Chapter Nine Chase
Chapter Nine
Chase
It’s been two days since our outing, and I’ve only seen her at breakfast. And although they’ve been successfully sans insults, I need to make more headway. But I can’t just ask her to watch a movie or hang out—she’ll say no.
Thus the birth of tonight’s harebrained genius: get her to the restaurant to spend time with me in my element.
It was actually Felix, my sommelier’s, idea. He even chose the wine for me to pretend to forget.
“We’re sure this is gonna work?” I say, looking up at the table full of kitchen staff, aka twenty cupids.
They’re all nodding as Felix points to my phone, his heavy French accent eating up his words.
“Yes. It’s like a rom-com. She’ll eat, drink, and then sometime during the night, she’ll look up, and you’ll be talking and looking distinguished . . . and bam, that’s when she’ll think to herself, Wow, he’s special. My heart needs him.”
I narrow my eyes. This sounds so much dumber the second time around.
A deep laugh from the table precedes, “Is her heart under or below her belly button?”
Napkins fly at one of the younger line cooks, accompanied by insults and curses.
“I will fire you,” I bark, shaking my head and pointing at him.
He lifts his hands, looking apologetic. “Joking . . . joking . . . on my best behavior, I swear it, Chef.”
A heavy breath leaves me. Damn, I’m nervous.
“This is a terrible idea,” I breathe out, dropping my phone to the table. “I can’t bring her here with you swine.”
They laugh, but Felix shakes his head and hands my phone back to me.
“Let her see you. A woman will never fall for a man unless he invites her into his life. Tonight is about you. She should be here. And if what you say about her is true, she can more than handle Gage over there.”
I groan before I nod and let my fingers fly over the keys.
Me: Hey, what are the chances you’re home?
Immediate bubbles. Yes.
Evil : If you were a betting man, you’d be a winner. Why?
I’ll never admit that I already know she is because I may have peeked at her schedule yesterday. But a man has to do what he has to do to facilitate love. It’s not like she makes it easy.
How am I supposed to show her how diverse my personality portfolio is if I’m only relegated to watching her eat crepes?
Me: Amazing. I need a favor.
Evil : Sorry . . . who is this? I don’t have this number saved.
I chuckle.
Me: Don’t be a hater. You’re home and you’re my friend, remember?
Evil : You lost me at friend
A smile breaks out on my face. She’s so mean. Fuck, it’s such a turn-on.
Me: Come on, Evil . . . I thought we were past all the hate. I’m desperate.
Evil : I mean I’ve known this for quite some time.
Me: Glad you’re gaining some self-awareness.
I don’t care what it takes, I will get her to bring those bottles.
But even as I think in confident bravado, my face scrunches up, thinking about what I’m going to do if this planned attack doesn’t work.
Me: Will you stop it. There are four bottles of Cabernet on the counter. Grab and bring to me.
Evil : Are you lying about owning a restaurant?
Is this a Talented Mr. Ripley thing you’re doing
because how don’t you have wine?
Me: You think I look like Matt Damon?
Evil : Please say AI is texting me.
Me: You’re staring at the picture you took of me. Stop being so obsessed . . . but it makes sense since we’re both jacked blondes with undeniable appeal.
Someone calls my name in the background, but I don’t pay any attention. I’m too immersed in this delicious little conversation.
Evil : I’d say you’re more a Gwyneth Paltrow.
Me: All I’m hearing is that I’d fuck me.
Evil : Great! You finally found someone who will.
A genuine laugh bursts from my chest. This is the most fun failure I’ve endured. Dammit. Come on, Evie, just give.
Me: Fella, bring me the wine. I’ll pay you for your time if that’s what you want.
Evil : Ooo, I’m only looking for stock in peace and quiet . . . are you selling that?
For fuck’s sake. She’s impossible.
Me: Evie!!!!!
Evil : I know how to spell my own name.
You’re the illiterate one. Remember?
That’s it. I’m pulling out the big guns.
Me: Never mind. It’s cool. Noah’s calling. I’ll figure out something else.
The most valuable lesson I learned from having sisters is if begging didn’t work, go straight to fear of exposure. Noah’s calling is my adult version of I’ll tell Mom and Dad.
Evil : Calm down loser. I’ll be there in ten minutes to three hours depending on traffic. PS. You’re on kitty litter duty until you move out.
Hell yeah. I turn to the room and raise my arms. “Got her.” The crew breaks out into applause, and I stand in victory, laughing. “Now, let’s make me irresistible.”
Evie
It took me twenty-three minutes to deliver Chase his four bottles of Caymus to the restaurant, so he’s already barreling out the front.
