Chapter Eight Chase #2
“Oh yeah?” I level, already feeling how weak my comeback is about to be. “Well, if you’re so good at planning first dates, then brag about what you do.”
She laughs, but only once. It’s more like a nonarticulated Moron. And that’s fair. I am.
“I would never plan my own first date. This is why you’re single and girls don’t like you.”
No, I’m single because I’m holding out for a hottie who’s turned me into a kink-freak for degradation. Keep saying mean shit, because at least you’re talking to me.
Dammit, there’s no time to play these games. I need her to commit.
I throw out some reverse psychology seasoned with a smidge of sad-sack, crossing my fingers it works.
“Whatever, fine. Don’t come. I was asking a friend, but I get it . . . I’m not that to you. It’s cool.”
I walk past her toward my room, reaching for my door handle before I hear her take a deep breath, so I freeze.
“I’ll help. But this is not a date,” she says resolutely.
“Yeah, duh. Never was,” I lie, staring at the door.
I mean, I guess it’s not a total lie. This isn’t a date until she suddenly likes spending time with me; then I’m happy to revisit the definition. It’s more like a flexible hangout.
Just get to know me already, soulmate.
“Okay. We rally in ten.”
I smile down at my hand, opening my bedroom door. “Roger that.”
The moment I’m inside my room, I book it to the shower, uncaring if the water is hot or cold so I can get my ass back out and in the car with her.
By the time I’m done and pulling on my jeans, it’s been nine minutes, twenty-seven seconds. There’s still time for my socks and shoes.
I hear her in the hallway, so I move quicker, hopping around to get my sneakers on before I take one look in the mirror.
Game time. I walk out nonchalant as hell.
“Hey,” I greet, walking into the kitchen to swipe my wallet off the counter, along with my keys.
“I’m driving,” she says, drawing my attention, but when our eyes lock, she adds, “because this is not a date.”
I act as if I don’t care, extending a hand and motioning for her to lead the way. Truthfully, I like the view from back here anyway.
She walks past the couch, and I follow before I lock the front door behind me. But the moment we get to the driveway, she stops in front of our cars, looking between them.
“Are we admiring our cars?” I joke, but she crosses her arms.
“Have you always had this car?”
I shake my head. “No, bought it here in LA.”
“I rented mine.”
Look who gets to drive after all . . . I almost chuckle because same, Evie. I got a chubby when I saw my baby too.
I don’t even try and hide how full of shit I am. “A Kia Soul’s a good car.”
“Hmm . . .” she answers.
I don’t bother to hide my smile because, damn, I’d like her to look at me the way she’s staring at my car.
“It’s a 1969 Ford Mustang Boss 429 . . .” I shove my hands in my pockets and lean sideways, getting in her space. “7-liter, 375-horsepower V-8 . . . 0 to 60 mph in 5.3 seconds.”
Evie’s smile blooms bigger and brighter with every word I say before she turns her face up to mine.
Your eyes are so pretty.
She blinks. “It’s John Wick’s car.”
I nod, then shake my head, motioning to the custom license plate that says CHEF*KSS. “No. It’s Chase Beckett’s car.”
Damn, I could stare at her all day.
She holds out her hand. “Give me your keys.”
I stand tall again, immediately shaking my head. “No fucking way.”
This girl is wild. She doesn’t want me to drive—she wants to drive my car.
She raises her brows. “Give me . . . your keys.”
“No fucking . . . way,” I spit back in the same cadence.
But it’s in this moment that the most delightful thing happens. This beautifully mean-spirited little sprite asks me nicely.
It’s a miracle on Magnolia Street.
“No, but seriously, please, Chase? I love this car so much. I’ll be your best friend.”
Gah, she said the last part all singsongy. I’m toast. If she only knew what that sentence just did to me. Or how the way she’s looking at me with those amber-brown eyes and her perfectly blush lips could get me to commit crimes.
My whole body feels like that dude’s hand in that Pride & Prejudice movie my sisters made me sit through for the entirety of their puberty. I want every part of me to touch her, but I can’t.
“Okay,” I relinquish, handing her my keys, our fingers brushing. “But I drive on the way back.”
She snags the keys with a squeal before all but bouncing the whole way to the driver’s side. I follow her. Because when she unlocks the door and reaches for the handle, I gently guide her hand away, opening it for her.
Evie’s face meets mine, but I smirk. “It’s not a date. I’m just a gentleman. And a feminist. You can open mine next time.”
She rolls her eyes for the hundredth time since I’ve known her before she slides inside and I close the door, walking around to the passenger side and getting in.
“Where are we headed?” she breathes out, stroking the steering wheel.
