Chapter Fifteen Evie
Chapter Fifteen
Evie
“Where are we going?”
Chase smiles back at me, motioning with his head for me to move faster, but I keep walking slowly, so he excitedly grabs my hand and drags me behind him down a sidewalk parallel to the beach.
“This isn’t just a taco food truck, trust me. It’s hands down some of the best Mediterranean fusion I’ve ever had.”
I huff a laugh, really looking at his face, trying to find a flaw. I can’t. It’s annoying.
“Well, that’s saying something, coming from you.”
“The woman who owns it migrated here ten years ago, leaving behind a restaurant her family owned back home in Greece. But the story is she fell in love with this very handsome Mexican dude—her words—during a visit and never went back.”
The way he’s grinning makes me do the same.
“I’ll give it to you, that’s pretty romantic.”
“Then they broke up.”
I frown. “Not so romantic.”
He winks. “Her true love is food . . . so still romantic.”
He wags his brows at me, pulling me even closer so our joint hands are tucked up near his chest as I chuckle.
This sounds weird, but I like the way he talks about people. It’s never some kind of ploy, like most people do just to highlight something about themselves. When Chase talks about people, it’s like he’s spotlighting them and celebrating their own uniqueness.
I never paid attention to that before.
The truck finally comes into view, so he pulls me faster, making me squeal before he sidles up to the metal counter protruding from the opening. I let go of his hand, noticing him looking back over his shoulder at me, so I turn my face toward the water.
I have to admit he makes me nervous, even after a week of playing house. Maybe it’s because there’s no more sarcasm to use as a shield or the truth to deny, making me feel exposed.
Although I do like being exposed in front of him, so maybe this metaphor is not working. Regardless, I’m nervous.
“Hey,” he shoots out, forcing my face back to his. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
He lifts a brow. “Stop acting like you’re embarrassed to be with me.”
What? I am not that. I mean, no more than normal.
I try and tug my hand away, but he doesn’t let it go. So I rush out a harsh breath. “Don’t talk about yourself like that.”
“What?”
“What do you mean, ‘What?’ You heard me,” I scold him. “Don’t talk shit about yourself. That’s what you’re doing. You’re not ugly. And you’re insinuating that it’s what I think . . . I don’t.”
He chuckles before snapping his jaw shut and kissing my hand.
“One, I don’t think I’m even remotely ugly, and you know it. Two, how are you giving me a compliment that makes me want to jump off a bridge?”
I shrug and smile. “It’s an art form. I’m very good at it . . . Top of my class, actually.”
“Mmm.” He smirks. “You’re also good at gaslighting. Tell me something, if you’re not embarrassed, then tell the world I’m your boyfriend. Do it right now. Yell it to the rooftops.”
“Are you high?” I snap.
“On life . . .”
I scowl. He’s so dramatic and insane that it makes me want to impulsively poke him in the eye, but I won’t. I also won’t make a fool of myself yelling that he’s my boyfriend.
That’s dumb. Tom Cruise did that bouncing on the couch, and look what happened to him. He got dawsoned up shit’s creek.
He might’ve deserved it, though.
“Stop being dramatic—”
The middle of my sentence is cut off as I hear “Chase!” from a very peppy voice, and my eyes immediately narrow.
Completely without my permission, although anyone that happy deserves suspicion.
I look in the direction of the voice just in time to see a woman walk out from behind the back of the food truck.
Why does she look like she just stepped out of a surf magazine? This can’t be the owner.
What is wrong with me?
I shove my hands into my back pockets, trying to fix my face.
Jesus, self-diagnosing the Billy shit was one thing, but I think I’m going to need actual therapy about Chase.
She smiles, and I’m almost blinded by her goddamn teeth. Okay, that’s rude.
“Hey, you.”
You? Who is you?
As in answer to my inner thought . . . Oh shit, did I say that out loud? Noooo.
Chase looks at me, grinning. I did.
“That’s their daughter. She’s a little younger than you.”
What does that mean? Umm, sorry for aging. I guess I should just be buried or shunned in society for being twenty-six. Where are the villagers to stone me?
She tosses her golden locks over her shoulder in a really dramatic look-at-me, I’m-so-beautiful kind of way. Jesus, when people describe beach waves, that’s her hair. She’s the model.
Oh god. I’m being rude about a woman I do not know. I’m a girl’s girl. But because of him, I’ve devolved into a gremlin. Eww. This is why he’s the worst.
We should break up.
Without warning, she throws her arms open to wrap them around his neck. I’ll kill her. But Chase jukes her like he’s some kind of professional NFL player, swiping his shoulder left so she misses and falls directly into my arms.
