Chapter Thirteen Evie
Chapter Thirteen
Evie
It’s still dusk out, so the house isn’t completely dark yet, which made it easy for me to sneak out of Chase’s bed just now.
The door closes quietly behind me as I tiptoe slowly over the tile to the kitchen for water. I can’t believe we crossed the line not once but three times.
God. My head was so fucked yesterday.
There was all this latent emotional trauma having a dance party in my brain, and he was there . . . saving me, then saving me some more, because he kept it all at bay with only his presence.
Which doesn’t make any sense, because he’s the person I want to be around the least, but when he ran me a bath, all I could think was that I wanted him inside me.
But is that true . . . that I want to be around him the least, because it feels like a lie.
No . . . It was a dirty thought. But unlike the countless others I’ve had about him, it didn’t pass.
I just kept thinking about it while I watched him pour in bubble bath and while he ran out of my room to grab the supplies I instinctively knew he was getting.
But I could only know something like that if I knew him . . .
Ever so slightly, I shake my head, trying to rid myself of these stupid thoughts as I open the fridge. No, I was just kind of spiraling yesterday, so when he walked back in and looked at me with those bright-green eyes and the most sincere smile, he wasn’t just having a moment, he was the moment.
That’s it. I used him to numb myself.
My hand closes around a bottle of water, pulling it out before I open it, lost to more of my thoughts.
But if that’s true, then why does it feel more like I fell into him because I needed to? Like it was the only way I could heal.
Dammit. Either way, I shouldn’t have done it. I knew better, and now I wonder if I fucked us both with last night’s little escapade. He doesn’t deserve that . . . Oh my god, why am I caring about his feelings?
This is Chase.
Silly, goofy, ridiculous . . .
I pause, my brows drawing together as my feelings begin to piece themselves together like a puzzle. Still, I try and hold on to my indignance.
No . . . This is Chase the . . .
My heart interferes with my head again, cutting off the thought. Holy shit. I think I might have a crush on Chase.
Or maybe I’m hitting rock bottom mentally. Frankly, liking him and a full breakdown aren’t mutually exclusive, so . . .
No. This can’t be happening to me.
I’m supposed to have an epic love story. That’s the plan. In my twenties, I keep a roster. I live life to the fullest. In my thirties, I get serious, start looking for the one. And when I meet a man who I know possesses the qualities to be my equal, he will yearn for me.
Yearn.
And then like a scene out of Pride & Prejudice, he’ll walk over a hill in a cashmere coat and fucking kiss me until I whimper.
Chase twerks in the kitchen while singing Shakira songs, doing the accent. He fucking asked a total stranger the other day if they could tell his Crocs were fake.
The fact that he wears Crocs in public automatically disqualifies him as my soulmate. Jane Austen would roll over in her grave.
And yet . . . I do. I have a deeply problematic crush on Chase.
How have I not seen this? I’m so sorry, Janie . . . What have I done?
Princess meows from where she’s perched on the couch, so I walk to her, petting under her chin, wishing there was someone to pet me instead.
This is too much emotional turmoil. But what did I expect? To not fall for the person who’s the human equivalent of a blankie for me.
Sometimes I’m the smartest person in the room, and other times I wonder how I make it through my day without dying.
And not seeing this coming is one of those moments. Because RIP my dignity.
On cue, Princess rubs her head on me, so I smile, thankful for a distraction. “Are you hungry, little tyrant? Let Auntie hook you up, because one of us should be happy.”
Princess digs her claws into the furniture, so I pick her up and carry her with me toward my room before I hear a phone buzz. I shift my head to see it’s Chase’s, lying face up on the kitchen island.
Is it polite to look at someone’s phone? . . . No. Did he leave it up for me to see? Yes.
Peach squirms, so I let her go, before she runs into my room and I let curiosity get the best of me, having a little peek.
Except all I can see is who’s texting him but none of the message.
My brows raise as I look at the name. Hookers . . . If that STD gives me an STD, I will tell everyone I caught it at his restaurant. Ewww.
How is this the guy making me change my favorite color from green to red? How? I want answers from someone in this universe. Stat.
I can’t like Chase . . . but bitch, you do.
The curtains in the living room are still drawn as I turn to look out of the windows, but I’m still so preoccupied, I just stand there in the dimness before I give my head a shake.
I’m grumbling and plotting his demise as I walk toward my room. The door’s cracked open, but the light’s on behind it. I always leave it on, but Chase must’ve done it for me this time before we went for round three in his room.
