seven."
I hung up the phone, setting it down on my desk and staring at it for a minute. It wasn't until I'd hung up that it started to sink into me just what I'd done.
I'd just broken my declaration - again! I'd agreed to go out on a date with Chase, one of the football players that I was supposed to be nothing but professional with!
Maybe this wasn't a date, I desperately thought to myself. Maybe he just wanted to get to know me as a friend, since we'd had such good conversation last time we were out-
-yeah, right up until he kissed me hard enough to make my toes and fingers curl up.
Besides, I added, his conversation on the phone with me, his flirting, definitely didn't feel like what happened just between friends. Friends generally didn't try to convince each other to share a quickie in a steakhouse bathroom.
For a moment, I considered calling Chase back and telling him that the date was off, that I had some unexpected conflict come up. I suspected, however, that he would see right through any of my excuses. And besides, he'd just suggest that we reschedule for the next night - or the next, or the next...
Okay, canceling was out. I'd just have to show up, I decided, and convince him that we shouldn't be dating, that nothing would happen between us. All I had to do was look into the man's sexy face, those engaging blue eyes, and tell him that, despite how sexy he looked, and how much I thought about the kiss we'd shared, nothing was going to happen between us.
Sure. No problem.
Slowly, carefully, I lowered my head down until my forehead thumped against my desk. I closed my eyes for a minute, feeling the cool wood pressing against my forehead.
After a couple of minutes of gently bumping my head against the desk, however, no new ideas had come to me, and my forehead was starting to ache. Instead of continuing to risk giving myself a concussion, I stood up, looking around my little apartment.
Burch Steakhouse, a quick Google search revealed, was definitely a swanky sort of place. I headed over to my closet, opening up the folding doors and staring into the row of clothing, searching for something appropriate. After pulling out and discarding several other possibilities, I finally dug out a little black dress from the back. I'd picked it up at a half-price sale a couple of years ago, but had never found the right opportunity to wear it since then.
Frowning, I held it up in front of my figure in the mirror. I considered returning to my closet, but I knew that I didn't have any other options.
"Here goes nothing," I said, stripping down and pulling the dress on.
After I got it zipped up, I examined myself again in the mirror. Actually, I gave in, I didn't look too terrible. The dress definitely showed off my cleavage, a bit more than I preferred - but maybe that would distract Chase enough for me to put my foot down and tell him, politely but firmly, that we should just be friends.
I tried sitting down on the edge of my bed, observing that the hem slid a little further up my thighs than I'd expected. I rubb
ed my hand over one of my legs, noting the prickly hairs poking into my palm, and sighed. If I wanted to wear this out tonight, I'd need to hop in the shower and shave my legs a bit further up than the calf.
I wiggled my way back out of the dress, setting it down on my bed so that it wouldn't get wrinkled from sitting on my floor. I checked the clock - about an hour until I'd have to leave to get to the steakhouse on time.
Better get going then, I thought to myself with a sigh, and headed for my bathroom.
Twenty-five minutes later, I climbed out of the shower, my skin soft and newly depilated. I ran one hand over my legs, admiring their new smoothness. Why didn't I shave my legs all the way more often?
My fingers, sliding over my leg, bumped against some of the little cuts down around the knee, where shaving got tricky. I sighed. Oh yeah, that's why.
I turned back to my closet, managing to find a white button-up sweater that didn't show any obvious stains or holes. I pulled it over my shoulders, turning back and forth in the mirror. Okay, this could work. Given Chase's height, I could probably get away with heels. I dug them out from the bottom of my closet, wincing as I squeezed my toes into them. It had been too long since I'd last worn them, and I already knew that my feet would be killing me by the end of the night.
Swapping the heels for flats and picking up the heels by their straps (I'd change into them at the restaurant), I headed out of my apartment and down to my car. Plugging the name of the restaurant into my phone's GPS, I headed out to grumble my way through Sunday afternoon traffic.
By the time I found a parking spot in one of the downtown lots (a whole twelve dollars for evening parking! Criminal!) and tottered my way down to the restaurant, I was running a good ten minutes late. I entered the restaurant and took a moment to try and regain my breath, praying that Chase was also running late.
"There she is! Glad you could make it!"
Shit. I straightened up, still breathing heavily after my dash down here. "Hi, Chase, it's good to see you," I said evenly.
At least, that's what I intended to say.
Instead, I got out "Hi," and then the rest of my words caught in my throat as I caught sight of the man.
Chase looked... well, there was no way to deny it. He looked classy.
He'd traded in his jeans and jersey for a pair of black dress slacks, paired with a blue shirt that matched his eyes. He'd thrown on a sport coat over this ensemble, and even though his collar remained unbuttoned and his blonde hair looked slightly mussed as always, he projected confidence and sophistication, with that hint of a rough edge that every girl wanted in her man. I could see a couple middle-aged ladies sitting at the steakhouse bar leaning back dangerously far in their seats to check him out.
"Hi back to you," he replied, instantly taking in my agog stare. "Like what you see? Everything's on the menu."
It took me a moment to get enough moisture back in my mouth to respond. "Um, I'm on a diet. Just the food, I think."
"We'll see how you're feeling later," he replied, glancing over at the maître d'. "Let's grab our table, before they get tired of waiting and hand it off to someone else."
We followed the summoned host back into the steakhouse, and with each step further into the restaurant, I felt more and more outclassed and underdressed. Everywhere I looked, I saw red leather, dark wood, and oil paintings. I felt like I'd accidentally wandered into a Spanish royal palace.
"So glad that you're picking up the tab," I muttered, just soft enough for Chase to hear my words.
