Chapter Nine Chase #3
He’s staring down at me, his gaze intense as I hear someone start talking to Chase, pulling him from this conversation. It makes me frown before I fix my face and smile.
“Yes. The one and only . . . but I’m at a disadvantage. I don’t know your name. I guess we were seated too far away tonight.”
Or you didn’t want to meet me. Which is a real possibility from his body language.
He crosses his arms, smirking like he wants to keep his name a secret before he adds, “And that’s a shame . . . because I feel like I’ve known you my whole life.”
What a weird thing to say.
Whoever this stranger is lets that statement hang out there for a second as I give an empty laugh, suddenly feeling awkward behind my smile. But then he winks.
“I mean, because I’ve heard so much about you from Chase. He never stops talking about you. I’m Eddie, by the way, the wayward sous chef.”
He doesn’t hold out his hand for me to shake like everyone else.
Still, I smile, remembering where I’ve heard that name, deciding not to pull out any digs because I can’t tell if Eddie’s unfriendly or just British.
So I play it safe and go with “Nice to meet you,” before Chase’s hand lands on his shoulder.
“What’d I miss?”
Eddie shakes his head. “Nothing. I was just about to tell her the story about you threatening to chop off your old sous’s hands if he so much as touched her plate . . .” He leans in like he’s letting me in on a secret, but my head draws back. “Figured it’s a solid excuse for avoiding you tonight.”
He smiles. I don’t. Because while I’m positive that’s a true story, since it’s too on brand for Chase’s dramatics, it’s the way he’s saying it. Eddie doesn’t like me.
The smirk on Chase’s face doesn’t hide how much he enjoys that memory, as he shrugs nonchalantly. “She came to be fed the best. I’m the best.”
There’s so many barbs I could throw, but I’m only focused on Eddie as he says, “You’d maim for her. Interesting.”
I manage a barely there smile as I step away. Weird British humor or just weird? Who’s to say, but what I do know is Eddie feels like a hard pass for me.
Chase motions to the door with his head.
“I’m going to walk him out before I have to get started on all those dishes. Wait around for me?”
I scrunch my nose. “Only if I don’t have to help. You didn’t purchase that subscription for this friendship.”
He laughs, nodding, and counters, “I’ll have to email for an upgrade,” as he guides Eddie to the side door.
“Sorry. Sold out,” I toss back, but I notice Eddie doesn’t laugh.
Well, then, no sense of humor means you are just weird. How are they friends?
With a sigh, I look around the table, noticing that for the most part it’s clean, before all the noise that’s quieted restarts as I’m hugged and goodbyes are said.
One by one, the guys leave out the side door, some patting Chase on the shoulder, others shaking his hand, but all of them congratulating him.
And then just like that, we’re alone, the slam of the metal door closing highlighting that fact.
“What an incredible night,” he rushes out, wiping his hands down his face. “Did you have fun?”
I smile. “I’m glad I was bullied into staying. But aren’t you going to ask me if I liked the food?”
He lifts a brow. “No. You all but licked your plate, and anything is an upgrade from the food you’re always complaining about eating on set. Plus, I know exactly what you like.”
I swallow, because the way he glances at me when he says that is bathed in insinuation. But he doesn’t elaborate, just grins while heading toward the double doors, motioning with his head for me to follow.
So I do. Dammit. I really need to start saying no to that little motion.
The moment I breeze through the doorway, he points to a few lights by the front windows. “Turn those off? The switch is by the front door.”
I nod, heading that way, still marveling over how beautiful this restaurant is. The click of a switch from one of the dim table lights catches my attention as he leans over to turn it off.
“Does it ever just knock you on your ass that you’re really doing this?” I let my voice carry so he can hear me. “I mean, you’ve really made it, Chase. You have two highly rated restaurants before the age of thirty-five, in arguably two of the biggest cities . . . It’s impressive.”
He laughs, placing his palm down on the table, leaning onto it as I click the switch, leaving us in the dark—well, as much as the streetlights outside allow.
Yet it’s still the dark. And the reality that I am not scared doesn’t get past me. Because if I’m honest, I’d admit I haven’t been afraid since he showed up.
