Chapter 8 Chance
EIGHT
CHANCE
“Why the hell do you keep dragging us here, Chance? This shit’s gonna give me a spare tire.”
I glance up from the menu I’m pretending to scan, and look at one of my best friends and business partners, Austin Massey. “Then stop ordering the pancakes, dumbass. Get an egg white omelet and quit your bitchin’.”
Austin makes a face like I just suggested he eat plastic. “You can’t come to the International House of Pancakes and not get pancakes. It’s sacrilege, or at the very least, a universal law.”
Looking for some help in giving our friend shit for worrying about his calorie intake, I turn my attention to the man sitting in the corner of the booth next to Austin.
But as usual, Roman Reeves is typing furiously on his phone, probably sending an email or instructions to his assistant about some case or another.
The term “off duty” doesn’t exist in his vocab.
It’s five in the fucking morning, and Roman has already worked out, juiced his own breakfast, and dressed in a charcoal gray Armani suit.
Dude runs his life on a tighter schedule than the president.
Not for the first time, I muse at how different we’ve all become since our partying days at UW Madison.
“Roman,” I say, slapping the table in front of him. “You gonna look up from that thing and weigh in on this conversation, or what?”
He keeps his eyes on his phone and his fingers moving over the keyboard.
“You mean the one where Massey is whining about ruining his girlish figure?” It always amazes me how he manages to do ten things at once like that.
I do my best work when I focus intently on one task—or one woman—at a time.
Then once I’m done, I move on to something else.
Austin lowers his menu. “Hey, how ’bout you guys bite me.”
“That’s the one, yeah,” I say, ignoring Austin.
Finished with whatever he was doing, Roman locks his screen and sets his phone down where he can see if notifications come through.
“I’d rather discuss the question you’ve evaded from the beginning.
Why do you keep telling us to meet you at IHOP?
Three times in one weekend and now this morning? What’s the deal, Danvers?”
“You got a problem with IHOP all of a sudden? We haven’t seen a lot of each other lately. Excuse me for wanting to see my friends and get some food at the same time.”
The lie tastes bitter, and I take a drink of my ice water to try and wash it down.
I have no idea what I’m fucking doing. Correction.
I know exactly what I’m doing. I just have no clue why I’m doing it, or why I’m not being straight with the guys.
It’s not like they won’t see what’s up as soon as she comes over to the table.
I’d gotten shit for sleep on Friday after leaving Jane’s place.
I kept reliving the way she’d looked and felt and tasted.
I don’t know what it is, but something makes her different from the countless women I’ve hooked up with before, and I haven’t been able to get her out of my mind.
After a sleepless night, I convinced myself that if the sex was that fucking good—and it was—then there’s nothing wrong with wanting a repeat performance.
But with the spectacular way I left things between us, I’d known there was zero chance she’d give me the time of day if I showed up at her apartment, which had sparked the idea of showing up at her work.
I figured she wouldn’t be able to outright dismiss me if I’m a paying customer, and the likelihood of her causing a scene will hopefully be low.
She doesn’t strike me as the drama-queen type.
Before I could think better of it, I started making calls to all the IHOP’s in the area, asking when Jane Wendall’s next shift was. The first two I called responded by saying no one by that name worked there. But the third one said they couldn’t give me that information. Bingo.
After that, all I had to do was drop a couple hundred dollars taking my buddies to breakfast, dinner, lunch, and now breakfast again. It was only a matter of time before we visited during one of her shifts, and in this case, the fourth time is a charm.
I flick my gaze over to the waitress station where Jane is entering in an order.
Watching her, knowing she has no idea I’m here, is kind of a turn-on.
Her long chestnut hair is in a ponytail, and it swings behind her, the ends brushing her shoulder blades, as she chats with another waitress.
I want to wrap it around my hand and pull back so her neck is arched for me again.
So I can suck on it and bite it and hear her gasps turn into moans, just like the other night.
Christ, my cock reacts to her as easily as it did to a stiff wind when I was thirteen. If I don’t get myself under control, I’m going to need my menu to hide the pocket rocket straining against the fly of my jeans.
Jane collects a coffee carafe and makes her way over to us while shoving a handful of straws in the front of her apron.
She has yet to look up, navigating the aisles by heart, her strides quick and efficient, and yet my brain sees her naked and exaggerating the swing of her hips like a woman approaches her man in the bedroom.
Fuck me. My mind and body have both gone rogue.
