chapter 36
What the…? Chase looked down at his phone, rereading the lines of text, the conversation taking an entirely different direction than he had anticipated.
When he’d gotten Ty’s number from one of the ball boys, he’d planned to have it for emergency purposes only.
Then … after overhearing that attempt to push her toward Grant’s silver spoon of a son, he couldn’t help himself.
He had planned to rib her a little, poke out a little fire.
He hadn’t expected to uncover this bomb.
He texted back, his fingers fighting against common sense, the words out and sent before he could bring them back.
Who did you think it was?
There was a flash of blonde, and he locked the phone, sliding it into his pocket, watching her as she reentered the private room, her dress navy and short—too short for a place like this, one filled with men—her smile the only feminine thing in the room.
She was a blur of tan legs and tight material, her long hair swinging as she settled back into her chair, her smile easy as she responded to something her dad said, her phone elsewhere, along with her concern.
His text would be unread, would sit out there, insecure and abandoned, for who knew how long.
He shouldn’t have sent it. It was pathetic. He shouldn’t have messaged her at all.
He picked up his knife, his cut into the steak rough and hard, his irritation mounting as he stabbed the piece with his fork. Chewing, he glanced down the long table and wondered who, of the men present there, she had mistaken him for.