“I don’t know if it’s set in yet,” he answers, kind of beautifully bathed in the moonlight. “But what’s with the compliment? You don’t like me enough to say all these nice things. What are you, working undercover for Food & Wine magazine?”
I shrug, feeling unburdened by my niceness.
“If I was doing that, I’d have already run my exposé. You say dumb shit on a daily basis.”
“I do not,” he scoffs.
We’re walking toward each other, closing the distance as we banter back and forth.
“You do too.”
“Name one time tonight where I said something stupid . . .” When I don’t speak fast enough, he says, “See, you can’t.”
“Bullshit, I can name like ten. How about we start with all that Lisa Bonet nonsense? I felt set up.”
He stops in front of me, and I can see his grin more clearly.
“Okay, I admit that.”
“Ha.” I clap my hands together once. “I knew it. Why do you always say stuff like that when you know it won’t get you anywhere with me?”
He takes an inch of a step closer to me.
“I’m not making shit up, Evie. You always think I’m so full of it—”
I cut in. “You are.”
He chuckles. “Fair. But maybe if you let me finish a sentence, I’d surprise you . . . like I did tonight.”
The silence wraps around as he stares down at me, and the way he looks at me . . . I don’t know how to describe it. He always looks at me the same way—gentle and intimate.
I start to take a step backward because I’m suddenly feeling warm, like we’re standing too close, but he nabs the fabric of my sweatshirt right above my belly button to stop me.
His voice is low and gravelly as he whispers, “Is it so bad that I think you’re pretty?”
Goose bumps explode under my sweatshirt as I half blink, unable to tear my eyes from his.
Is it so bad? I blink before the answer populates in my head and tumbles out of my mouth.
“I don’t want to give you the wrong idea.”
His lips tilt up like they’re going to form a smile before they stay neutral.
“How does me saying you’re pretty give me the wrong idea—”
Jesus. I can hear my heart beating. Or maybe that’s my pulse whooshing in my ears. Either way, the blood is flowing through my body quickly, especially when he finishes his thought.
“The real question is, does it make you reconsider me? Especially since you’ve been wrong for a year and a half.”
My lips part as if there’s an answer prepared, but there isn’t. Because the truth is, Chase is not my ideal boyfriend-partner-soulmate. His personality ruins that for him.
But I have to admit that he has his moments . . . and this is one of them.
I drop my eyes to my chest, seeing my sweatshirt moving too quickly because I’m breathing too fast. Shit. My mind warring between reason and lust.
We’re standing too close, and his voice is too deep, and his thick-ass fingers are still pinched on my sweatshirt.
Oh god.
I look up just as he’s leaning in. Holy shit, he’s going to kiss me. Right here in the middle of this restaurant. And I feel almost powerless to stop it.
Almost being the keyword.
My palms land on his sturdy chest and with a gentle press, I say, “We shouldn’t.”
But he presses back. “We already have.”
I shake my head, my voice quiet because I feel like we’re so close my breath could tickle his skin.
“Chase, that’s exactly why we shouldn’t. You asked me to be your friend. I think we leave it there.”
His eyes close for a second, but it feels like an hour before he nods and takes a step back. “Okay.”
A silent exhale of breath leaves my body, because if he only knew the kind of restraint I’m using to keep us in the safe zone, then he would know all he’d have to do is grab me and kiss me, and then I’d make every bad decision there was to make.
Thankfully, as much as I can count on Chase being a complete idiot, I can also rely on him to be a gentleman. Even if sometimes it’s an unorthodox version.
He crosses his arms, smiling back at me. It’s the kind of smile that’s shared embarrassment because I’m wearing the same one.
“Welp,” he says loudly. “I never thought being friend zoned could be a positive. But considering where we started, I’m counting it as a win.”
I wince, then say, “You’re welcome?”
We stand for a second, smiling at each other, and it’s not awkward, but it is all at the same time. He must feel it too because he pretend punches my shoulder.
“Friends it is. But then again, I’ll take you any way that I can get you, Evie.”
His words sound sincere enough. Still, there’s no part of me that believes Chase will suddenly stop liking me. And I have to admit there is a very quiet part that wishes we had some more moments.
But that part is clearly toxic and trying to sabotage my life.
RIP me.