My palm slides against the grain of the wood, pressing it open as a crunch followed by a deep, menacing stuttered growl pierces my ears, making the little hairs on my neck stand on end.
Princess is in the middle of my bed, standing over a dark-red mess of black fur, her gold eyes locked on me as she chews on a long spindly tail . . .
Oh my god.
I scream and swing around, trying to hurry out of my room.
“Chase!”
I’m scrambling back as I hear two loud bangs next door. If I had to guess, one was him hitting the floor, and the other was him hitting the door because, as I think it, he bursts through it, eyes wide, hair a mess, his hand over his junk.
“Oh my god. Get dressed. Get dressed.”
I’m already past him into the living room, so I throw a pillow from the couch at him. He catches it, using it to cover himself.
“What the fuck is going on? What’s wrong? Why are you screaming?”
I shake my head, dancing on the balls of my feet. “There’s something dead . . . it’s on my bed. Ohhh my god.”
“What do you mean?” he yells at me again.
I let out a breath, shaking out my hands, and look around for Princess. “What I mean is Goldie’s fucking cat left me a present. A dead rat, to be exact.”
“Noooo,” he drawls, taking a step away from my room as I nod.
“Yes.” My head momentarily tips back as I pace by the kitchen counter. “This is why people shouldn’t have a cat door. That monster’s gone full predator.”
Chase puts his hand over his mouth, then parts two fingers to whisper, “Are you sure? Go back and check. What if it’s still alive?”
“Chase,” I bark. “I am not putting anything out of its misery. Fuck.” My eyes lock back to his. “Lion King over here needs to get it together. This is not cool.”
“Well.” He shrugs. “I blame your sister and Noah. They left her, and now she’s got abandonment issues and decided to go full Dexter.”
I scrunch my nose, looking serious. “Go check. You have to . . . It might still be alive.”
“No.”
“Chase.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Okay, then I’ll call a guy I went to college with who lives out here. He’s a firefighter . . . Come to think of it, he did this thing with a hose once . . .”
“Fine,” he bellows before walking to the couch to grab another pillow and covering his ass with it. “Let me put on my doing-disgusting-shit pants.”
A chuckle almost bursts from my mouth, but I keep it in as he walks back inside his room. Princess meows, and I shiver as I glare down at her where she’s licking her paws in my doorway.
“Do I need to call the people from Criminal Minds, or have you had your fill?”
I turn my head, looking back inside my room, quickly doing the heebie-jeebies dance all over again before shaking my head.
This is why I will only own dogs.
Chase
“Oh my god, those are guts . . . Chase, those are fucking entrails.”
We both jump back about ten feet from the bed before Evie turns in a circle, looking like she’s going to be sick. I’m shaking my head as I wipe my forehead with my forearm.
I can’t use my hands because we’re both gloved up like mad scientists, equipped with yellow dish gloves and goggles we found while rummaging through the garage for more protection.
Evie’s face-masked glare lands on the cat, who’s standing in the crack of the door, cleaning herself.
“What is wrong with you,” she snaps, but the cat ignores her, still licking her paw.
“Not an ounce of remorse,” I add, letting out a harsh sigh. “This level of destruction is on par with hyenas or coyotes. You’re a cat named after a Super Mario Bros character. What the fuck, bro.”
“She’s like a honey badger,” Evie barks, sounding nasally because of the mask. “Or a capybara . . . Did you know those things are violently aggressive?”
I draw my head back. “Is that true?”
“Yeah.” She nods. “I saw a documentary . . . or clips of one online.”
I let out another deep breath and look back at the grotesquerie on the bed.
“Okay, come on. We gotta get this over with. Get it done.”
I click my kitchen tongs together a few times, knowing I’m never using them again, but technically, they’re not mine, they’re Noah’s, so whatever.
She’s humming a squeal, dancing on the balls of her feet while standing in place, because she’s dreading this as much as I am. But still, I inch closer, forcing her to do it at the same time. I can hear her breathing as she holds open a big black garbage bag.
It’s the extra-large kind that supposedly doesn’t break.
The closer to the bed I get, the more I’m regretting this.
Goddammit. Why are we doing this?
Oh yeah, because she’s a lunatic who, after I said we should just pull the blanket and the sheets and toss it all out, declared we needed a goddamn funeral for the “victims of this senseless attack.” Her words.
My knees hit the mattress before I lean over it, and I stop to fake cry. I look up at the ceiling for a minute because I’m not cut out for shit like this.