Stop making it sexual, you asshole.
“Hollywood Farmers’ Market.”
I buckle in and narrow my eyes because I’m feeling like she may want to try and go a little fast. No sooner do I think it than this girl has the engine revving and we peel out of the driveway making a hard right, tearing ass down the street.
Men love fast cars. We love growling engines and danger. But I’m in touch with my feminine side. So I clutch my hand over my chest and scream.
“Fuck. What the fuck, Evie!”
She’s laughing, not a care in her F1 world.
“Slow down,” I shriek again as she takes another hard turn, and my hand slaps the window for support.
She laughs harder, looking over at me for a split second and wagging her brows.
“Eyes on the road, Hamilton. Jesus Christ, how fast is the speed of light? I think I’m gonna pass out.”
“Oh, grow a pair, ya big baby.” She shimmies her shoulders. “This car’s fucking sexy.”
We pull to a whiplash stop at the light, and she lets out a Woo.
But I’m not feeling woo unless the rest of her sentence is zy. Because I think I’m having a heart attack and maybe about to puke.
“What is wrong with you?” I say, half-breathless, realizing just how much of an old woman I sound like. “You’re too small to act this big. Jesus Christ, let a guy call a few people to say his goodbyes before you make his life flash before his eyes.”
She laughs again, and despite the fact I may have shit my pants, it’s becoming my favorite sound.
The light turns green, so I make the sign of the cross and grab the oh-shit bar, holding on for dear life. If I hadn’t been convinced before that we should date, I’d be cemented now, because if I survive, then I simply deserve her as the reward for the trial by fire.
Evie
“Stop staring at me,” I gripe.
“I’m not staring at you,” he chuckles back.
Bullshit. He’s been doing it since we arrived. I drop the white peonies from my face and turn toward him, motioning around to the busy farmers’ market.
“I thought you needed help? Like, another set of hands . . . but all we’ve been doing since we got here is browsing vintage T-shirts and looking at flowers.”
He shrugs, grinning that grin that makes his dimple show. I’m glad it’s still there. A part of me worried I’d permanently scared the smile off his face driving here.
“Sor-reee,” he dramatizes and side-eyes me playfully. “Forgive me for trying to enjoy a peaceful moment between us. Especially after the car ride.”
I have to bite my bottom lip to not laugh because his scream was surprisingly high pitched for somebody with such a deep voice.
“You know, I always wanted to be an astronaut when I was little,” he continues. “But after that car ride, I’m positive I’d never have made it through reentry.”
“Stop it,” I whisper, then smile.
I’ll never tell him that I may have driven even faster just to torture him.
Chase walks over to a stack of records, thumbing through them as he speaks.
“But seriously, would it be so terrible if we used some of today to actually get to know each other?” He glances over at me, and it’s .
. . I don’t know . . . almost nervous. “Like maybe fix why you hate me while you save my ass.”
Oh. Hate him? I almost say Don’t overexaggerate your importance, but I don’t because damn, he’s being sincere.
He softly taps the tops of the records, waiting for me to answer as I blink, and a pit grows in my stomach.
I feel like such a jerk.
Because I am a jerk.
Yes, Chase is annoying. And yes, I’m annoyed at how attracted I am to someone who is so annoying, but I don’t hate him. Not for real. I mean, I say that, but that’s just what we do.
He tells me I’m pretty, I say die. But I don’t actually want him to get hit by a bus. It’s just that he seems to push all my buttons at once.
“I’ll make you a deal,” I level, stepping in closer. “You try not to say something that embarrasses me in front of conservatively two hundred people, and I will do my very best to stop treating you like human sewage . . . because I don’t hate you, Chase.”
“No?” he says in question.
I shake my head. “No. I’m just intolerant of you. You’re like cheese.”
“They have pills for that.”
My eyes are locked on his mouth as he draws in his bottom lip between his teeth before it slides out slowly. I grin and pop a shoulder.
“Roofies are illegal.”
He laughs, looking around. “Jesus Christ, Evie.”
I grin, satisfied to have been the one who embarrassed him for once. “Just behave, and we’ll work towards cool.”
“Maybe even the coolest?” he fires back. “I mean, you never know. We might be besties by the end of the day.”
“You’re gonna ruin it.”
I chuckle as he pretends to zip his lips and put them in his pocket before he holds up his hands.
If this doesn’t get me into heaven, nothing will. I nudge him over so I can look through the records, too, not looking up at him as he keeps talking.
“You know what, though . . .” His voice is full of humor, and I can tell he’s about to say something bullshitty. “If we’re gonna be friends . . .”
I cut my eyes at him.
He corrects himself, “Or like friend adjacent—”