by Tilly Kane
Charmingly Chase
ABCs of L-O-V-E
Tilly Kane
Copyright © 2020 by Tilly Kane
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
1. Chase
2. Daisy
3. Chase
4. Daisy
5. Chase
6. Daisy
7. Chase
8. Daisy
9. Chase
10. Daisy
11. Chase
12. Epilogue: Daisy
13. Epilogue: Chase
Thank you!
1
Chase
It’s been nearly four years since I’ve come to this bar, and yet it remains exactly the same. There’s something almost comforting about that, even as I question what the hell I’m doing here. Seriously though, I should have thought this through, but all I could think about was that it’s her birthday, and I’m finally in a place where I feel like I might be worthy of seeing her again.
So here I am, settling in atop a barstool and scanning the bar. I want to pretend like I’m not looking for someone, but I definitely am. How could I not be?
After about thirty minutes of nursing my drink at the bar, I start to accept that she’s probably not coming. Hell, she’s over 21 now, she doesn’t need to drink at a shitty bar whose only draw is that they don’t card at the door. She probably goes to real bars these days. It’s fine, definitely fine. I’m not going to sulk about it. I know it was a long shot anyway.
Just as I’m debating whether or not I should get another drink, the air in the bar shifts, and I know she’s here. To everyone else, nothing has changed -- there’s not like some proclamation from a celestial being that clues me in to the fact that she entered the bar. Still, I know.
If I close my eyes, I can just distinguish the fresh scent of lemons she always seemed to carry with her. I don’t let myself find her in the bar yet, just enjoying the knowledge that we’re in the same place for the first time in years.
In all of my hours obsessing about seeing her again, I still haven’t decided how I want to approach our interaction. Do I want to ease into it and pretend like our history doesn’t exist? Or, do I want to get that out of the way first, tell her I was an asshole, and then pray that she accepts my grovel?
In the end, I have no time to make a decision. I hear her laughter ringing through the bar, and suddenly I’m surrounded by it. She steps up to the bar, and I have to steel myself against the potent scent of her.
The memories come rushing back, and suddenly, it’s four years ago, and she’s fresh-faced and about to embark on her college adventure. I’m a jaded college dropout grumbling through leading a crew on a Habitat for Humanity build.
At first, I didn’t pay her any mind. She was just another bright-eyed freshman taking up space on my build and making it less efficient.
At least, that’s what I assumed. Until I saw her teaching the other members of the group how to hammer something appropriately into drywall. She was no-nonsense but patient, answering questions and showing off a proper technique. Hell, she was basically doing my job for me, but instead of getting pissed off, I let her assist me and made sure to include her in my demonstrations for the rest of the day.
The next day, I learned her name and the fact that construction runs in her family, and she’d been on job sites since she was old enough to wield a hammer. She made a stupid joke reference about the film Cool Runnings, one of the best movies of all time, and then the rest is history.
Except, here in the present, it’s not history. I fucked it all up and I’ll be lucky if she ever even looks at me again.
She’s leaning on the bar on the other side of the guy next to me, and I’m at once grateful for him and desperate for him to walk away. He starts flirting with her, for fucks’ sake, and then she does a round of birthday shots with him, the bartender, and her friends. God, she sounds so happy, but I still can’t see her face.
Finally, the guy between us moves away. I breathe deep for the first time, pulling in her scent like it’s the last breath I’m going to take. The bartender sets a drink down in front of her -- I know because I’m watching from the corner of my eye -- and she turns to walk away.
“Daisy,” I growl, low enough that she shouldn’t hear me over the crowd and the music. But I know she does. She hears me and, even better, she recognizes my voice.
I glance up as she turns fully toward me. My gut seizes as I take in her beautiful face. My Daisy is still absolute perfection. Her honey-brown hair is shorter than it used to be, hitting around her collarbones, still perfect and glossy as ever. She’s grown up now, for sure. It’s clear that she’s blossomed into an even more beautiful, confident woman than she already was. I want to kick myself for missing all this time.
The tiny gasp that escapes her tugs at my heart, but before I can do anything, the drink slides from her hand, shattering on the floor and sending ice and shards of glass everywhere.
And as I signal for a barback to help clean it up, she runs away from me.
2
Daisy
No no no.
I push my way into the crowded restroom and thankfully find an empty stall. I lean against it, grateful for the reprieve from everyone’s stares and whispers as I pulled a Houdini after dropping my glass.
In any other situation, I would have stayed to help clean it up. I’m not a monster. Even now, in the relative safety and anonymity of the bathroom stall, I feel a pang of guilt when I think about someone else cleaning up after me. It feels terrible -- selfish and childish and needlessly dramatic -- all of the things I hate and try to avoid in my daily life.