He smirked, but didn't reply.
Chapter twelve
"So, what changed your mind?"
Chase glanced up from his plate of food, his eyebrows raised. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, with all of this," I replied, gesturing around at the restaurant. I forgot about the bit of salad at the end of my fork and nearly sent it flying across the table, but managed to get my fork back down in time. "Inviting me out. You didn't even talk to me for most of the last week, before the game, and now, all of a sudden, you're laying on the charm. Why?"
Across the table from me, Chase chewed his bite of steak, taking his time to swallow before replying. He washed down the steak with a sip of whisky from the glass tumbler in front of him.
"Last week was... different," he said, picking and choosing his words carefully. "Most of the time, I don't exactly hold a sparkling conversation with the girls that end up coming back to my hotel room."
"I didn't come back to your hotel room," I pointed out.
He grinned at me. "The night's still young."
I kept my frown up, hoping that he couldn't sense my quickening pulse. "So what, you wanted to ask me out again because I didn't sleep with you?"
"Not at all. I wanted to ask you out because, of all the women that I've talked to, at least in the last year, my conversation with you has been the most interesting, by far. I wanted to know if that was just a fluke."
To my amazement, he sounded genuine. "You really liked talking with me?" I repeated hesitantly.
"Why's that surprising?" he asked.
"Well, you talk to a lot of women-"
"Talk," Chase repeated, holding up his hands in air quotes, and I burst out laughing at the sight. "Seriously, the conversation usually goes something along the lines of 'Oh my gawd, you're famous! Like, can we come see your sweet pad at the hotel? I bet football players know how to partay, huh?'" He imitated the 'valley girl' accent perfectly, and I had to lift my napkin up to cover my mouth for fear that I'd spit food across the table.
"Okay, okay, not a lot of deep conversation at the clubs," I gave in. "But all of a sudden, you're wanting to change your wicked ways?"
"I figured that, this way, we both win," Chase replied. "I get to have a better class of conversation than what I generally get out at the clubs, and you get to keep an eye on me, up close and personal, to know that I'm not committing any indecencies to get my pictures in the tabloids."
He did have a good point, I admitted to myself, and I wasn't just saying this because I wanted to spend more time with this handsome, sexy specimen of a man. "Okay, I give in," I finally said. "I'll stick around. What do you want to talk about?"
Cutting another piece of his steak, Chase shrugged. "I don't really know," he reluctantly said after a minute. "To tell you the truth, I'm not great at the small talk, when it's not about football."
"And I think that we're both sick of talking about football," I finished that sentence. I cast my mind about for a new topic. "How about your childhood? You're from Michigan originally, aren't you? Played for Michigan State?"
"I'm flattered that you memorized so many facts about me," Chase joked. "But yes, I grew up in a small town, in Northern Michigan, right on Lake Superior."
"How was life growing up?"
He sat back for a minute, considering the question. "You know, I can't complain much about it now," he admitted. "I mean, I didn't have the perfect childhood, but who did? I spent a lot of time out in the woods, just wandering around in nature. I used to practice running football plays in this field full of boulders and trees, and I'd dodge and duck around them like they were members of the opposing team."
I smiled, imagining a smaller version of Chase playing football out in a field, ducking around trees and pulling spin moves to avoid boulders. "Wait, so you weren't the most popular kid in school? Homecoming king, dating every single cheerleader?"
"As if," he laughed back. "No, I don't think I even had a girlfriend until college! I'm a perfect example of a late bloomer. In high school, even though I played quarterback on the team, I still couldn't hold a conversation with girls, and I wasn't famous enough for them to overlook that deficiency."
"Well, take it from me, even the popular kids had it rough," I replied.
"You were popular? Homecoming queen?"
I shook my head. "No, but my best friend, Miranda, was. Since I was her best friend, I got to hear about all the trials and tribulations of being adored."
> "Miranda," Chase repeated. "She came out with you at the club last week, didn't she?"
"If by 'came out,' you mean that she dragged me out despite my protests, then yes," I said. "She's always been the hotter one, the more outgoing one, the one that all the boys fawn over. She's a great friend, but sometimes it's tough being next to her and always feeling like I don't quite measure up."
I was amazed to suddenly realize that I had tears welling up at the corners of my eyes. I hastily blotted them away with a napkin, hoping that I hadn't ruined my makeup. I definitely hadn't intended to get so real with conversation tonight.
Across the table, Chase was looking closely at me, and I guessed that he'd spotted the droplets before I wiped them away. "Trust me, being in the spotlight isn't a great deal, either," he said softly.
"Yeah, yeah." I knew that he was trying to console me, but I'd heard it many times from Miranda before, and it never quite made the sting go away. I tried to put on a smile. "You should have seen her face when she heard that you called us over to your VIP booth because you recognized me, not because you wanted to talk with her. She definitely wasn't expecting that!"
Chase still wore a frown. "I still feel bad, now. What can I do to make you feel better?"
"You really don't have to do anything," I insisted. "Here, change the conversation. What did you do in college? When did your big break from unpopular to popular hit you?"
He leaned back in his booth, and a smile danced around the edges of his lips as his eyes unfocused. "It's weird, but I can remember the exact moment that it all sank in," he said after a minute. "Did you go to any fraternity parties in college?"
"A couple, yeah. With-"
"-Miranda, got it. Well, I remember being invited to one, as a freshman, after we won our first big home game. I'd never been invited to a party before, and I figured that I was only being asked because the fraternity wanted other members of the football team there, and that it would be rude to not invite everyone."
SACK: A Football Bad Boy Romance Page 7