Oh my god. My eyes lock on his, and I know he sees what I’m saying inside my head because he winces.
She pulls away, apologizing, so I nod, feeling just as awkward.
“Nice to meet you?” I laugh, and so does she, but it’s fake. It’s all fake.
I will kill him. Maybe even tonight.
She reaches out to playfully slap his arm, but he dips it again, making me give him a what the fuck is wrong with you look before it dawns on me. He won’t let her touch him.
He won’t let another woman touch him.
My mind is warring between celebration and chastising myself. I shouldn’t love that as much as I do. It’s ridiculous, but then us as a couple is too.
She takes a step back, giggling. “You’re so funny. Always such a jokester.”
A real fucking court jester. Maybe I can find someone to behead him.
“Coral,” he says after clearing his throat. “This is my . . . um, my, umm . . .” He looks at me, his brows raised as if he’s daring me to say it. To say I’m his girlfriend.
Ridiculous.
“I’m Evie,” I rush out, finishing his sentence.
“She’s Noah’s wife’s sister,” he piggybacks, making me frown because does my sister know this girl?
And she never told me? Oh my god. What is wrong with me? I am the most toxic person. I literally just started dating him.
He looks at me with an explanation because, apparently, I need one? Yes . . . yes, I do.
“I brought the parentals here once.”
It’s when he looks at me that I realize I need to fix my face again. But damn, I’m one of those people who others can always tell exactly what I’m thinking by the look on my face. So today’s going to be a challenge.
I quickly smile and say, “Hi.”
It’s definitely more awkward than I was hoping. Coral glances at him, pretty much ignoring me.
“I’m mad at you.”
Are you? Are you? I think to myself in the most condescending tone as she continues.
“You ghosted me.”
He shakes his head, then looks at me, but I give him zero reaction. He still stares only at me while he speaks.
“I catered a surf event that Coral manages when I first got here.” He looks back at her. “I don’t remember having your number, sooo . . .”
“Oh,” she purrs, “we should totally fix that today.”
I’ll break his phone and throw it in the ocean . . . along with myself because I’ve literally lost my mind. If I don’t stop this . . .
“Um.” He looks between us. “How about we get some tacos before we catch up?”
She laughs and nods, waving us over to the food truck before she walks inside. I swear to god, she’s the girl who makes her ponytail swish when she walks.
Chase looks down at me, giving me an empty laugh. “We never hooked up or anything.”
“And I care why?” I snark, cutting my eyes at him, knowing I care because I’m a fucking loser that likes the guy who ghosted Coral.
Fuck. Me.
“Just putting it out there,” he whispers as she walks inside the truck.
I shrug, really hoping for nonchalant, but I’m probably not even at fucking chalant. “I mean, I’m sure a lot of guys are into that type, so why wouldn’t you be.”
It’s not so much a question but more inner rage.
Because I like him so much. And by like him, I mean he makes my heart skip a beat. Skip a fucking beat.
I didn’t even know I still had one.
But I do, because it’s fluttering over his stupid smile and his dumb clothes and even the way he laughs at all his own jokes, but mostly the way he always looks at me like I’m the only fucking person in the room.
Still, I’m not yelling that I like Chase Beckett for everyone to hear.
Because this is the worst day of my life. I’m the hot girl crazy about the guy who embodies the Sandler sabadooo.
I gasp quietly. Is he right? Am I embarrassed? But I already know the answer.
Little Miss Irritates-the-Shit-Out-of-Me shows up at the window, perky and adorable, smiling directly at Chase, interrupting my thoughts.
“All right, hot stuff, what can I get you?”
Cyanide.
I don’t mean to make a sound, but I do, and it’s a chortle. It’s unladylike and draws his eyes to my face.
“Is it funny somebody called me hot stuff?”
I narrow my eyes on him as Beach Barbie volleys between us. “I mean, kinda. I guess you are to some . . . from like far away. Or when they haven’t met you.”
What am I saying? What am I doing?
But I know what. I’m mean flirting. I can’t help it. He brings out the worst in me.
I’m also marking my territory.
He grins, slutting out that damn dimple.
But Coral pipes up, souring my mood again. “I think hot definitely describes you.”
I want to immediately say nobody asked you, Coral, but Chase leans in toward me, crowding my personal space. I don’t move.
“She thinks hot definitely describes me.”
Oh, you motherfucker. Taunting me? The audacity.
“I guess one person’s trash is another person’s treasure.”
He lets out a quiet exhale, biting his bottom lip, but he doesn’t take his eyes off me as he calls off an order of tacos. I barely pay attention to what he says because the way he’s looking at me is making my stomach flip and other parts stand at attention.
I’m so fucked. Or at least I’d like to be.