But, I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t stand there and let him help me clean up. I couldn’t be close to him, no matter how much I wanted to look into those bottomless almost-black eyes and confront the man who broke my heart.
He looks good. The bastard. Of course he does. Even that summer we first met, when I did a Habitat for Humanity build as part of my freshman orientation, Chase somehow always looked perfect even when he was wearing old jeans, ratty t-shirts and a hard hat. It should have been impossible, for someone to look that good in the dead of summer while wearing a hard hat.
And now? With the hard hat long gone, the ratty t-shirt replaced with a crisp button-down with the top few buttons undone, showing off his strong chest?
How fucking dare he. Honestly.
He’s not supposed to be here. I had managed to make it through all of college without seeing him again, and I guess I lulled myself into thinking I was safe.
I’ve been lost in my thoughts for too long, I know, because there’s a knock on the stall door that snaps me back to reality. I have no idea how long I’ve been standing here, lost and trying to decide just how long I can stay in the bathroom before trying to sneak out a side door and pretending like I never saw him.
“One second,” I call to whoever is waiting for me.
I vaguely register that the chatter in the bathroom has ended -- a near impossibility in a bar with this many drunk girls -- which means -- shit.
I take a deep breath and look down at the floor, bending over just a bit to check out the shoes of the person on the other side. I have no idea why I even bother checking. As soon as I registered the quiet of the bathroom, I knew it was him.
Hell, there’s part of me that knew he’d chase me after I ran away. There might even be part of me that wanted him to.
Wait no, definitely not.
He clears his throat. I hate ho
w my ears perk up, how I’m so hungry to hear and see and smell and taste everything I’ve missed since he’s been gone.
Not.
Happening.
“Daisy,” he starts, and he sounds so pained, it makes my heart hurt.
My god, get it together girl.
“It’s me,” he says, and it’s so ridiculous that I can’t help but snort out a hysterical laugh.
He exhales and I can hear the whisper of a nervous chuckle in his breath. “Yeah sorry, I guess I didn’t need to say that.”
“Mmm,” is my noncommittal response. I’ve got to be smart here. I can’t let him back in. Absolutely not.
“Are you… shit. Are you okay? Did you cut yourself on the glass or anything?”
Am I disappointed that he’s asking me this instead of, I don’t know, apologizing for everything?
“I’m fine, thank you.”
“Any chance of you coming out of the stall?” he asks.
“Are you seriously trying to -- what? -- talk to me right now? Is this the part where we pretend like all the shit between us didn’t happen? Like you didn’t ghost the shit out of me?” I am half tempted to open the stall door just so I can see him when I’m chewing him out. But no. I keep the door closed -- no distractions.
“Daisy,” he starts, but he trails off almost immediately.
His loud exhale is the only response for several seemingly interminable minutes.
I can’t stand here in silence anymore. “Are you going to leave?”
“Is that what you want?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“For good?”
What does that mean? Like, if he leaves this bathroom right now that means I’ll never see him again?
Well, isn’t that what I want though?
Yes, of course it is. But…
“Why are you here?” I ask, unable to let him leave without at least getting some answers to my questions.
“Here in this bar or here in LA?”
I consider that for a second. “Both, I guess?”
“Any chance of you coming out so I can see you?”
“No. Answer the question.”
He mutters something and I swear I can make out the words ‘stubborn as usual’ but I ignore it.
“I’m here in LA because I live here. I’ve been back for about two months,” he says.
My stomach lurches, and despite everything, I find myself getting sort of pissed that he waited so long to find me.
“And, I’m here in this bar because…,” he trails off, and I just know he’s gripping his thick hair, causing it to stick straight up -- an anxious tic of his that somehow always made him look more perfect.
“Daisy, I came to the bar for a drink. I just needed to get out of the house. That’s what I told myself, at least. But, let’s be real here. I’m shit at lying to you, baby girl.”
I silently curse the traitorous flip in my stomach upon hearing him call me that.
“I wanted to see you. And if there was any chance of me running into you, I figured this bar, on your birthday, would be it,” he continues.
My stomach flips once more. Traitorous, traitorous.
“Happy birthday, by the way. I didn’t get to say that,” he says.
I swallow thickly, wondering what exactly he’s playing at here. Why is he telling me this?
I have no time to consider what he’s doing before his head pokes up under my side of the stall. I let out an unsophisticated scream as I jump back, nearly landing myself in the toilet.
“Please open the door,” he says.
“You’re sitting on the floor of a public restroom,” I point out.
“Yes, I am aware. So are you going to come out of there or should I start sliding the rest of the way in?”
“Your pants will get dirty,” I say, apparently the queen of stating the obvious tonight.
“I don’t give a shit about my pants.”