When she reaches us, she sets the carafe on the table, pulls out her order pad, and makes eye contact with Austin and Roman first. She pushes her glasses up higher and smiles.
“Good morning, gentlemen. What can I—” Her smile falters, and her eyes widen when they finally land on me.
“You,” she whispers. “What are you doing here?”
Her face flushes, and her gaze darts around like she’s suddenly worried the entire restaurant can tell what we did on Friday.
That’s impossible, of course, but it won’t be long before my friends put two and two together and come up with “bonus dance.” Maybe I should have told them the truth, but I’m not even sure what the truth is. Either way, it’s too late now.
I give her my best wicked grin and say, “Why, Jane, fancy meeting you here. I came in for some breakfast with my friends before we head off to work.”
Her forehead furrows, putting the most adorable crinkle above her nose as she glances around the table once again, taking in my friends’ various wardrobe choices.
Roman’s suit, Austin’s navy blue Dickies with a T-shirt proclaiming “I became a firefighter for the money and fame,” and my worn jeans with holes in the knees and my Danvers & Son Construction T-shirt.
We’d make a great joke. So, a handyman, a businessman, and a fireman all walk into an IHOP…
Jane is definitely confused. “You mean you’re just now getting off of work?”
Roman arches a dark brow in my direction while Austin turns his pretty-boy charms on Jane, smiling at her like she’s the new toy in the playroom.
If he’s not careful, he’ll be picking his teeth up from the faded blue carpet.
“She thinks we just got done entertaining a group of ladies,” I explain. “Right, Jane?”
“Yes. I mean, no…um…”
Roman grins in her direction. “Not many parties happen on a Sunday night, beautiful. Besides,” he says, his grin turning sharkish, “we’d look a lot less put-together if we’d just come from getting mauled by a group of horny women, don’t you think?”
That’s Roman for you. He’s the epitome of an upstanding gentleman…until he’s not. His nickname is Ruthless, and it applies in every aspect of his life, whether with work or with women.
Austin, the smooth operator that he is, jumps in to save her.
“You’ll have to forgive my friends. They’ve never known how to act when a lady’s present.
” Austin lived the first fifteen years of his life in Texas before moving to Chicago.
He lost most of his accent over the years, but likes to use the country boy act around women because that shit works.
He takes one of her hands and kisses the back of it.
It’s everything I have not to kick him in the balls under the table for daring to touch her.
Which makes no fucking sense. I’ve shared plenty of women with these guys.
It’s hot as fuck, and we all enjoy it. I should be encouraging his usual seduction, seeing how she responds, and gauging our odds of tag-teaming her later.
So why do I want to rip her hand from Massey’s and growl mine like a goddamn caveman?
“To alleviate your confusion, darlin’, we all have day jobs.” Austin winks and leans a little closer before whispering, “We do the strippin’ for fun.”
“Oh,” she says, finally pulling her hand away. She blinks as though waking up from a spell, which if you ask him, is exactly what Austin calls his Southern charm.
“Um…” Jane shakes her head and poises her pen over the order pad. “What can I get you this morning?”
She avoids me, giving her attention to the guys, and I can’t decide whether it pisses me off or amuses me. Since the jig is up, and my buddies now know why we’ve been coming here for going on three days, they look at me. Roman says, “You wanted something specific, didn’t you, Chance?”
“Yeah,” I say, picking up the menu. “But I don’t see it on here.”
Jane moves closer to look at the plastic pages with me. “Oh, we just got new menus. What is it you want?”
I turn my head, my mouth inches away from her face. “You.”
She freezes for a moment then abruptly straightens.
The guys are chuckling under their breath.
I don’t go quite that far, instead giving her a sly grin as I undress her with my eyes.
That blue polo doesn’t do a damn thing to show off her slight figure, but I don’t need it to because I know exactly what her pert tits look like.
Color flags her cheekbones. She looks around to make sure no one is listening, then she braces her hands on the table and leans in, speaking softly. “Be serious. Do you want something to eat or not?”
I fold my arms over my forgotten menu and lean over to meet her the rest of the way.
I don’t give a shit who hears me, but she’s like a planet to my moon, drawing me to her.
I find myself wanting to be in her personal space as much as possible.
To inhale her mouth-watering strawberry scent and make her nervous, set her on edge.
“I’m being very serious. I’m hungry for you, Jane.
So tell me what I have to do to get you on my menu. ”