“Hey,” he says, opening my car door literally as I put the car in park.
My keys are still jingling in the ignition as I whip my face to his eyes that are as bright as his smile. I can’t help it, because it feels contagious, so I grin too.
“Hi,” I breathe out, sounding a bit winded.
There’s a pause as we stare at each other before my brain catches up, and I lean over the center console, pulling the bag of wine from the passenger seat into my lap, careful to not let the bottles clink.
“Delivered straight to your door. I expect a large tip. Something in the eighty- to ninety-percent category will suffice.”
He reaches inside and takes the bag right off my lap.
“You’re a lifesaver. Seriously, the guys were about to riot.”
Guys? Oh, duh, yeah, his staff must be here.
I look through the front windows of the restaurant, because it’s designed to be one of those dining experiences where you can see the chefs cooking, so there’s a giant cutout that gives everyone a view.
A bunch of guys are sitting inside, in the kitchen area. Some lifting a glass in cheers, others laughing or speaking animatedly with their hands. All backlit by an amber glow. It’s like a scene out of a movie.
“Sorry it took so long,” I say, looking back at him before biting my bottom lip. “I thought you were using it for cooking, not a party. I really shouldn’t have gone just under the speed limit on every single street.”
He tilts his head, tensing his jaw like he’s trying to hide a smirk, before he props a hand on the top of my door and bends down, bringing his face too close to mine.
“Would you have driven faster if you knew it was for other people?”
I raise my brows. “Duh. Yeah.”
He laughs, and my eyes drop to the steering wheel. Why does this suddenly feel like high school when you’re in the parking lot after school and a boy’s talking to you?
We never would’ve dated in high school . . . We’ll never date now.
“Okay,” I announce, wanting to drive away from my thoughts. “Have a good time . . .” I try and gently urge my car door closed, but he doesn’t take his hand off the frame, so I press, “I’ll see ya later.” I look up at him, frowning. “Hello? Let go of my door. I’m leaving.”
But Chase doesn’t seem to care about what I’m saying because he motions with his head toward the restaurant. “Nah, come inside. We’re just getting ready to eat. Let me feed you.”
Only he makes Let me feed you sound dirty. Or maybe it’s because his food is fucking orgasmic. Either way, I’m not joining tonight.
I shake my head, trying to pull my door closed again, but he still doesn’t budge.
“Let go,” I draw out.
“Get out,” he says, mimicking my tone.
It makes me involuntarily chuckle before I catch myself.
“No. I look like trash. I’m not going in front of people.”
His eyes do a once-over on me, and I squirm, momentarily looking away.
“You look good.”
Why is he saying it like that? And why is his voice so deep?
I scowl. “I’m literally wearing a pair of hospital scrubs I stole from a guy who made everybody call him doctor when he was a dentist—”
He grins. Damn that stupid dimple.
“—and this sweatshirt is not just a Boston University flex, it’s the home to these oil stains.” I point them out as if he couldn’t already see them. “I murdered a Philly cheesesteak in a very unladylike manner once.”
“You’re always the most impressive girl,” he levels, reaching in and removing my keys from the ignition before pocketing them.
My eyes spring open as my pulse picks up pace. “Chase. I’m wearing mismatched flip-flops on my feet. Pink and orange are not the same.”
The grip I have on the door handle tightens before I try and win a battle of tug-of-war. That is until he covers both my hands with one of his, removing them from the door as if my grip strength is undetectable.
“Chase,” I hiss, but I’m hauled out of my car, the door kicked closed.
He tugs me forward, our bodies too close as he holds the bag of bottles like a football and stares down at me.
“Nobody gives a fuck what you look like. All my friends are in there, and you’re a friend. Plus, you couldn’t look like trash if you tried.”
I groan as he turns around, still holding one of my hands hostage as I’m dragged behind him like some kind of errant child onto the sidewalk.
“Plus,” he says over his shoulder, “I’d fire anyone who says otherwise.”
The commitment I show to keeping my head on straight should be rewarded, because I have to dig my teeth into my bottom lip to make the smile trying to bloom stop and wilt.
“Can we be done being friends now?” I gripe.
He chuckles, letting go of my hand to open the door, his eyes meeting mine.
“No.”
Fuck. I stand there for a second, staring at him with my arms crossed, before I finally give in. I mean, how bad could it be? I look like shit, but they’re all probably food stained and perfumed with garlic.
“Fine. But if the food sucks, I’m writing like ten Yelp reviews.”
He lifts his leg, kicking me in the butt, and herds me inside. “Get inside, loser.”