The stall door is short enough to allow him to angle his head under it if he’s sitting on the floor, but it’s still an awkward enough position and I’m sure it’s uncomfortable. I’m not interested in calling his bluff because I know I’ll lose. Right now, I fully believe that he’ll come into the stall with me, and the thought of being in an even more enclosed space with him terrifies me.
With a sigh, I unlatch the door. It swings inward and, by the time I exit the stall, he’s on his feet. We stare at each other for a loaded moment. I break eye contact first, because I do have some sense of self-preservation.
“Hi again,” he says. I glance back at him, letting my eyes settle on his face but not quite making eye contact. He has the nerve to look charming and gorgeous and perfect. I hate him.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he says, and I believe he means that. Still, I don’t respond. With my arms crossed and my gaze narrowed, I hope I’m conveying that I’m not about to indulge any of his bullshit.
“I’m so sorry, for everything. For not telling you, for leaving without saying bye. I hope you know that I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was giving you a chance to live your life without being tied to some old guy with no future. I thought you deserved a better college experience than that.”
Hearing all of this laid out this way makes sense, don’t get me wrong, but it enrages me even more. He fucking made all these decisions for us, acted like he knew what I needed better than I did. And ultimately dropped me like I was nothing to him.
I consider saying all of those things but honestly, what’s the point in rehashing all of this? It’s not like it’ll change anything.
“Okay,” I say, “thank you for saying that.”
“Daisy, baby -- “
“You should probably not call me that, you know.”
He nods. “Sorry, force of habit. Do you think we could grab a coffee or something?”
And ugh, his face looks so hopeful, it almost pains me that I have to reject him. But I do have to reject him, don’t I? I can’t let him hurt me like that again.
“Just so you know, I don’t expect -- you know. I just want to hang out, see if we could be friends,” he says.
I don’t want to be his friend. I don’t know what I want, but friendship is definitely not on the list.
“Um, maybe. I’ll have to think about it. I have a boyfriend anyway so…,” I say. Oh god, what is wrong with me? I hear the words coming out of my mouth and I’m powerless to stop them. I’m such an idiot around him.
Of course, I don’t have a boyfriend. But he has no reason to suspect I’m lying. I mean, technically I could have a boyfriend. And there are definitely guys I could get to pretend.
Chase’s mouth turns down at the corners for just a second -- less than that -- before he slips on his smile again. “No surprise there.” And then, after a beat. “I hope he treats you like the gem you are.”
There’s no appropriate response to that. So I just nod. He gives me his number since I deleted him from my phone about 6 months after he left. I tell him I’ll think about the invitation.
3
Chase
I have a boyfriend anyway…
I have a boyfriend anyway
I have a boyfriend
Boyfriend
She has a boyfriend.
If I had thought about it for even one second, I would have come to the conclusion that of course she has a boyfriend. Why the heck wouldn’t she? She’s gorgeous and sexy and perfect. Any guy would be a fool not to recognize that.
Any guy. I was the fucking fool.
For a split second after she told me, I thought about just letting her walk away and calling that chapter of my life over. But the thought of losing her again, in any way, was too much to bear.
Sure, would I prefer she didn’t have a boyfriend? Of course. I’m not completely innocent here. But, the truth of the matter is, if she’s willing to give me the chance to be her friend again, I’ll take it and be grateful. No matter if that’s all she’s able to give. Because she’s that spe
cial. Seeing her tonight just confirmed it all over again. I was so happy when she opened the stall door, looking distraught but defiant. My brave, sweet girl.
Not mine anymore. I gave up that right.
It’s been two days since that night at the bar, and I can’t get her out of my damn mind. Though part of me wishes she would reach out to me, I know for sure that she won’t contact me.
An image of her creeps in, unbidden and long-forgotten, into my brain. Daisy beneath me on her college-issued twin bed, squirming in pleasure as I licked a path up her neck and captured her lips. I pulled away and looked down at her, shifting the majority of my weight to my arms so I wouldn’t crush her.
In that moment, on that tiny bed with her, I thought, ‘This could be it. This could be my future. With her in my bed every night, staring up at me with such adoration and trust.’
I remember how I tried desperately to choke down the panic rising in my chest, deciding to put it out of my mind in that moment.
But later, once she fell asleep on top of me, I stayed up for hours, trying to make up my mind about what I was going to do. There was no doubt about it: I was in love with her. And she loved me. I knew all of this even though we hadn’t exchanged the words yet.
That’s when I realized I needed to save her from me. She had her whole future ahead of her, and I wouldn’t let her waste her time with me. With that decision made, I tugged her closer to me, burying my nose in her hair and memorizing her scent. I could let myself enjoy her, for just a little longer.
With my chest constricting painfully from the memory of that time, I decide I can’t wait for her to contact me. I know she won’t. But I have this desire, though it might be foolish of me, to form more memories with her. To just be in her orbit for as long as she lets me.
